[ He's trying to speak. He's trying, but whatever it is it comes out as a gurgle. The vampire tugs at his throat and- he's so far beyond pain now, but he can feel something tearing. Distantly, he finds himself aware that his lungs are still desperately trying to pull in air but that he can't feel it coming and leaving through his lips.
(Ten seconds. His father had told him, years ago. Ten seconds of consciousness, with a slit throat. Thirty to sixty seconds before bleeding out. Ten seconds of the vampire being close enough to stake, and no Belmont should need even half that long. But his arms won't move as he wants them to. They feel cold already, hanging uselessly by his sides.)
Ice crashes against the wall behind them. Sypha must be there. And then there is fire again, enough in Sypha's hands to briefly illuminate a torch on one wall, immediately sent to light it so that she can see.
There is liquid in the vampire's mouth, and- that seems wrong. The vampire oughtn't be feeding from him, not in the middle of this. He shouldn't be that desperate after only a week without blood. This is putting himself in danger, and by all accounts their target was a man who went to great lengths to remain safe. He pulls his mouth from Trevor's throat once his mouth is empty and- that's the wrong order, too. Vampires don't bite people's throats with a mouth full of blood and then release them with none. That's entirely the wrong way around.
Behind them, visible now in the light of the torch, is a coffin. Vertical against the wall, it contains the body of Walter Bernhard, not present in his own body, wearing and sustained by the crimson stone even as he is run through at every possible angle by long nails. ]
Ah. The Son. [ Jules says, still holding Trevor up by the hair, not quite a human shield, more- something interesting that he's trying to get a better look at. Distantly, Trevor recalls hearing this voice before. One of the ones who had called him the 'pet Belmont'. ] You had your chance, I am afraid. We have chosen a new leader.
[There's the sound of Alucard's sword coming out of it's sheath, and then there's something muttered to Sypha that's stabilize him. It's safer only because there are no longer fangs in Trevor's neck, but not by much. There's too much blood, there's too much Walter in the room for that matter, there's too much everything.
He understands the gambit now. A Belmont to force order in Europe, because that's the only way that there will be order among vampires now. Take the scariest fucker, turn them, and everything else will fall into place because of the last name alone.
Horrible fucking plan.
It's also too...no. Alucard gets it. There are some vampires that know that they're quite bored of being alive and find ways out. This is death, death with a purpose. Death with some kind of good intention within it, which is of course nonsense.
So he sends his sword out ahead of him. Directs it to the hand that holds Trevor aloft, relies on Sypha to take care of the other one so that there's no one else's hands on Trevor except the two pairs that ought to be.
Alucard storms forward. Slams his entire body into Jules because oh, Alucard may not be his father, but he is stronger than almost every other vampire out there. He should remind this vampire of that fact.]
[ A cushion of air catches him as he falls to the ground and- that means Sypha is here, doesn't it? Did he already know that? His mind isn't working right. He's had his ten seconds by now, surely. He ought to be- ought to be-
The torn flesh is knitting itself back together even as Sypha tries to tend to it. There's still blood - so, so much blood, but there's a gurgle in his throat again and choked, gasping, uncomfortably moist-sounding breath (blood. Blood in his lungs, and that might be a problem if it weren't suddenly not a problem). And the breath comes from his mouth and- fuck the situation they're in because that's actually an improvement.
The sword is pierced through Jules' wrist, and he flies back from the impact, taking a few seconds to recover before he vanishes into mist, reforming behind Alucard to strike. ]
There must be a leader. There must be order. There must be peace, so that those of us who wish to live modestly do not find ourselves endlessly chased by mobs for the actions of those with no sense of self-control.
You had such opportunity. The Belmont family brought to heel. Your own collection of magician-spies. All through sheer fucking luck. All of it squandered. I will not return to the times of Walter Bernhard because a selfish child would not perform his duties.
[Sypha's ready to use fire to cauterize the wounds, but...no. He's healing. That's not right. That shouldn't be, that isn't how Trevor works. There's only one of the three of them with that ability, and...
...and Sypha can't say anything right now because Trevor must be figuring it all out too. The dawning horror of it, and then the creeping mortification of what comes next? (He'll be a whip, or else the most powerful thing in all of Europe. Neither option is a good one.)
Mist is harder to attack, but there's no time lost in spinning around and placing a firm boot to Jules' chest to send the other vampire flying. This will end in another test of superspeed and anger, but that's just fine by Alucard. He hasn't caught on to what has happened in full, not yet. He's seen enough, he's seen someone nearly kill one of the loves of his life. That's more than enough for his eyes.]
You're returning to dust.
[And there is Alucard's sword thrusting after that boot for good measure.]
And until you have murdered your own father and dealt with that grief, you have no place to stand with any words said on duty.
It's finally occurred to him what must have happened. Pain is finally returning - and fuck, that's a sign of healing but also fuck, that's a sign of healing. That thing he shouldn't be doing. That thing that humans don't. He still can't talk, his throat is still too shredded for that, but he can give an anguished, rasping try of horror at the realization. ]
I am returning to dust and Europe is returning to safety. A worthy enough cause to die for.
[ The sword sinks into his chest, missing the heart by a fraction of an inch, and he smiles and walks forward along it, until the hilt presses against his chest and he is close enough to grab at Alucard's hair and pull him nearer to whisper. ]
A Belmont. A Belmont turned with the blood of Walter Bernhard, protected by the Crimson Stone, to force every vampire in Europe to stand as one. With that, we can know true, lasting peace.
For a horrible, mad, furious moment, Alucard lets go of the sword. Yanks his hair free, and that stone's power is something Alucard has come to understand very well right now. Whoever holds it has even more power. True immortality. So let him hold it.
His sword can be gotten in a moment. The focus is on speed, on snatching that cursed stone from the corpse that holds it, and he manages it by sheer force of will. (Will, he has come to realize, is just another word for intent. How magic works, and that has been so very important in writing new theories.)
It is horrifying how instant the effect of just holding the stone is. There's a surge of energy, raw, wild, untamed, unbroken that flows through Alucard, and that is only by holding it in his hand. When Alucard turns to recall his sword to him, it too is an instant action. No delay. Nothing. Just there where it wasn't a second before.
His eyes, however, do not flash crimson red. That is on purpose. This is all about control, because unbridled rage was for Carmilla. Control is worse. Control means walking slowly through the room, making his pace known. Inviting an attack.]
[ Even awaiting death, there is suddenly a flash of fear in the vampire's eyes at Alucard taking the stone. He steps back, not so much to regain his composure as to lose it completely, his posture wide and wild, claws revealed.
And then he dives forward, speaking no more, ready to make one last attack on Alucard with his claws. ]
Alucard takes no joy in that fear. No satisfaction. Just his sword there to defend against claws, then an outstretched hand to grab the vampire by the neck and slam him so terribly onto the ground that the floor cracks and creaks and groans from the impact.
Now. Now you take the stone. Now you do what you were meant to do all along.
[ Jules voice is pained, terribly, but there is a note of bitter amusement to it. He reaches up for Alucard's neck and shoulders, trying to dig those claws into them.
He's almost certainly never been a fighter. Not against anything that could fight back. ]
Did my raising your pet above you truly offend you so deeply?
[How easy is it to swat those away with his sword? How simple is this particular death, when all the others have been true fights that demanded everything of them? His father. Carmilla. It was strife. This is...this is killing a man who's never fought, not in a meaningful way.
It is impossible to mistake the expression on Alucard's face for anything short of fury though. Brow set. Nostrils flared. Sword now digging into Jules' neck, because this shall be a decapitation.]
Never force anyone to be what they have considered and refused. My offense lies there.
[The sword digs in. Cuts through the main artery.]
[ The vampire gives a gurgling last cry, painfully similar to Trevor's own wailing. Quieter. More satisfied. His work complete.
And then he is still. Sypha will burn him later, no doubt, to be certain.
For the moment, Trevor has fallen still. He wants to scream. He desperately wants to scream, but he can't. Even with the blood keeping him from actually dying, he's still terribly injured, lacking the strength to do anything but lie still and make those rasping, choked sounds. He's healing, but it's nowhere near as fast as a vampire might and fuck he can feel every second of his body rearranging itself. Broken ribs shoving themselves back into place, his shredded throat slowly mending itself.
Sypha is crouched over him, holding him still. She has no magic for this scenario, only words. Hushed words, attempts at comfort. Every now and then she strokes over the new flesh of his neck, looking horrified by the contrast between the new and old skin - the new skin is an ashy grey. ]
[The head's removed for good measure. For anger, for the sake of doing something, something before the sword is returned to where it ought to be and Alcard can get rid of the damn thing in his hand.
Sypha. Sypha has the case for it.
He runs over, knowing full well that what he is about to witness is the third most horrifying thing he's ever had to deal with in regards to a loved one. Trevor's dead and not dead, his body is trying to fix every horrible wrong done to it, and he can't do anything but feel the agony.
He chokes back a mad little scream. It's all he can do for the moment, because that color on Trevor is wrong, wrong, wrong and this is happening too fast. This isn't just a nightmare of the Belmont family it is the nightmare because it is Walter's blood causing this.
Action. They have to move. They have to do something but now, and that stone hasn't left Alucard's hands yet.]
Sypha.
[He tries to keep his voice steady.]
We have to burn both those bodies. I can transport us both back through the same way I traveled to this country to begin with, but I won't do it until we know those things are ash.
[There's a quiet nod of agreement. There is the terrible smell of burning flesh. And then there is the question of how to move Trevor which lasts for about two seconds. Alucard hauls Trevor into his arms and stands, knees slung over one of Alucard's forearms, the other arm supporting Trevor's back and holding him so very close.]
You need to hold onto me when we travel like this. Nod if you understand.
[ The sunlight is returning now, with the source of the spell now both devoid of the stone that was keeping it alive and reduced to ash. And logically, logically Trevor knows it's returning slowly. Sypha is standing close now, to travel with them both, and he can see her pupils still wide in the darkness. But it seems too bright already.
This shouldn't be happening this quickly. The process should take days. The healing shouldn't set in until after it's done. There's only ever been one recorded process of the healing coming first, of the process happening so quickly in order to keep a body alive. They have all the records of it back at the estate, written in Mathias' hand. The victim is at his hip, consecrated metal already starting to eat at skin even though his clothing.
(Perhaps Dracula's blood would have worked in the same way, turning too quickly and giving its victims a fragment of a vampire's powers even before the turning is complete. They have no way of knowing. Dracula never turned anyone, according to Belmont records. It's why Alucard's strength is so noteworthy even among his kind - there are no other vampires who share Dracula's blood. He's the closest thing there is to a vampire turned by a sire in possession of that fucking stone. Or was.)
It's a lot to expect him to do right now, nodding. And holding on, for that matter. But he tries. He gives a word-like noise and lifts his head slightly before letting it loll back again. And he tries to hold on to the hem of Alucard's coat. Tries. He can't keep a grip, too much blood lost, but Sypha's hand falls over his and pushes his fingers closed and he's pressed between their bodies.
Distantly, he knows it'd be more sense to burn him with the other two. He knows that he's going to have to die. But there's selfishness as well as practicality. He'd rather die somewhere at least a little more like home, with the two of them with him.
[There is cold comfort in the smell of burning flesh. Alucard does not watch either body burn, and as the fires die, the stench still lingers. It is a smell with too many horrible memories associated with it, and now he gets to add another memory to that list.
Trevor's holding on as best he can. That's good. A relief. The stone, Sypha's taken that before holding onto Trevor, it's in the case the other two built for it now. Safe and encased in silver, never to be used again. Holding onto it alone was terrifying, feeling that stark change in power and ability. After those horrible things at the estate, no wonder his father clung to that thing. It was everything he could not be when it mattered most.
They're gathered up in his arms the best that they can. Trevor, Sypha, two. Not whole now, but present. And with all the presence of mind that Alucard has, he mutters something, and white light engulfs all three of them.
It is harder to ride the arc of lightening with three. Those split second landings require enough calculation to ensure everyone is there, no one is outside the safe zone, and it takes three, four, five leaps through France in order to put them close to the estate. They land in the sunshine, and push through the barrier with the barest struggle this time. Old hat, the barrier. Easier to resist now because of practice and because of every other emotion pumping through their veins.
Those are actions that demand too much of Alucard's strength. He'd be fine if the lightning was just himself, but to drag two other people in tow, it's like coming from Wallachia again. There is no time to acknowledge that. There is only getting into the kitchen and immediately putting Trevor down onto the makeshift bed that the three of them have been using for the past two months.
They're at the estate. Alucard can let his face betray all the horrible worry and terror and anger on his face now, because this is unfolding again.]
[ The sunlight strikes after the first leap, and from there Trevor is lost. It isn’t deadly, not yet, but the sight of the brightness of it alone makes it feel as if his skull is cracking apart, like the migraines his bad eye gives him but magnified by a hundred thousand times. And then there is the warmth of it, and the sensation is not quite like burning. Not by fire. More like stone being worn away by weather over hundreds of years, condensed into the space of seconds.
He struggles, because how can he not, and it is all Sypha can do to freeze his fist closed around Alucard’s coat so he can keep contact. And then he falls still. He is unconscious, finally, or at least still and blissfully outside of himself, for the worst of it when they move from spring into late summer and cloudless sky.
He only stirs when he is lain on the bed, Sypha carefully removing the morning star from where it had started burning against the skin of his hip, keeping herself grounded enough to act only through finding tasks that need to be done. And he speaks, finally. Or tries to. It’s still a horrible rasping sound, recognisable only by the way that the syllable ends sharply and by the fact that this is Trevor and everyone here is well acquainted with Trevor’s vocabulary. ]
[It's the straining against sunlight that hits the hardest. Alucard knows why, all those long naps in the afternoon to replace sleeping at night, those will be gone if things go the way that they are expected to. If this goes quicker than it should be going. If if ififif.
There's the horrible desire to walk out of the kitchen door right now and just let out a long, horrible scream until his throat tears from the sustained noise. Do it at a high enough pitch to break through the barrier. Let every fucking vampire in France know that there has been a horrible miscalculation, and god, if they wanted his father they've got the very worst of Dracula now.
But it is a flight of fancy brought on by nothing more than straight up fear. They don't have the time for such indulgences, not when time is of the essence.
That horrible voice. Alucard can only kneel down next to Trevor, take hand in his.]
Agreed.
[Just a moment or two like this. Then the work begins in earnest.]
[ And fuck if this isn't similar in all the petty, stupid ways to the ways he likes to joke around, how as Sypha likes to call Alucard her handsome prince he has never quite given up the insult of princeling and likes to make a scene out of kneeling in front of him to kiss his hands and lifting him like a delicate maiden. It starts out as jest and ends in sincerity just as much as Sypha starts with sincerity and ends with soft, bell-like laughter.
Alucard is nothing but sincerity, and there will be no laughter at the end of this. ]
Dusk. It'll- at dusk.
[ They have until dusk. The turning always finishes at dusk. This is an exception in so many ways, but that- he can trust that. It's the body protecting itself, refusing to complete the process until the sun is gone in the same way it might reject stepping from a cliff or holding one's breath too long. Sypha finishes closing the windows, having figured out the source of the tiny red spiderwebs of blood blooming under his skin, and her hands join his and Alucard's.
He half considers demanding the communion wine and a sharp knife - he'd been talking to Alucard about this only a day or so ago, hadn't he? - but there's no sense in it. The turning process is what's keeping his throat intact. He could expel Walter's blood from himself with the sacrament, but he would be dead either way. Better to finish the turning process, have a few more hours with the two of them, join Sara within the whip, be of some use.
(For what use the whip will be, without a Belmont to hold it. There are the Renard and Lacarde branches of the family, but the relation is distant by now. Sara may well not recognize them as descendants of Leon.) ]
Sorry.
[ And he was wrong, it does end in laughter. Joyless, bitter, pained laughter. Because there's fucking up and then there's being turned by the blood of Dracula's fucking Sire. ]
[It isn't a joke. Nothing about this is a joke, and never has Alucard's ice cold sincerity meant more or been more appropriate than it has been for this very moment. In the quiet little moments he had had enough time to develop his theories. Test bits out with Sypha, although nothing is complete or thought through in full, but they are the greater fools if they do not try whatever haphazard things that they can now.
There are too many horrible thoughts spinning at once. Laying here like this, it's a mockery of every tender moment of the past three years. That very first fucking kiss, for that matter, because being knocked over and then scooped up was not a kiss to be forgotten under any circumstances. Alucard's grip tightens, because that thought brings for another.
The blood in Trevor's now is as close to his father's as any. As close to his own. If there could be any tighter binding between them both, through family hatred, through sacraments and vows, through soft promises muttered in glorious afterglows, it isthis. It is the worst realization. It nearly sends a cry out of his throat. It will, when all is said and done.
They have precious few hours to work. There is no time to make other promises, even as Alucard's head begins that process. We will move the heavens and Earth for this to not be so. All of our will, our magic, our intent, the sole focus of it shall be you as human as you ever were. Should we falter, should we fail, we shall carry you home. Weight you down with finest silver. Give you rest. And that shall be all. There shall be no defying the heavens for the paths that have been forced on us, for that way there is only madness. Our lot will be mourning, and that too, that too we shall bear with all of the grace we can muster.]
[ That many words at once hurts. Those words specifically hurt. It's different having them in his head to hearing them coming out of his mouth in that horrible rasping voice from a ruined throat.
And he hates saying it. He hates it because he doesn't have the strength in him to turn away, and he can see Sypha's face when the words hit the air and- fuck. This serves him right for making a shitty fucking plan, but they don't deserve this. ]
[ He wants to argue. Arguing is what he does. But he's tired. He's tried and it hurts so, so much and he just wants to spend the afternoon with them as they ought to be, all happy and beautiful.
But desperately trying to do something impossible is also how they ought to be, isn't it? Has been since the start. ]
Just stay with me. I'm- [ He's scared. ] -I don't know what's going to happen.
[There's no more time to spend words. They have to work but fast, and so that means moving all three to the lab. They have to work in the lab, so Trevor gets scooped up again, this time the action fiercer and more terrified than before, and it's probably worse because it gives Trevor time to register that fear. They're all scared. They're all bugfuck terrified.
Sypha's got all of the bed things in her arms. Alucard has her walk first, so that she can lay it all down once they're in the lab. There's purpose as they walk, grim and terrible and uncertain, because this is an all or nothing chance.
The lab's windows are closed with only a flick of Sypha's hand. The bedding is put down, and Alucard stands in the threshold, still holding onto Trevor for dear life. His eyes are fixated elsewhere though, quietly accounting for where everything is. What they were in the middle of, what they can speed through, what needs more attention. The stone that this process has produced lays on the workspace, a dark, deep sea blue rather than brilliant crimson. It is dull. There is no magic in it, not yet, and that shall be step one.]
I said I would complete the work. It shall be as I said.
[It's as much comfort as he can offer right now, laying Trevor back down as carefully as he can.]
I love you too, you dramatic fuck. [ Even now, even now, he can't help himself. He has to make fun of the vampire for being too dramatic. Because if he doesn't - he's already admitted how bad things are, but if he does it by missing a chance to mock the vampire, they might believe him. ] I trust you both.
[ For all his determination to stay with them for as long as he can, he sleeps through most of the process. Sometimes there's Alucard holding Sypha's hands to guide them and instructing her, or Sypha leaning over his shoulder as he reads and offering context from stories about the philosopher's stone and he watches half awake and smiles. This was always his favourite thing, seeing the two of them fitting together so perfectly. Sypha all full of the past and Alucard all full of the future, meeting to complete each other's understanding of all possible things.
And he dreams. He dreams of Sara (this was the bed where she lay when Mathias treated her, wasn't it?). Of her holding Justine, fingers stroking through her hair softly, Justine's tiny hands in her chest, tugging at ribs. Of her whispering to the girl that she was safe and loved, holding her tightly until the estate was evacuated. And it should be terrible, but her voice is soft and calming.
It's hard to judge the time here, with the curtain drawn. But the glow behind the curtain is becoming redder and redder when he next wakes.
[In the end, the theory is this: the stone is science and the stone is magic. The stone is powered by Sypha's intent, which is that when the blood from the one tube passes in, it will be purified, and the tube that it exits from shall clear the rest of the veins. The stone works like transfusion, adding more iron to the system to flush out any vampiric traces in a way that won't be painful. And if there is the tiniest bit of communion wine to goose the system along, well. This is Trevor's blood. They need faith in this mix of science and magic too.
There are times when one of them sits down next to Trevor, leaving the other to work. There's quiet terror threaded in every action, but when either of them are down beside him, it leaves. He cannot have that weighing him down, not if this is truly the last of him. He shall have none of the mourning that will follow in his wake.
And when it is time, or as near to as they can tell, Alucard is the one who is holding all of the equipment in hand. That's practicality, because this is vampire blood. The last thing the three of them need is for her to turn as well. (Perhaps, Alucard thinks in the very back of his head, perhaps that would not be the worst outcome. They would still be together, after all.)
No warnings. No prelude. Just a rub of alcohol at two spots on Trevor's arm, and then the puncture of two needles through skin. Hissed instruction to the skin to not fucking dare an attempt to heal and...it seems to obey.]
[ There's a pinch. And- this ought to feel strange, really, his blood taking a different path than it should. But it's not the weirdest thing that's happened to his blood today. As it is it's just two pinches. A strange tiredness, as whatever it is that's been sustaining him is pulled out from him. It still hurts- everything still hurts, but that's not a change.
He's watching the window, watching the soft red glow reflected on the wall from the inside of the curtain. It's fading now. Fading. And Fading. And gone.
And he screams, bringing both hands up to his face and knocking the needles and tubes out of his arm as he does. He doesn't care about them right now. He can't care about them right now, because he can feel his skull changing shape, the bones of it stretching and cracking and reforming, teeth being shoved out of place to account for the presence of two bony growths from the front of it. He's digging his claws into the side of his head to try to control the pain of it and- claws, there are long claws where there were previously short and blunt nails. He can hear his heartbeat in every part of him but it's slow, so very slow.
And he can feel a hand on his, pulling it back from his face to stop him from clawing at it further, and the broken skin knits together instantly but the insides of him are changing now, the slow healing now instantaneous, bones and tissue knitting back into place in some places and withering away in others and-
There's a pained cry. Distant, feminine. Trevor, you're hurting me, and it's all too overwhelming to understand what he's doing, how tight his grip on Sypha's wrist is. ]
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cryptsleeper) wrote2018-11-10 11:26 pm
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(Ten seconds. His father had told him, years ago. Ten seconds of consciousness, with a slit throat. Thirty to sixty seconds before bleeding out. Ten seconds of the vampire being close enough to stake, and no Belmont should need even half that long. But his arms won't move as he wants them to. They feel cold already, hanging uselessly by his sides.)
Ice crashes against the wall behind them. Sypha must be there. And then there is fire again, enough in Sypha's hands to briefly illuminate a torch on one wall, immediately sent to light it so that she can see.
There is liquid in the vampire's mouth, and- that seems wrong. The vampire oughtn't be feeding from him, not in the middle of this. He shouldn't be that desperate after only a week without blood. This is putting himself in danger, and by all accounts their target was a man who went to great lengths to remain safe. He pulls his mouth from Trevor's throat once his mouth is empty and- that's the wrong order, too. Vampires don't bite people's throats with a mouth full of blood and then release them with none. That's entirely the wrong way around.
Behind them, visible now in the light of the torch, is a coffin. Vertical against the wall, it contains the body of Walter Bernhard, not present in his own body, wearing and sustained by the crimson stone even as he is run through at every possible angle by long nails. ]
Ah. The Son. [ Jules says, still holding Trevor up by the hair, not quite a human shield, more- something interesting that he's trying to get a better look at. Distantly, Trevor recalls hearing this voice before. One of the ones who had called him the 'pet Belmont'. ] You had your chance, I am afraid. We have chosen a new leader.
no subject
He understands the gambit now. A Belmont to force order in Europe, because that's the only way that there will be order among vampires now. Take the scariest fucker, turn them, and everything else will fall into place because of the last name alone.
Horrible fucking plan.
It's also too...no. Alucard gets it. There are some vampires that know that they're quite bored of being alive and find ways out. This is death, death with a purpose. Death with some kind of good intention within it, which is of course nonsense.
So he sends his sword out ahead of him. Directs it to the hand that holds Trevor aloft, relies on Sypha to take care of the other one so that there's no one else's hands on Trevor except the two pairs that ought to be.
Alucard storms forward. Slams his entire body into Jules because oh, Alucard may not be his father, but he is stronger than almost every other vampire out there. He should remind this vampire of that fact.]
no subject
The torn flesh is knitting itself back together even as Sypha tries to tend to it. There's still blood - so, so much blood, but there's a gurgle in his throat again and choked, gasping, uncomfortably moist-sounding breath (blood. Blood in his lungs, and that might be a problem if it weren't suddenly not a problem). And the breath comes from his mouth and- fuck the situation they're in because that's actually an improvement.
The sword is pierced through Jules' wrist, and he flies back from the impact, taking a few seconds to recover before he vanishes into mist, reforming behind Alucard to strike. ]
There must be a leader. There must be order. There must be peace, so that those of us who wish to live modestly do not find ourselves endlessly chased by mobs for the actions of those with no sense of self-control.
You had such opportunity. The Belmont family brought to heel. Your own collection of magician-spies. All through sheer fucking luck. All of it squandered. I will not return to the times of Walter Bernhard because a selfish child would not perform his duties.
no subject
...and Sypha can't say anything right now because Trevor must be figuring it all out too. The dawning horror of it, and then the creeping mortification of what comes next? (He'll be a whip, or else the most powerful thing in all of Europe. Neither option is a good one.)
Mist is harder to attack, but there's no time lost in spinning around and placing a firm boot to Jules' chest to send the other vampire flying. This will end in another test of superspeed and anger, but that's just fine by Alucard. He hasn't caught on to what has happened in full, not yet. He's seen enough, he's seen someone nearly kill one of the loves of his life. That's more than enough for his eyes.]
You're returning to dust.
[And there is Alucard's sword thrusting after that boot for good measure.]
And until you have murdered your own father and dealt with that grief, you have no place to stand with any words said on duty.
no subject
It's finally occurred to him what must have happened. Pain is finally returning - and fuck, that's a sign of healing but also fuck, that's a sign of healing. That thing he shouldn't be doing. That thing that humans don't. He still can't talk, his throat is still too shredded for that, but he can give an anguished, rasping try of horror at the realization. ]
I am returning to dust and Europe is returning to safety. A worthy enough cause to die for.
[ The sword sinks into his chest, missing the heart by a fraction of an inch, and he smiles and walks forward along it, until the hilt presses against his chest and he is close enough to grab at Alucard's hair and pull him nearer to whisper. ]
A Belmont. A Belmont turned with the blood of Walter Bernhard, protected by the Crimson Stone, to force every vampire in Europe to stand as one. With that, we can know true, lasting peace.
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That's an idea, now isn't it?
For a horrible, mad, furious moment, Alucard lets go of the sword. Yanks his hair free, and that stone's power is something Alucard has come to understand very well right now. Whoever holds it has even more power. True immortality. So let him hold it.
His sword can be gotten in a moment. The focus is on speed, on snatching that cursed stone from the corpse that holds it, and he manages it by sheer force of will. (Will, he has come to realize, is just another word for intent. How magic works, and that has been so very important in writing new theories.)
It is horrifying how instant the effect of just holding the stone is. There's a surge of energy, raw, wild, untamed, unbroken that flows through Alucard, and that is only by holding it in his hand. When Alucard turns to recall his sword to him, it too is an instant action. No delay. Nothing. Just there where it wasn't a second before.
His eyes, however, do not flash crimson red. That is on purpose. This is all about control, because unbridled rage was for Carmilla. Control is worse. Control means walking slowly through the room, making his pace known. Inviting an attack.]
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And then he dives forward, speaking no more, ready to make one last attack on Alucard with his claws. ]
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Alucard takes no joy in that fear. No satisfaction. Just his sword there to defend against claws, then an outstretched hand to grab the vampire by the neck and slam him so terribly onto the ground that the floor cracks and creaks and groans from the impact.
That's probably the stone.
Probably.]]
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[ Jules voice is pained, terribly, but there is a note of bitter amusement to it. He reaches up for Alucard's neck and shoulders, trying to dig those claws into them.
He's almost certainly never been a fighter. Not against anything that could fight back. ]
Did my raising your pet above you truly offend you so deeply?
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It is impossible to mistake the expression on Alucard's face for anything short of fury though. Brow set. Nostrils flared. Sword now digging into Jules' neck, because this shall be a decapitation.]
Never force anyone to be what they have considered and refused. My offense lies there.
[The sword digs in. Cuts through the main artery.]
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And then he is still. Sypha will burn him later, no doubt, to be certain.
For the moment, Trevor has fallen still. He wants to scream. He desperately wants to scream, but he can't. Even with the blood keeping him from actually dying, he's still terribly injured, lacking the strength to do anything but lie still and make those rasping, choked sounds. He's healing, but it's nowhere near as fast as a vampire might and fuck he can feel every second of his body rearranging itself. Broken ribs shoving themselves back into place, his shredded throat slowly mending itself.
Sypha is crouched over him, holding him still. She has no magic for this scenario, only words. Hushed words, attempts at comfort. Every now and then she strokes over the new flesh of his neck, looking horrified by the contrast between the new and old skin - the new skin is an ashy grey. ]
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Sypha. Sypha has the case for it.
He runs over, knowing full well that what he is about to witness is the third most horrifying thing he's ever had to deal with in regards to a loved one. Trevor's dead and not dead, his body is trying to fix every horrible wrong done to it, and he can't do anything but feel the agony.
He chokes back a mad little scream. It's all he can do for the moment, because that color on Trevor is wrong, wrong, wrong and this is happening too fast. This isn't just a nightmare of the Belmont family it is the nightmare because it is Walter's blood causing this.
Action. They have to move. They have to do something but now, and that stone hasn't left Alucard's hands yet.]
Sypha.
[He tries to keep his voice steady.]
We have to burn both those bodies. I can transport us both back through the same way I traveled to this country to begin with, but I won't do it until we know those things are ash.
[There's a quiet nod of agreement. There is the terrible smell of burning flesh. And then there is the question of how to move Trevor which lasts for about two seconds. Alucard hauls Trevor into his arms and stands, knees slung over one of Alucard's forearms, the other arm supporting Trevor's back and holding him so very close.]
You need to hold onto me when we travel like this. Nod if you understand.
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This shouldn't be happening this quickly. The process should take days. The healing shouldn't set in until after it's done. There's only ever been one recorded process of the healing coming first, of the process happening so quickly in order to keep a body alive. They have all the records of it back at the estate, written in Mathias' hand. The victim is at his hip, consecrated metal already starting to eat at skin even though his clothing.
(Perhaps Dracula's blood would have worked in the same way, turning too quickly and giving its victims a fragment of a vampire's powers even before the turning is complete. They have no way of knowing. Dracula never turned anyone, according to Belmont records. It's why Alucard's strength is so noteworthy even among his kind - there are no other vampires who share Dracula's blood. He's the closest thing there is to a vampire turned by a sire in possession of that fucking stone. Or was.)
It's a lot to expect him to do right now, nodding. And holding on, for that matter. But he tries. He gives a word-like noise and lifts his head slightly before letting it loll back again. And he tries to hold on to the hem of Alucard's coat. Tries. He can't keep a grip, too much blood lost, but Sypha's hand falls over his and pushes his fingers closed and he's pressed between their bodies.
Distantly, he knows it'd be more sense to burn him with the other two. He knows that he's going to have to die. But there's selfishness as well as practicality. He'd rather die somewhere at least a little more like home, with the two of them with him.
That would be nice. ]
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Trevor's holding on as best he can. That's good. A relief. The stone, Sypha's taken that before holding onto Trevor, it's in the case the other two built for it now. Safe and encased in silver, never to be used again. Holding onto it alone was terrifying, feeling that stark change in power and ability. After those horrible things at the estate, no wonder his father clung to that thing. It was everything he could not be when it mattered most.
They're gathered up in his arms the best that they can. Trevor, Sypha, two. Not whole now, but present. And with all the presence of mind that Alucard has, he mutters something, and white light engulfs all three of them.
It is harder to ride the arc of lightening with three. Those split second landings require enough calculation to ensure everyone is there, no one is outside the safe zone, and it takes three, four, five leaps through France in order to put them close to the estate. They land in the sunshine, and push through the barrier with the barest struggle this time. Old hat, the barrier. Easier to resist now because of practice and because of every other emotion pumping through their veins.
Those are actions that demand too much of Alucard's strength. He'd be fine if the lightning was just himself, but to drag two other people in tow, it's like coming from Wallachia again. There is no time to acknowledge that. There is only getting into the kitchen and immediately putting Trevor down onto the makeshift bed that the three of them have been using for the past two months.
They're at the estate. Alucard can let his face betray all the horrible worry and terror and anger on his face now, because this is unfolding again.]
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He struggles, because how can he not, and it is all Sypha can do to freeze his fist closed around Alucard’s coat so he can keep contact. And then he falls still. He is unconscious, finally, or at least still and blissfully outside of himself, for the worst of it when they move from spring into late summer and cloudless sky.
He only stirs when he is lain on the bed, Sypha carefully removing the morning star from where it had started burning against the skin of his hip, keeping herself grounded enough to act only through finding tasks that need to be done. And he speaks, finally. Or tries to. It’s still a horrible rasping sound, recognisable only by the way that the syllable ends sharply and by the fact that this is Trevor and everyone here is well acquainted with Trevor’s vocabulary. ]
Fuck.
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There's the horrible desire to walk out of the kitchen door right now and just let out a long, horrible scream until his throat tears from the sustained noise. Do it at a high enough pitch to break through the barrier. Let every fucking vampire in France know that there has been a horrible miscalculation, and god, if they wanted his father they've got the very worst of Dracula now.
But it is a flight of fancy brought on by nothing more than straight up fear. They don't have the time for such indulgences, not when time is of the essence.
That horrible voice. Alucard can only kneel down next to Trevor, take hand in his.]
Agreed.
[Just a moment or two like this. Then the work begins in earnest.]
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Alucard is nothing but sincerity, and there will be no laughter at the end of this. ]
Dusk. It'll- at dusk.
[ They have until dusk. The turning always finishes at dusk. This is an exception in so many ways, but that- he can trust that. It's the body protecting itself, refusing to complete the process until the sun is gone in the same way it might reject stepping from a cliff or holding one's breath too long. Sypha finishes closing the windows, having figured out the source of the tiny red spiderwebs of blood blooming under his skin, and her hands join his and Alucard's.
He half considers demanding the communion wine and a sharp knife - he'd been talking to Alucard about this only a day or so ago, hadn't he? - but there's no sense in it. The turning process is what's keeping his throat intact. He could expel Walter's blood from himself with the sacrament, but he would be dead either way. Better to finish the turning process, have a few more hours with the two of them, join Sara within the whip, be of some use.
(For what use the whip will be, without a Belmont to hold it. There are the Renard and Lacarde branches of the family, but the relation is distant by now. Sara may well not recognize them as descendants of Leon.) ]
Sorry.
[ And he was wrong, it does end in laughter. Joyless, bitter, pained laughter. Because there's fucking up and then there's being turned by the blood of Dracula's fucking Sire. ]
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We have a deadline. We can do deadlines.
[It isn't a joke. Nothing about this is a joke, and never has Alucard's ice cold sincerity meant more or been more appropriate than it has been for this very moment. In the quiet little moments he had had enough time to develop his theories. Test bits out with Sypha, although nothing is complete or thought through in full, but they are the greater fools if they do not try whatever haphazard things that they can now.
There are too many horrible thoughts spinning at once. Laying here like this, it's a mockery of every tender moment of the past three years. That very first fucking kiss, for that matter, because being knocked over and then scooped up was not a kiss to be forgotten under any circumstances. Alucard's grip tightens, because that thought brings for another.
The blood in Trevor's now is as close to his father's as any. As close to his own. If there could be any tighter binding between them both, through family hatred, through sacraments and vows, through soft promises muttered in glorious afterglows, it isthis. It is the worst realization. It nearly sends a cry out of his throat. It will, when all is said and done.
They have precious few hours to work. There is no time to make other promises, even as Alucard's head begins that process. We will move the heavens and Earth for this to not be so. All of our will, our magic, our intent, the sole focus of it shall be you as human as you ever were. Should we falter, should we fail, we shall carry you home. Weight you down with finest silver. Give you rest. And that shall be all. There shall be no defying the heavens for the paths that have been forced on us, for that way there is only madness. Our lot will be mourning, and that too, that too we shall bear with all of the grace we can muster.]
We'll move you to the lab. It will be easier.
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[ That many words at once hurts. Those words specifically hurt. It's different having them in his head to hearing them coming out of his mouth in that horrible rasping voice from a ruined throat.
And he hates saying it. He hates it because he doesn't have the strength in him to turn away, and he can see Sypha's face when the words hit the air and- fuck. This serves him right for making a shitty fucking plan, but they don't deserve this. ]
Just- stay here. Until dusk. Please.
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[Magic is about intent, in the end. Will. And if there is anything that exists in the sea of ice now, it is simple and stubborn will.]
I will not stand idly by where there is a wild chance of fixing this.
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[ He wants to argue. Arguing is what he does. But he's tired. He's tried and it hurts so, so much and he just wants to spend the afternoon with them as they ought to be, all happy and beautiful.
But desperately trying to do something impossible is also how they ought to be, isn't it? Has been since the start. ]
Just stay with me. I'm- [ He's scared. ] -I don't know what's going to happen.
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[There's no more time to spend words. They have to work but fast, and so that means moving all three to the lab. They have to work in the lab, so Trevor gets scooped up again, this time the action fiercer and more terrified than before, and it's probably worse because it gives Trevor time to register that fear. They're all scared. They're all bugfuck terrified.
Sypha's got all of the bed things in her arms. Alucard has her walk first, so that she can lay it all down once they're in the lab. There's purpose as they walk, grim and terrible and uncertain, because this is an all or nothing chance.
The lab's windows are closed with only a flick of Sypha's hand. The bedding is put down, and Alucard stands in the threshold, still holding onto Trevor for dear life. His eyes are fixated elsewhere though, quietly accounting for where everything is. What they were in the middle of, what they can speed through, what needs more attention. The stone that this process has produced lays on the workspace, a dark, deep sea blue rather than brilliant crimson. It is dull. There is no magic in it, not yet, and that shall be step one.]
I said I would complete the work. It shall be as I said.
[It's as much comfort as he can offer right now, laying Trevor back down as carefully as he can.]
I love you too much not to make it so.
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[ For all his determination to stay with them for as long as he can, he sleeps through most of the process. Sometimes there's Alucard holding Sypha's hands to guide them and instructing her, or Sypha leaning over his shoulder as he reads and offering context from stories about the philosopher's stone and he watches half awake and smiles. This was always his favourite thing, seeing the two of them fitting together so perfectly. Sypha all full of the past and Alucard all full of the future, meeting to complete each other's understanding of all possible things.
And he dreams. He dreams of Sara (this was the bed where she lay when Mathias treated her, wasn't it?). Of her holding Justine, fingers stroking through her hair softly, Justine's tiny hands in her chest, tugging at ribs. Of her whispering to the girl that she was safe and loved, holding her tightly until the estate was evacuated. And it should be terrible, but her voice is soft and calming.
It's hard to judge the time here, with the curtain drawn. But the glow behind the curtain is becoming redder and redder when he next wakes.
It's almost time. ]
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There are times when one of them sits down next to Trevor, leaving the other to work. There's quiet terror threaded in every action, but when either of them are down beside him, it leaves. He cannot have that weighing him down, not if this is truly the last of him. He shall have none of the mourning that will follow in his wake.
And when it is time, or as near to as they can tell, Alucard is the one who is holding all of the equipment in hand. That's practicality, because this is vampire blood. The last thing the three of them need is for her to turn as well. (Perhaps, Alucard thinks in the very back of his head, perhaps that would not be the worst outcome. They would still be together, after all.)
No warnings. No prelude. Just a rub of alcohol at two spots on Trevor's arm, and then the puncture of two needles through skin. Hissed instruction to the skin to not fucking dare an attempt to heal and...it seems to obey.]
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He's watching the window, watching the soft red glow reflected on the wall from the inside of the curtain. It's fading now. Fading. And Fading. And gone.
And he screams, bringing both hands up to his face and knocking the needles and tubes out of his arm as he does. He doesn't care about them right now. He can't care about them right now, because he can feel his skull changing shape, the bones of it stretching and cracking and reforming, teeth being shoved out of place to account for the presence of two bony growths from the front of it. He's digging his claws into the side of his head to try to control the pain of it and- claws, there are long claws where there were previously short and blunt nails. He can hear his heartbeat in every part of him but it's slow, so very slow.
And he can feel a hand on his, pulling it back from his face to stop him from clawing at it further, and the broken skin knits together instantly but the insides of him are changing now, the slow healing now instantaneous, bones and tissue knitting back into place in some places and withering away in others and-
There's a pained cry. Distant, feminine. Trevor, you're hurting me, and it's all too overwhelming to understand what he's doing, how tight his grip on Sypha's wrist is. ]
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