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I, Dracula (Castlevania/Multicross) 25
🕑 Added 2025-09-14 21:16:55 +0000 UTCHector looked at the two groups, a clear divide between the black-cloaked men and the fur-clad men and women, and let out a sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose. He could already feel a headache coming.
"You caused this. Do not forget that," a voice called out behind him. He didn't need to turn to tell it was his fellow forgemaster.
"When I helped, I didn't assume anything like this was going to happen," he replied with another sigh, casting a last glance at the divide before turning to face Isaac.
"We cannot fight with them so divided. They're more likely to stab each other in the back while the wights struggle to climb the walls."
Isaac hummed in reply. The dark-skinned forgemaster allowed his eyes to trail past the wall and into the distance, where the first of the wights could already be seen. Their bright blue eyes glowed in the darkness of the shelter of the forest
"Night is growing darker, and I can feel the beginning of a snowstorm. Wights cannot perform magic, which means scattered in that horde are the Others, just like the Night's Watch claim. We kill them, we kill the wights." Isaac caressed the Valyrian steel sword on his hip briefly. "They might be impervious to steel, but I doubt they can survive a hit from our forge tools. Still, I'm quite interested in trying out this... magic sword Master Dracula was interested in."
"It's Valyrian steel," Hector began as he scrutinized the still-sheathed sword. "According to what Marwyn said, they were forged by a dragon-riding empire that was destroyed over two hundred years ago. It's a true magic blade. It doesn't break, dull, or age. It's also quite handy at breaking through shields, armor, and other swords in general. I'm surprised the Lord Commander easily gave it up."
"His only other option was to lead his men back out into the forest, and with the coming darkness, that would spell death for them. The Others and the wights would make short work of them in a night. I estimate only a dozen or two would survive, and even at that, they'll most likely lose more before they make it to their vaunted walls," Isaac replied with complete apathy.
Hector glanced toward his fellow forgemaster, unable to completely hide his feelings. They were friends, or at least Hector assumed they were. They had not started off as such. Isaac felt much older, much more mature and hardened, almost as much as Dracula. However, during their stay in the castle, they had grown closer, shared more than one meal and drinks, even if Isaac didn't seem to be much of a fan.
His fellow forgemaster listened to him now, consulted him on their plans, on what they should do and how they should go about it. Hector didn't know about his past, but he knew humans must have hurt him enough to turn the man against them. Enough so that he was ready to completely end the race, yet it had never happened. They had left before such genocide could be accomplished. However, looking at Isaac now, with his cold brown eyes and apathetic features...
Hector was still uncertain about himself, about their previous goal and cause to completely eradicate humanity. He was relieved they didn't have to go through with it, that he didn't have to find out if he could... He didn't think Isaac was the same in that regard. Considering the way he spoke about the fate of the Night's Watch, if not for the risk they brought as wights, he would have been content to watch them get slaughtered and killed, and he would not have blinked an eye in response.
"You disagree," Isaac suddenly spoke up, his voice painfully empty. He did not turn away from where he watched the wights gather in the growing dark, from where the blue eyes watching them steadily multiplied.
"My feelings do not matter," Hector replied, looking to change the conversation. "All that matters is—"
"Kill them! Kill them all!!"
Someone screamed beneath them, and Hector cut his statement short, running to the edge to look beneath the wall where the two groups had gathered. Where before they had only seemed to be making snide remarks, now they had their weapons in hand, axes, spears, and bows.
"I told you they couldn't be trusted! We should've left the fucking crows outside." Hector recognized Ygritte's very familiar voice shouting. Hector froze on the spot as he watched the two groups about to exchange blows. Isaac didn't.
The dark-skinned man moved. He sped past Hector, slammed his feet into the wood, then propelled himself over the low wall and landed right in the middle of the two groups before smoothly rolling and coming to a stop. Then he rose, imperious, as he looked down at the men and women.
The Free Folk froze immediately, their familiarity and fear of the forgemaster freezing them on the spot. The Night's Watch were not as worried, at least not the first man. The one that was leading the charge.
"Get out of my wa—"
The ranger's battle cry died in his throat as Isaac moved, a whisper of motion. One heartbeat. That was all it took to end a life wrapped in steel and certainty.
The heavily armored man had committed to his charge with the blind fury of desperation, his companions falling back as he thundered forward alone. Mail clinked against plate as he raised his bastard sword overhead, the blade singing through the frigid air with lethal intent. He meant to cleave the forgemaster in two with a single, devastating blow, an executioner's stroke to end this humiliation.
Isaac tilted aside with serpentine grace, the bastard sword carving empty air where his head had been a moment before. The ranger's momentum carried him past his target, leaving him momentarily exposed. In that sliver of vulnerability, Isaac flowed forward, slipping inside the man's guard as if the heavy armor were mere mist.
The jewel-encrusted dagger, no longer than a man's hand but keen as Nightcreatures bite, punched through the steel plate with surgical precision. Once, twice, each strike finding the minute gaps that even master armorers couldn't eliminate. The blade kissed flesh, parted muscle, and found the soft spaces between ribs with disgusting ease.
Isaac stepped back in the same fluid motion, creating distance as the ranger staggered. The man's eyes went wide with shock and confusion, blood beginning to froth at his lips as he stared down at his unmarked breastplate. How had such a small blade penetrated his protection? The steel showed no signs of damage, no rent or tear to explain the fire now spreading through his chest.
The wounded man swung again, but his blow carried all the strength of a dying breeze. Blood loss had already begun its inexorable work, and Hector could hear the wet rattle in the man's breathing, a punctured lung, most likely. Isaac forgemaster moved with the strike rather than against it, spinning with predatory grace until he stood behind his opponent.
The dagger slid home once more, there was no gap so Isacc used force. The forgetool punctured the steel plate with a little trouble, before kissing but not penetrating the ranger's spine. He twisted the blade with clinical detachment, grinding magic forged steel against vertebrae as the man's agonized scream split the frozen air. It was a sound that made hardened killers flinch, that sent ripples of unease through the assembled Night's Watch.
Several brothers moved to intervene, hands reaching for sword hilts, but the Lord Commander's raised fist stopped them cold. The white-haired veteran had pushed through the crowd to the front ranks, his weathered face a mask of barely contained fury. Yet he made no move to halt the brutal display, his pale eyes fixed on the spectacle with the intensity of a man witnessing something both terrible and necessary.
The ranger spun again, slower now, like a marionette with half its strings cut. His lifeblood painted the pristine snow in spreading crimson pools, each drop hissing as it melted through the crust. He coughed violently, spraying droplets of red into the bitter air.
"Stay in one place, you slippery snake!" he snarled between blood-flecked gasps, raising his sword with trembling arms.
Isaac tilted his head, as if considering the request. Then, with the ghost of a smile, he obliged. Instead of retreating, the forgemaster stepped forward into the ranger's failing guard. His free hand shot out like a striking adder, capturing the man's sword arm at the wrist. The dagger followed in a precise diagonal slash, parting leather, cloth, and flesh to expose the vulnerable tendons within the elbow.
The cut was surgical in its precision, the calculated stroke of someone who understood anatomy with frightening clarity. Muscle fibers parted like silk, nerves severed with accuracy, until white bone gleamed wetly.
The ranger's hand went limp instantly, his bastard sword tumbling to the bloodstained snow with a muffled clang. His scream was a raw, and primal thing.
Isaac's boot drove into the man's knee with the force of a war hammer. Bone cracked like dry kindling, ligaments tearing with audible pops as the joint collapsed inward at an unnatural angle. The ranger pitched forward, catching himself on his remaining good knee as his ruined leg folded beneath him.
Only then did the dark-skinned forgemaster step back, his breathing barely elevated despite the carnage. He might have been discussing the weather rather than having systematically dismantled a grown man in front of hundreds of witnesses. The dagger in his hand showed no trace of the violence it had wrought. The blade remained pristine, as its jeweled hilt caught the weak firelight from already lit torches.
"How... how could you do this?" the Lord Commander asked, anger in his voice, yet he was still smart enough not to order his group to attack.
Isaac turned on the spot, making sure both groups could see him. Only then did he speak, his voice empty, his eyes uncaring. "I'm familiar with the culture of these lands, as are you, yet you allow your men to run wild, forgetting you were not given guest rights."
The Lord Commander froze, realization dawning upon him, as much as the rangers behind him. Suddenly, the group began squirming, their eyes shifting left and right as they prepared for an incoming ambush. Nobody had thought to ask for guest rights in their hurry to escape the incoming horde, and Isaac had offered none.
"If you do something as stupid as trying to start a fight again while the Others and the wights are at our doors, I'll slaughter all of you; do not worry for your bodies. You shall have no reason to fear being turned into wrights." He said, his tone dark in twisted humor.
Isaac tilted his head back, and he turned partially to face the giant red-haired man Ygritte had introduced as Tormund, father of Yarla and Gavin.
"The same goes for you. No one would be spared Lord Dracula's judgment, as long as you stand on land he has claimed as his. I am not the sheepdog protecting sheep. I am the wolf that stalks, waiting for a silly sheep to break from the herd. Now tell me, what caused this fiasco?"
There was silence in the courtyard as both groups looked at each other. Isaac had taken charge, twisting the narrative, and already Hector, as someone with an outside context view to everything, could see what he had achieved.
Both groups were still wary, still worried. However, it was no longer of each other. Their eyes were all on Isaac as he stood in their midst, uncaring.
"The giant," the Lord Commander ground out in barely suppressed anger. "One of my rangers caught a glimpse of what it carried so tightly in its hands. It's a horn. We believe it's the Horn of Winter, a legendary magical artifact the wildlings have been searching for. A horn rumored to possess the ability to bring down the Wall. I'm sure you can understand why that made my rangers... agitated."
Isaac turned to the Free Folk. Ygritte and Tormund stood at their heads. "Is this true?" he asked.
Ygritte turned to Tormund, and he gave a grumble before walking up. "Aye, at least the Others seem to think it is. They've chased after us since we discovered the horn. For days, they hunted my group, killed and turned them, increasing the stress."
"I see," Isaac acknowledged before continuing as he turned to the Lord Commander. "If there was such a complaint, you should have brought the matter to me or Hector, as the stewards in Lord Dracula's absence, instead of taking it upon yourselves. However, your fears and worries are reasonable."
Only then did Hector drop to join the group. He could already see Isaac's play, so he went along with it, speaking up. Immediately, he could tell the way a lot of people immediately untensed. Isaac was making himself more of a monster in their eyes, which made him look nicer, more understandable and human. The stick to Hector's carrot.
"Bringing down the Wall is the wrong answer to this fight. Losing the protection that keeps the world safe means every single person would die, including the Free Folk, even if you escape south. It's only a matter of when. If you bring down the Wall, it would mean death for the rest of the world. I'm sure you understand this." Hector appealed.
Tormund grumbled again before speaking up. "Mance Rayder said as much. The horn was always supposed to be a second resort, a last option for if the bloody crows refused to open the gates and allow us south of the Wall."
Hector nodded in agreement, then continued. "How about an offer, an offer that I'm certain would please both groups, or at least one that is not favorable to either group?" This time he gave Ygritte a glance and gestured toward Tormund with his eyes, a signal to make sure she supported him. She frowned but nodded.
"The Free Folk give up the Horn. We hold onto it, just like we hold onto the Lord Commander's family heirloom. We have no plans to take the Wall down either, yet we understand the way the Free Folk see it as a necessity. They simply refuse to be trapped and killed while the rest of the world hides behind the Wall."
Tormund scowled, and Jeor frowned in response. Hector could see them wavering, yet they needed a final push. Ygritte nudged at Tormund and whispered something in his ear, while Isaac spoke up.
"I have an alternative plan, but I doubt it would be favorable to either group," he said, as he turned back to the man he had cut up only to see that he had bled to death on his knees.
Immediately the Lord Commander spoke up. "I agree with the suggestion!"
Tormund let out a final grumble, then a glare at the Lord Commander before shrugging his massive shoulders. "Aye, I suppose it's for the best we do it like that."
The agreement came just in time, because the sun dipped just over the horizon and one of the men at the walls immediately called out, "The wights are coming!"
A heartbeat later, everyone began to scramble upward, everyone other than Isaac, who began to walk away and back toward the castle with a gesture for the giant to follow him. The giant looked at Tormund, and Tormund said something, causing it to nod as it followed behind Isaac with the cloth-wrapped Horn in hand.
Isaac grabbed the dead man by his hair and began to pull the corpse after him.
"Where are you going?" Hector called out.
"To create reinforcements. Hold the walls before I return, Hector. Master Dracula is watching," he finished as the golden-gilded doors of Castlevania opened up for him and the giant.
Hector frowned in response. He turned around in search of Master Dracula before he finally spotted it, a single bat perched upon a building yet staring at them with all too intelligent eyes, which explained things clearly. Dracula could have returned earlier. Instead, he stayed back, an attempt to see how they would handle this, no doubt. Their first taste of war as his generals.
Well, Hector wasn't going to disappoint him.
