He had underestimated his burning drive. Simon arrived at the rusted gates that encircle the field in front of the castle within fourty minutes. He had stopped here, and was staring at the old metal barrier for a good minute or two. It was as if passing the partition was the point of no return. Once inside, he would have to walk through a makeshift graveyard, and then past that gaping maw of a portcullis… he looked up at the castle. It looked all the more evil with the sun sinking behind it, as if were eating the sun itself. Simon unlatched the buckle on his short sword. He took a deep breath and pushed on the gate. It opened with the most god-awful screeching and stayed open, as some kind of invitation for another victim. He stood there, not wanting to take that first step…

A cold and uncaring wind rushed him forward. He took a step. The wind died ever so slightly. He cleared the gate and headed for the portcullis. And he was pretty sure that it wasn’t his imagination… but the ground beneath his feet now felt different. It felt as if he were trespassing on it, like it was forbidden. Simon had to fight his growing sense of uneasiness. He scanned the area around him. In the dying light, he could see countless headstones, crosses and statues. Most were broken and moved. All of them had the markings of time. A long time. Like this castle and its surroundings were centuries old when this none of this had been here the previous summer. He walked among the dirt and chips of stone and broken statues.

All at once there were organized stone basins outlining the path to the portcullis. With a quick glance, Simon would say that they were recently lit, yet there is no sign of any human life being here for… a very long time. He actually considered that he was the first human to walk here for about as long as the castle had been abandoned. He stopped directly in front of the portcullis, not wanting in particular to have to walk under it. Simon knew that it was rusted and that it probably would never fall, but as he looked, it seemed much more alive than an ancient grating. Like it might just chew him like some hellish maw. The last rays of light started to catch up to him, as if the sun itself wanted him to go inside. He heard a noise…

Simon pivoted and drew his dagger. He tensed his large, well built frame to listen for any sounds. The edge of the graveyard was now under the darkness, and it was hard to make out what had made the noise. He could see motion in there. He heard a noise like a slow clawing of the earth. There he could see a figure. Then another and another. They were dressed in old clothes of a time long since passed, and as they started crawling out of the earth closer and closer to the castle, he could make out definant faces, but he wished that he couldn’t. Simon could see sockets and skulls, yet some were still very meaty. He could see missing teeth, ribs, and wretchedly-clawed hands… He watched the mob of the undead slowly approaching. Simon’s brain kick-started and knew he would have to do something. He looked up once again at the portcullis, held his breathe and ran under.

Getting used to the darkness already, Simon looked at the portcullis, thinking there must be a way to close it… His eyes followed the chain to a huge cog that was used raise and lower the monstrous grate. He looked again to the army of the undead that were crawling their way to the entrance. Simon ran towards the ancient brake. He booted the weathered wooden gear with enough force to rip it’s metal bolts from the stone floor. Like some coiling snake, the chain sped away under the intense weight of the portcullis. It slammed down just as the undead were not five feet from the gate. It thundered into the ground, shaking Simon’s bones and deafening him for a second. The undead pressed up against the wall of bars and were squeezing claw-shaped hands in between, trying to swing across an impossible distance to claw the life out of Simon’s body.

Even though it was only a good scare, Simon felt as though his soul had been shaken down to it’s very core. How was someone to handle things such as this? He leaned against a stone wall, and stared at the undead, clawing and biting each other. If this were just the beginning… what would be next? But who else would have a chance at fighting the master of the castle? He remembered clearly the night that he proved to be the one….

Since Simon had been banished from his hometown, he decided to make himself useful instead of feeling hatred all the time. In just a few short weeks, Simon used his supernatural powers for something constructive. He built a home. He toiled on his work non-stop. His father did some of the hunting to try and leave him all the time he could muster to build the cottage. Simon just wanted a place for his father to live comfortably. While they had to spend many nights under the stars and with only a campfire to keep watch, he and his father were fairly happy at this time. And Simon didn’t get to sleep sometimes. He worked with such passion and tenacity that he would see the sun rise, set and rise again before getting a few hours rest. But even then he didn’t sleep much. He knew he would not sleep well until hit cottage was built.

Soon after it was completed and he was satisfied his father would be fine without him for a few hours and since they desperately needed supplies, Simon took what little money they had and disguised himself as a beggar. He would have to walk to town. They had to sell their horses as they had no money to tend to them. Simon welcomed the chance to get some exercise. He liked running and did so for about an hour, and he wasn’t even winded when he reached the outskirts of town. He passed by his old house, which by now was just a blackened shadow on the ground. He sighed and kept running.

He passed under the town sign and looked about. Houses were boarded up and there was no one to be seen. The stables he had visited a while back were there and the young boy who was now about thirteen was working there still, tending to a horse. Simon approached the boy. He turned, startled. "W-w.. What can I help you with, sire?" Simon peered to the left then the right. He leaned closer and drew back his hood to let the boy see his face. The boy actually seemed happy to see the Belmont. Simon shook his hand. "I am very glad to see that you are still alive and well, master Belmont. I had heard of your being exiled and I was sad to see you treated like that. And are you faring well now?" Simon shook his head slightly. "My father and I are now living in a cottage that I have built with my own two hands. I came to town to see if I could buy some provisions, but now I see that everyone looks like they are fleeing town. Why is that?" The boy stared, and seemed to whiten ever so slightly.

"I have heard many stories and yet I have even seen some of them with mine own eyes! The dead walk the earth at night." The boy waited a heartbeat to see how Simon reacted. Simon just shook his head.

"Tell me more, young man." He cleared his throat and continued on. "Some important people in this very town have gone missing. All that was found of them the next day were their dead horses. And the mares seem to have been sucked of their life! People had been saying that it’s a string of deranged murders, but they haven’t seen what I have..." The boy’s eyes were ringed with worry. "One night I was walking home late and by the light of the full moon I witnessed one. I saw a man who was hunched over, and he was eating something. It turned out to be a dog. And when he heard me, he turned and gave me chase! His face was nothing more that a skull little flesh. I ran until I couldn’t run more…. Just when he bore down on me, I pulled out my cross and said a prayer to Mary. I was so scared my eyes closed. When I opened them, the thing was gone."

Simon looked about. "And I assume that now others have seen what you have?" The boy gulped. "Yes, and they are scared out of their minds. Just seeing one of these creatures is enough to scare the life out of anyone!" The boy seemed to be sweating now. He wiped his brow. "But I think I may know why this is happening…." The boy looked about to make sure no one saw them. He led Simon to the back of the barn, where he had a small desk. He opened a drawer, and lit a lantern. He produced a book with the same symbol as the one on his father’s armor. Quite an old book. He turned the opened book to Simon. There he saw a sketch of a tall man, dressed in rich clothing and had a look of hatred. His eyes followed the paragraph under the picture.

"It has been told that when one rejects god and embraces evil, one becomes a creature of the night. One man who had done so was a man by the name of Dracula, and he was a vampire. Some say he was the first and also the most powerful. Even in death, he was so powerful that he could resurrect himself every one hundred years. His first documented appearance was in 1475 where it has been told that Dracula had tried to take over Walachia. A young woman who was a vampire hunter thwarted his plans. Her name was Sonia Belmont." Simon re-read the line. The brave young woman bore his family name. He shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around this new development. "Yes, there are always stories about Dracula and his evil reign over our region, but I had always considered them just made up stories." The boy urged him to read on.

"1492. Dracula’s minions wished him to be resurrected early. Through unnatural and unholy means, they brought him back to life. By the time he had came to full power, Sonia had grown older and her son, Trevor was sent to deal with this evil. With the combined forces of Trevor, a pirate, a mystic and an unknown man in black, Dracula had been bested once again." Simon had heard that his great-great-grandfather had been a man named Trevor, but he knew little else about his family history. It had been kept secret from him for, now he realized his own protection. He flipped a few pages more. A heading was simply ‘Belmont.’

There was a detailed family tree, and it showed even Simon in this book. He was the last in the line. "While it has been known that the Belmont clan has powers, the nature of these gifts is always a mystery. It seems that the clan has been forced to deal with the forces of darkness, with or without their wishes. And typically normal men would fear and be ignorant of the Belmont’s gifts. No Belmont has yet been able to live among men without scorn." Simon looked at the boy. "Where did you find this book? It seems to be a family heirloom."

The boy looked at the floor. "The.. the day that your house had been torched, it had been first looted. And this book had fallen off the cart that carried all your goods. I made sure to take it and keep it safe, because it seems valuable to you." A smile flashed over Simon’s features. "Thank you, young man. You are the only person I know I can trust." The boy nodded and then gestured to the book. "Keep it, it’s yours after all. It may come in handy…." With a nod, Simon turned to go. The boy caught his hand and placed a necklace in it. Simon turned and looked at it. It was a small cross. He started to give it back, but the boy insisted he keep it. "For the dead move fast……"

A moaning brought Simon out of his mind. Without realizing it, he had watched the dead search for another victim. There were still those that believed the gate would rise at any time, so they stayed there and were contend to claw the air, eager for their first warm meal in a century. He looked around the small room. This dark and crumbling room sported no other artifacts other than a destroyed chain wheel for raising the gate. The moon could be seen by a small window space in the left wall. A zombie passed by the window and put a wickedly clawed and bony hand into the space. It looked directly into Simon’s eyes with hatred that all undead have for the living. It then moved on, content to moan and shuffle away. There was a door in front of him. A solid wooden one at that. He grabbed the metal ring, sure to have his whip ready.