A Humble One-Shot Thread

[Humble-Bee]

Welcome.

I'm @Humble H Dweller. This will be where I post every random fanfic idea that sticks in my head long enough to become a short story. Got enough of these that I figured I may as well try posting them, for the practice if nothing else.

As you can see in my sig, I've tried longer works. Didn't work out, sadly, but I grew from the attempts, so they feel like a net positive. I may try a longer fanfic at some point, albeit with much harder limits, maybe even inspired by one of these. I'm also trying to actually finish some original work to attempt publication.

But until then, I'm gonna give shorter stories, including fan-fiction, a serious effort. Thus, here we are.

First thing you should know?

Spoiler: The First Thing

Abandon spoilers, all ye who enter here.

Seriously, though, I don't care about spoilers. At all. Not sure why; hard to put it into words, ironically.

Regardless, I'm letting you know of my apathy towards spoilers because, if you're going to read any of these, you should expect no spoiler sanctity. I'll warn you ahead of time what might be spoiled, though; I'm aware that most don't share my blase attitude on this subject. I'm working on a system that should get across what relationship any particular fan-fic of mine has to their canon material. Once that's done, refer to it if you're in doubt.

Second thing? I get way too many ideas. That's not meant as a boast. I just can't seem to experience a story without thinking of how to change it. Even the few works that I'd describe as "flawless" get this treatment. By this, I don't even necessarily mean improvement; just "change". And whenever I engage a narrative, the resulting story idea tends to be a bit odd. A few stories that may soon get posted here should demonstrate what I'm talking about.

I mention this for two reasons: first, as a warning that there might be weird variety here, and second, as an invitation. If you find my writing decent, feel free to suggest an idea or a work you'd like to see me handle. No guarantees I'll do so, but I'll probably offer an explanation as to why not; I don't mind experimenting.

Third thing? Feedback is one of my vital fluids, along with coffee and blood. Is something [boring/confusing/just plain shitty/just plain weird]? Did I accidentally a [racism/sexism/other assorted -isms]? Am I leaning too hard into a trope? Was there a teeny tiny detail that [drags down/improves/ruins/redeems] a story?

These questions and more, I invite you to answer. If some unlucky story of mine winds up so bad as to classify as a war crime, I should probably know.

That's all for now, though I may add more "things" if something else become relevant.

I meant to publish this along with a first one-shot, both on Halloween, but that's gone to shit now. *shrug* At least I'm no longer under self-imposed pressure to post it fresh out of the oven. I do that a lot, struggling against absurd constraints that only matter to me. I'm trying to get better about that, though. *shrug*

In any case, if this text hasn't scared you away, then please enjoy what little literary merit I have to offer.

 

[Humble-Bee]

Spoiler: Author's Foreword, Read First

Premise: A legend's rage, and the doom it would unleash, is quelled by neither the divine nor demonic, but by the grace of a single man.

Spoilers for Castlevania (animated series, 2017, episode one)

He traveled as a man.

Forgoing even passage by beasts or boats, it was always on foot that he went abroad. Walking the earth, a near-forgotten experience, proved appealing for reasons he couldn't discern. Whether isolation had starved him in more ways than expected, or it was mere satisfaction in pleasing his wife, he didn't know, nor did he wholly want to know. He thought it enough to enjoy these rare days of happiness with her.

Only now, upon returning from another of his journeys, did he realize their foolishness. The wind carried a particular stink, far too familiar to him, one that shouldn't be coming from their home: ash with blood.

Pausing at its scent, he took stock of his surroundings, finding signs of disaster. The fence he'd built, also as a man, was shattered in one section from clear and careless violence. The earth nearby had been marked by steps, too many and too close for them all to be from different groups. At his feet, he noticed drops of blood. That its amount was minuscule did not distract him from the fact that it belonged to Lisa.

He moved on, slightly faster than before, still not daring to think the worse. His temper and distrust of any human other than his wife had resulted in misunderstandings that she'd be slow to forgive at first, and quick to tease later. It remained possible, even plausible, that his greatest fear hadn't come to pass.

Parting overgrown grass, face set in a glare that cowed armies, he ignored the crows that took to flight before him, fighting an urge to expand his senses beyond those of men, to hear past their cawing and see through their storm of feathers. The battle was settled for him as he pushed aside wild shrubbery and beheld his second home, where his wife should've been healing her patients or awaiting his return.

Surprise replaced growing rage and dread, softening his expression and weakening his grip enough that his pack, the only tool he'd bring on such occasions, slipped from numb fingers.

A ruin stood before him. Stone and wood had been sundered, scattered far from their original location. The building could be barely be called that now; its foundations, walls and surrounding structures were spared neither fire nor hammer. Their cottage, a place meant to reconcile their love and her calling, was nothing now, reduced to just another wreck, the latest in his path and one of few that was not his doing.

Through his confusion and pain, he heard footsteps, smelled a human approaching with flowers in hand. Only when they, an old woman not long for this world, asked his identity and spoke of her did he turn to ask his own questions, not wholly keeping anger from his voice. "What happened? Where is my wife?"

To her credit, the woman answered promptly, telling him who was responsible. The Bishop dies tonight. It had been a mistake, one of irrational mercy, to tolerate his continued existence, but Lisa had opposed both his desire to dispose of him and request to relocate, insisting it would hinder her work. Depending on her condition, perhaps more will follow. This must not happen again. And afterward? We shall see.

Already thinking of the battle to come, he ignored the crone's admittedly sympathetic babbling, only paying attention once he had more questions. "Where are they holding her? The cathedral?" He focused wholly on the old woman, still crouched over the flowers she'd brought, and saw real sorrow in her face.

Her reply left him devoid of all thought. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging painfully into his palms, as his usual demeanor of superiority to any Man or Vampire failed him for the first time in public.

"What?"

He was only distantly aware of the woman's words from then on, as his mind focused on a simple truth.

I'm too late…

As the woman turned away from him, seeming to bear her own grief, Vlad Tepes, Son of the Dragon and Lord of Dark, allowed tears of blood to stream from his eyes, silent and unseen. For that brief moment, he let himself lay claim to the humanity he'd long considered beneath him and wept for his love.

But, as the drops trailed across his cheeks, he thought back to what she'd asked of him, long ago, when their courtship had only begun. If you would love me as a man, then live as a man. Travel as a man. And he'd done so, initially at her behest but soon at his own also. He had traveled the way men did.

Slowly.

He raised his hands and stared at his wedding ring, an ordinary item that he'd come to value more than even Castlevania. His fingers curled into fists again, now with enough force to draw blood.

No more…

He turned back to the crone, knowing from her reaction that his face was a ghastly sight. But he could not bring himself to care. It took every sliver of kindness he had left to do his next act in Lisa's name, to spare and warn the woman before him to gather her family and flee Wallachia tonight. But even now, humans seemed determined to disappoint him: the old fool was more frightened than attentive of him.

The earth beneath him burned as flames soon burst into being on his body. Whether she acted or not, what did it matter to him? She would die one way or another, as would all those she had ever known, whether they remained in this land or not.

…No more do I travel as a man.

In a whirlwind of fire, he vanished from his former home, uncaring as to who or what burned as he did.

Manifesting in his study, he left his pack on the floor and approached the pit at the center of the library. At his presence, glass shards within its depths ascended to hover before him, shimmering and whistling as the magical machine awaited an order. Display the city square of Targoviste. Lightning flared between each shard before they fused into a seamless mirror, its surface showing only dark fog. Before finishing the spell, he composed himself, burying his turbulent heart and taming his expression. Not yet. But soon.

The fog faded to reveal another location, its image clearer than human eyes were capable of perceiving. He saw the square from above, as if using the eyes of that God in whose name such injustice was done. The townspeople had gathered around a hastily erected stage, upon which a fire was beginning to die.

There was a single blackened skeleton left there, so thoroughly charred as to render them anonymous.

The sight of his wife's remains infuriated him enough to abandon subtlety. With a second spell, he bid the pyre to obey his will, causing a sudden explosion, weak enough that even the closest human was not so much as singed. In truth, it was only to intimidate them into attention, and did so without exception.

More magic increased his influence. The stage was incinerated by roaring flames, which soon coalesced into the form of a skull, great and inhuman. Through it, he glared at the crowd, soon focusing on the one responsible for her death. The Bishop stood directly before him, seeming afraid yet utterly unrepentant.

"What have you done?" He asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear them say it. A man standing next to the Bishop, one who seemed more important than the average peasant, mistook him for Satan and deepened his displeasure, a feat he hadn't thought possible, considering the depth of his suffering.

Humans only ever surpass the worst of my expectations. He altered the flames to reflect his own visage, an image more terrible than the first. "What have you done to my wife?" The Bishop's only reply was to bring a golden crucifix from his robes and mutter a frantic prayer. Not only a beast, but an idiot as well.

Precious metals made for poor symbols of faith; whatever power his devotion could've conveyed was rendered moot by the usage of earthly wealth. God allowed him to kill my wife? My Lisa, she who loved His pitiful creations more than He ever seemed to? His contempt of divinity reached new depths.

He decided an introduction was in order, to lay bare their transgression. "I am Vlad Dracula Tepes, and you will tell me why this thing has happened to my wife." As he spoke, his visage moved closer to them, heat and fear forcing the crowd to retreat. Yet, none dared leave the area, held hostage by his fury.

The one that misnamed him now looked even more horrified, babbling about his being mere myth. But it was the Bishop who managed to interest him, for the holy man did not respond in any way he had expected.

My servant? What fresh gibberish is this now? As the Bishop addressed the townspeople, insisting that the figure of fire was nothing but another illusion, he noticed several details, overlooked in his outrage: fresh blood in the air and on the earth, some of it Lisa's, but most of it from various men; corpses, piled carelessly on a wagon and all deceased from recent injuries; a conspicuous lack of soldiers in the square.

A possibility came to him, one he hardly dared consider, just as his eyes regarded the charred cadaver below his manifestation. Fighting through fresh pain at the sight, he focused on its skeletal structure.

The body belonged to a male.

For the second time today, his mind seemed incapable of coherent thought. Only now, rather than pain, the state stemmed from sudden hope, like glass in its fragility and beauty. Can it be? Is there a chance…?

His spells were ceased, now that he lacked any reason to focus on the square, and the mirror darkened. Briefly, he saw his reflection, its expression betraying uncertainty, before the machine shattered into countless shards again. As they swirled before him, awaiting another command, he considered how best to proceed, already preparing the device for more magic, only to be interrupted by a knock at his door.

Adrian entered without waiting for permission. By the expression on his face, it seemed he believed that his father was planning revenge. Rather than wait for him to speak, Vlad simply said, "She may yet live." It cost them only seconds while Adrian processed that claim, visibly struggling with hope just as Vlad did, but every moment was precious now. If Lisa truly survived, then they had to find her soon. "Help me."

His blatant desperation surprised them both, but Adrian recovered first, nodding once in assurance before approaching the machine to stand beside Vlad. For the first time in many years, there was not even the slightest discord among them as father and son, vampire and dhampir, labored with magic.

The spell they were using was one of his own design, though so much time had passed since its last use that he did not wholly remember its mechanics. Regardless of his lapse, it perfectly suited their task.

Together, they spoke, their incantation prompting each shard to spin at varying speeds, simultaneously moving along unique orbits. Even the slightest miscalculation would cause them to collide and shatter in spectacular fashion, yet his design was flawless and Adrian understood it almost immediately. Soon enough, they were surrounded by shards in motion, an arcane dance that resembled the outermost cosmos.

Their combined will extended past the room, amplified and directed by Castlevania, until it stretched to the furthest regions of Wallachia, far beyond the distance that ordinary men could travel in a single day.

Creatures of the night, heed our call. And so, they did, every single one across the land. Beasts of both earth and heaven roamed in search of their beloved, each providing a body to use for their own ends. Adrian's affinity with wolves proved fruitful yet again, with entire packs setting off on the hunt, while Vlad commanded both the corvine and the chiropteran to blot out the evening sky in their quest.

Even with so much power at their command, so many beings at their disposal, it took multiple minutes to find Lisa. Upon discerning her precise location, several leagues into the wilderness around Tragoviste, they barely remembered to safely end the spell, lest all beasts involved perish, before setting off. Adrian voiced no protest when Vlad shrouded them in his cloak for travel, still focused entirely on the objective. They journeyed to her position as flames, arriving only a few seconds after their discovery.

They were in a clearing, comparable to countless others he'd come across while wandering. The sun was still setting here, its light causing him a mild discomfort that paled when compared to all his other pains.

He saw Lisa, leaning against a tree, and struggled to make sense of his emotions. She was much too thin, her skin marred by extensive burns as well as bruises and cuts in various stages of healing, and seemed to struggle in walking properly. Yet, when he met her gaze, Vlad saw the same woman who'd unearthed his humanity through sheer strength of spirit; her smile, though strained for the moment, still survived.

He could not recall consciously moving, but somehow found himself close enough to embrace his wife. Safe in each other's arms once again, they cried together, in joy at their reunion and in sorrow of its cost. In that instant, as real tears left his eyes, Vlad Tepes knew happiness that felt unsurpassable.

It was almost ironic, then, that he should be proven wrong so quickly. Adrian approached much slower than Vlad had, not seeming to believe what his eyes told him, until he stood before them. His face set in one of those rare expressions that betrayed his true age, their child did not wait for approval before joining the embrace, only breaking in composure when Lisa touched his hair and spoke his name softly.

He wished that they could remain like that forever; such would be a worthy immortality. But there was something he still needed to address: his wife lived, and his family was whole, yet not because of him.

Only then did he focus on the stranger, propped against the same tree that Lisa had relied on: a human, his descent ambiguous other than not Wallachian, with a disheveled appearance that spoke to the life of a wanderer. The man's injuries were more grievous than Lisa's, though they shared the extensive burns. With his eye closed and so much damage, he seemed dead, but Vlad could hear his heart, still beating, as if it could defy mortality with little more than stubbornness.

Admittedly, it seems he's done just that.

There was no section of the man's body that remained intact. His left arm had been split in two, down to the elbow, while his right hand seemed ravaged from several strikes. His legs were in better condition, though his left had been mauled by sharp jaws while his right foot was swollen and twisted improperly. His chest looked to have been used for target practice: three arrows had hit him from the front, sunk to the mid-shaft; a crossbow bolt was stuck in his left shoulder, its impact having bruised his upper back; finally, what appeared to be part of a spear's handle had torn up his abdomen, leaving insides exposed. Somehow, his head had avoided wounds quite as significant, only showing a broken nose and a right eye that might no longer function.

And yet, despite such a portrait of ruin, the man still breathed. For now.

Vlad's family soon noticed where his attention was, both of them hurrying to address the man's wounds with plants that Lisa had already gathered. He, however, came no closer. Instead, he was content to just listen as his wife explained what occurred.

"He saved me." Lisa's voice managed to both enrage and concern him, hoarse from screaming and weak from smoke exposure, but it seemed to gain strength as she spoke. "He pushed his way past the guards and braved the flames to set me free." Vlad looked at the man's hands again, now noticing the burns on his palms. "I think sheer astonishment kept them from interfering at first. But, once they recovered and tried to stop him, he proved a capable warrior, enough that he fought his way out of that place with me on his shoulder. All these injuries? Earned in our escape from Targoviste. He stopped a knight's sword with his bare hand, just for an opening that won him the fight. He had to break our fall from a building; that's how his foot ended up like that." Adrian shared a look with him, raising a single eyebrow, before refocusing on the healing. "He didn't use any magic or powers; doesn't even seem like a masterful warrior."

Lisa paused in her efforts, now facing him again, seeming overwhelmed. "I think…" He brought a hand to her cheek, careful to keep his nails from her skin, and tried to comfort her. Whether the gesture worked or not, she smiled back. "…I think he's a normal man. Skilled, certainly, but nothing more. And he didn't seem to know either of us." She took his hand in her own, a healer's touch enveloping a killer's claws.

"Vlad." Her saying his name never failed to affect him. Now, it struck a chord that he'd thought severed. "Don't you see? He had no reason to help us, and every reason not to. But he did. Because it was right."

"Lisa…" he began, ready to refute her, only to find he couldn't. At least, not without more information.

His family, having done as much as possible for the man with such basic supplies, stared at him. They seemed to have already made up their minds, now simply waiting for his decision.

It went against his every instinct and inclination. To bring a human into the castle, tolerate a stranger in his family's only remaining home, his ultimate domain? Had they asked it of him that morning, he would have refused without hesitation.

But then, had Vlad been asked if humans understood anything of justice, he would've also answered no. Yet, it seemed such a man, one who could not abide injustice, lay before him, half-dead for the sake of his wife, supposedly a stranger. If the man truly didn't know of them, then wasn't that a selfless deed?

In all my time on this planet, I've known only a single human that didn't act in some form of self-interest, and I married her. I thought Lisa unique, an exception that defied my judgement. Could this be another?

There had to be something selfish to the man's decision to intervene. What it could be, he did not know, nor did he wholly want to know. Regardless, even he felt that the man was owed an immeasurable debt.

"We shall take him with us," he finally said, earning smiles from his family. "But I agree only to save him. Once he wakes, I would prefer he leave the castle promptly." Their clear disappointment drove Vlad to reluctantly add, "If he answers my questions, and catches my interest, I might allow him a longer stay."

Seeming satisfied with that promise, his family held onto his cloak as he took them and their passenger back home, traveling with all those that had kept him a man.

Spoiler: Author's Notes

This is an example of what I meant in "Thing 2". Although I thoroughly enjoyed episode 1, enough to look up more scenes out of context to tide me over until I and my viewing partner continue the series, I latched onto something Dracula said during his confrontation with Adrian.

"There are no innocents! Not anymore! Any one of them could have stood up and said, 'No, we won't behave like animals anymore'."

Well, I could not stop thinking, "what if someone did stand up and, more than say no, take action?" For starters, you don't get the series that ensues from this event. But what would Dracula do, faced with a second example of mankind's virtue? In his eyes, has he not found a man who understands justice? Perhaps the only one that still does?

Hence, the title became clear.

That train of thought led to this story, and I have a few ideas for where it could go from here. Maybe, if they come together properly, I'll spin this off into its thread and make it a series. Whatever happens, I feel fairly content with this story, short and canon-adherent as it may be.