CASTLEVANIA: DIRGE OF TWILIGHT

chapter 4

Maki sat alone in the campfire, every passing silence. She can't help but worry for the Isamu Twins. They had been away for a while now, an hour had passed. She just sighed, praying that they would return safe and unharmed. She sat in silence until she heard Torajiro's familiar voice grunting and the sound of footsteps on the grass. The duo soon arrived, Torajiro dragging Sugita by the hand as Cerberus panted.

"found anything?" Maki asked as she sat up, waiting in anticipation.

"Yeah, we didn't hunt, though. Because if yeah we would have been arrested or something." Torajiro said with a shrug. "But we did find something good, Wall Chicken." he summoned a talisman saying "倉" which means "storage" or "storehouse" before he opened his mouth to speak. "Summon the Wall Chicken I stored there near the campfire."

There was a flash of light before a plate with a newly-cooked roast chicken appeared near the campfire, it smells heavenly. "Guess that's dinner," Maki said with a soft chuckle.

They finished eating and soon went to their respective tents. Torajiro lay inside his sleeping bag, staring up at the tent. He struggles to sleep a lot, this started when he was about fourteen years old. He continued to stare up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed by it... His thoughts drifted off to the other vampire hunter that would join them soon. Though he is quite worried they may be a traitor, Torajiro has trust issues towards strangers. After what felt like thirty minutes, he was slowly dozing off into sleep...

An elderly man confidently sat in a dimly lit room, clad in black robes. His Italian heritage was sent, with a lightly shaved beard and a deeply intense expression on his face as his eyes read through the sea of words in the book. The elderly man smiled as he looked around the room, admiring the horrific images displayed on the walls. He chuckled softly as he took in the sight of the gruesome visuals, feeling a strange sense of pleasure from the fear-inspiring sight, this feeling is never foreign to him.

The room was dimly lit, only a few candles illuminating the area, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The elderly man sat confidently on his chair, his head tilted slightly as if daring someone to challenge him. He looked every bit the part of a cult leader, his dark robes adding to his intimidating presence. "Ah, perfection," he muttered to himself, his voice low and gravelly. He ran a hand through his lightly shaved beard, his eyes flickering with excitement. The man felt a sense of power and control as he sat amidst the horrifying images, knowing that he held the lives and minds of his followers in his grasp.

Suddenly, a hooded cultist walked into the room, his head bowed low in respect. He approached the elderly man, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Master, I have news."

The man turned his gaze towards the cultist, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Speak," he commanded.

The cultist hesitantly fidgeted with his robe, clearly nervous in the presence of the powerful cult leader. "There's been an... incident," he finally managed to speak.

The man's expression darkened at the mention of an incident. "What kind of incident?" he asked, his voice cold.

The cultist swallowed hard, his fear evident in his voice. "One of the sacrificial lambs... he escaped."

The man's eyes widened in surprise and annoyance, his composure faltering for a moment. "Escaped? How did that happen?" he demanded angrily, rising to his feet.