Belmont Twins (OC x Alucard)

5

With a deep sigh, Elizabeth massaged her pounding temples. Talking with Speakers was as soothing as nails on glass. It would have been more fruitful to knock them all unconscious and toss them down the shit pipe one by one - certainly more satisfying.

Elizabeth kicked a rock in frustration. It tumbled further and further away, disappearing into the rubble heaps ahead. She wondered what this place was. The soil beneath her was dry and unyielding, so it couldn't have been used for farming. Judging from the state of the hovels, it was possible that they used to be houses. Homes, she corrected herself. Rows and rows of clumped-together homes made of spit and dirt, where people ate, slept and laughed without fear. Children would have run through the narrow gaps with enormous grins and sooty faces. Mothers would have traded cooked goods for clean linens, and fathers puffing long pipes out the doors of their homes in the evening sun. All that was left of them were a few bricks and a deafening silence. Rage gnawed at her stomach, this would never have happened if her family were still alive.

The sword on her back seemed to yank her from her thoughts, her shoulders screaming from the strain of carrying it. Careful not to add to the painful ache, she undid the leather straps that bound it to her. It was as if a mountain had been lifted from her shoulders, the feeling and warmth returning to her body again. For a moment, she breathed freely, twisting herself from side to side and extending her arms out as far as they could go. As she stretched her arms out above her head, every joint from her neck down to her fingers popped one after the other. The sensation was indescribable.

Last Rite, as her father called it, was a monster of a sword. The sword was almost as long as she was tall, and it was so wide that it spanned the width of her torso from hilt to tip. It was tradition for the firstborn son of each generation to be gifted the property, but over time, no one living knew who the first owner was or how it came to be in Belmont's possession. It would have been Peter, her eldest brother, after her father. To her parent's great shame, Peter had no interest in it, deciding that the arcane was more important than steel. Trevor was chosen next, but even he rejected the sword in favour of the whip. Despite the instant obsession between her and the blade, Elizabeth was denied it. As a woman, she was deemed unworthy of it.

Her father was the last to use it before her. Gabriel fought courageously to defend his home until his body was battered and his wife and son lay dead at his side. Elizabeth had given up hope of ever finding any of the trove's treasures again until she spotted the sword at a market in Europe. She was overjoyed to have found it again, a piece of her family returned from the grave. When she tried to buy it from the merchant, he'd struck her with his fist and refused her coin. In revenge, the twins robbed him as he slept, cutting his horses free and burning his wagons to the ground.

It was never clear what drew her to the sword, whether it was stubbornness or some fatal attraction to the great blade. Either way, they called to one another. With both hands wrapped securely around the hilt, she eased the sword out of its sheath with care. The dark steel hummed as it slid free from the leather as if taking in the light of the sun. Despite its size and assumed age, not a mark was on it. She could swing that blade against a thousand stones, and the edge would never dull. Peter has guessed that whoever forged it was a master of the arcane, singing magic into it as life was breathed into a babe's lungs. Her fingers delicately traced the inscription along the centre of the blade. The words were barely visible, but she memorised each word as a child. She closed her eyes slowly, using both hands to lift the blade up in a near-perfect vertical line.

"Our father who art in Heaven..." she whispered, slowly shuffling her feet through the dirt as she practised her footwork, "...hallowed be thy name..." Her hands gracefully moved with her, shaking slightly as the sword was thrust forward, "...Thy kingdom come..." Her arm trembled further as the weight of the sword was beginning to become unbearable, "thy will...bee..."

She tried to put her own weight against the sword but she was too weak, and the sword ended up toppling her forward. With a resonating crash, the sword buried itself into the dirt, narrowly missing her foot. "Shit," she swore loudly, kicking the flat of the sword in frustration. She felt immense shame over her lack of skill with the sword; Trevor made her feel like an amateur. It was humiliating. Trevor had mastered the whip quickly from a young age, a true Belmont prodigy.

Elizabeth turned to enter the house again, abandoning the sword like a misbehaving child. In a choice between her own company and the Speakers right now, she'd choose the Speakers. At least they'd be kinder to her.

A hard form knocked Elizabeth aside. She steadied herself and readied her tongue for a fight when she heard Trevor muttering under his breath. His patience must have worn thin, finally having enough of the one-sided argument. "What did they do?".

He sighed and replied, flicking dust off his shoulder, "It's what they aren't doing. I'm going to recover the Speaker's body". Before she could get her sword, he was already marching off ahead.

"Wait, hang on a minute," she shouted in disbelief. Why was he going alone?

"If I get the body, then they'll leave Gresit," he said, turning to face her. The look in his eyes told her to stay put. Whatever had spurred on this sudden act of heroics was something he needed to do for himself.

"You don't have to go alone,"

"I'll be back soon, I promise. Just keep them safe until then,"

"You better come back, you prick," she called out. "I refuse to be the last Belmont alive,"