If These Walls Could Talk

"Burn"

"Do you see the Castle?"
"Take a look."
"Good. Keep Focused on it. I have to be able to see it to put my intent on it."
"Your intent?"
"That's all magic is, Alucard. Changing things in accordance with my intent.
"And my intent is to drag that grotesque thing here."

******

Castlevania doesn't like being controlled.

Does not answer to anyone but Dracula. However reluctant it may be to obey certain orders, it will always do what its master wishes. It isn't sure it wants this war, to be an instrument of this war, but it will be damned if it doesn't fight for him.

Its most base instinct and desire has always been to protect its master. That's what it was at the beginning; just a shield. Not a home, or a haven, or a cozy place to raise one's kids. It didn't always have wants and musings of its own. Once it was just walls. Walls there to keep out the elements—both the cold, and the hot—not to mention the mobs. Once it was just walls; before someone started talking to them. Even if it can't be a sword in this war, it will always be its master's shield.

So when it feels intent creep in with jagged, electric claws from all sides, pulling, dragging it somewhere unknown where its master didn't tell it to go, wrapping around its motor functions with blue-hot fingers—too much like the hand around the Rooms throat—a command that doesn't belong to its master, it must not, will not obey. Dracula said to stay put, and whether here is a good place to be; whether he was coerced into placing Castlevania there for the sake of a little silence; and if Dracula is in his right mind, are moot points, because it was Dracula who said it.

There has been too much pain, too much betrayal, too many silver words, too many other voices trying to sway Dracula, and too many times the Castle wanted to beg its master to listen, listen closer, unable to do a thing to stop the collapse they set in motion.

Today, today has been too much. Carmilla's parasitic rhythm fulfilled. Even now, battering rams against the door—but this time it is the vampires, not the humans, who want to tear its king from its throne, the thumping of heavy hearts against the door, and there is nothing Castlevania can do but sit there and hope its door is strong enough.

Her soldiers, a swarm of bees after their queen, and the buzzing is far too loud in its halls, louder than its ever been. The Castle is overwhelmed, so when this other force grasps Castlevania itself, as if molesting it, it is too much to bear. Castlevania isn't just obeying orders anymore, it is angry.

Blood in the halls and the sound of metal against metal. The buzzing turning to stinging. The war has arrived in the war room.

Isaac runs to Dracula to tell him what the Castle—(and perhaps Isaac himself)— knew all along; that they had been betrayed.

Dracula has so little strength to fight so Castlevania must do what castles are made for: protect him, fight his battles for him, be his sword and shield and armor all at the same time. His reflection, which can better fight for him.

It may not quite believe in what its fighting for, but Castlevania has a will, and has been sick of all this for far too long. Too many motives fighting for control, too many voices winning out over its master. So desperately it wanted to fight, to talk, to beg its master not to listen, but it couldn't. With everything else that happened it had to sit and watch and beg that someone else would fight.

Castlevania doesn't like feeling useless, only able to listen.

It's been feeling this for far too long.

Castles are built to protect their masters. Built to keep the arrows, the fire, the canons, and the worst of words from finding their mark. But Castlevania moves, and the arrows, the canons, the fire, and the words are all already inside. And no one dares try to move the Castle itself.