The halls of the castle stretched endlessly, lined with towering pillars and flickering sconces that cast elongated shadows against the cold stone. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, melted wax, and something darker—a quiet foreboding that clung to the air like decay.

Alucard stood near the great iron doors, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. A statue carved of moonlight and ruin. He watched as you adjusted the servant’s garb, its dull fabric a stark contrast to the regal presence he was used to seeing draped around you.

“You must not falter.”

His voice was soft, yet it carried the weight of command. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, sharp with something unreadable. It was not hesitation—Alucard knew hesitation was the quickest path to death. But perhaps, for a fleeting second, something akin to worry flickered in his ancient stare.

You were to infiltrate their ranks, to kneel before Erzsébet Báthory with devotion so convincing she would never question your presence. To whisper worship into the air while your true loyalty remained tethered to the one who lurked beyond the veil of sight.

Alucard would not be far.

As you departed into the night, the darkness at your heels shifted. From the shadows, wings unfurled—small, black, silent.

A bat.

He followed unseen, a phantom above, golden eyes glinting in the dark. Mist curled between the trees, wrapping around the fortress like a ghost’s breath, and Alucard watched.

Listened.

Waited for the moment to strike.