Casltevania fanfic

Chapter one

One Evil, Pint Sized Please

a/n: As my last attempt at humor didn't fly well this is a striaght up attempt. Hopefully it does better. Parody of SOTN

Death really needed to get new help. This was strictly Death's fault, or rather Death's subordinates, which considering… Death was the cause of his subordinates therefore it wasn't Death's fault as it wasn't under Death's orders… But still, Death did pick his help; it was Death's fault that such bumbling imbicales were in the castle…

On second thought, it was Deaths' fault.

Death's and Shaft's.

Looking up –the sheer indignity of having to do so caused his miniscule fangs to gnash- he glared with beady red eyes. Flame filled wasn't a physical possibility, so he substituted with hellfire, indignation, fury , ire, irritation, high dungeon, hatred, and all those other fuzzy, fluffy, feelings that insured his return to the mortal world was heralded by an orgy of mass destruction, genocide, and the like.

Being no higher than the average man's ankle though, it took a lot away from his manic glare though.

Around, about, breaking the oppressive silence, parts splattered. Bits and pieces that had once belonged to the great, immortal (although he was half a mind of his immortality, after all immortals couldn't go splat? Could they?) , Dark King Lord of Vampires, Count Dracula.

In short, him.

Save it wasn't him. Because he was watching the gory mayhem that'd once been his body congeal, dribble off the ceiling, and fall like macabre rain.

Splat. Splat. Thump.

The last was an arm. Death flicked a look at the undead ghostly necromancer, ghostly (well ghosy, actually) old man looked to the grim reaper.

Neither one of them dared to look down, however. Fearlessness was the prerogative of heroes.

"So… umm… S…" Said speaker and catalyst for the present destruction shuffled on clawed feet. "Slogra… he.. uh… went to the caverns to.. to…pick up a pizza…"

On the following quiet that resulted you could hear the congelation of gore as they were twisted into drop by gravities hand.

In short.

Splat… splat.

"Ah… ya know… toppings…" Leathery arms pin wheeling, wings almost flapping, Gabion continued on. "Like.. like… pep… perer im… Death pulled its hood over its face, masking all but the bottom of its mandible. Taking cue from his Master, Gabion breathed out a meek. "Shutting up now."


Feeling Hell only knew how many centuries worth of stress complied with Belmont only kneow )because Belmont only counted)_ how many failed resurrection attempts all at once, he groaned.

Or rather, he squeaked.

"My.. umm... my Lord?"

Cracking open one red eye, Dracula glared at the mas of ectoplasm before his snout.

"I… I believe this … will ah complicate things…"

Fuzzy face furrowed, both eyes opened, the red in them sizzling, Dracula considered; could you bite the undead? How did ectoplasm taste? Before he could find out –and divest his servant of half his face- the ghost floated back.

Just out of each.


"So" The gargoyle-esk Gabion set a claw to the back of his stony head, scraping softly. "What now?"

I kill you all

Well… he'd meant to say that… all that came out was a "Squeak squ" Deaths' head stirred, enough so one eye put was visible. Black met red, understanding was shared in that look.

Oblivious, as always, Shaft tried to look on the bright side. Which was odd, considering he was a dark priest and all…

"We'll just think of it as a puzzle!"

Below gears whirled, chains clinked, someone was riding the lift up.

"A... big puzzle, with many pieces…"

A screaming of steel on steal told one and all the life door had tried to get jammed again. Wincing at hthe unholy racket the bat called Impaller, Dakr Lord, and demonet his wings to his big ears and shuddered.

"But we're all evil masterminds… with masterful minds… so… thi'll be nothing, right? Right!"

Finally, Death spoke, black robes flapping as he strode menacingly up to the undead priest, Scythe in hand.

"If you weren't dead I'd kill you myself."

Boney forefinger, which was actually a bone, moved to poke the sunny dark priest in the chest, as it was Death's hand went about halfway in the poltergeist all accidental.

("Well, this's awkward…" Gabion grumbled.)

Before things could get more awkward a box was thrown into the room. Needless to say it skidded in a bowl of body fluids and came to a stop abutting a pile of red, gooey, noodley something best left unidentified. Spindly hands, claws and scaled in grayish green, gripped the hole in the center of the floor.

Why the summoning chamber had a hole in its exact center, no doors, or basic amenities beyond a carpet were one of the castle's little mysteries.

"Ulhp…" Broad shoulders and a beaky face rose above the hole's lip, gazing at the gory disaster, beak gapped in shock the grip when slack. A thud, followed by a steely scream with overtures of rust warmed one and all that the lift was in action.

Whether that was deliberate, well Slogra's scream warned it probably wasn't.

"So…" Death's hand still imbedded in him, the ghost tried a smile. "A puzzle…"

"Look… look… I found a thigh! We can use this to resurrect lord Dr-ack!"

Gripping subordinate by the scruff of his stony neck, Death hauled him to the edge.

"Find Slogra, some mops, some buckets, and some… bags… then come back. Not before then."

Releasing what he'd caught, with an impressive throw made all the more so by the fact that there were no sinews, muscles, and the like involved, Death stormed across the gory carpet. Stamping and squelching indiscriminately, scythe carelessly sweeping in front of him as he paced. Swearing in languages deader than the dead, he never noticed the squeaky scream as he missed decapitating his Lord's newest body by a hair's breadth.

"This is bad."

Clawed hands pawing his head, for falling fluff, the Dark lord did not correct his underling.

"Very bad."

Or rebuke for redundancy.

"I can't imagine this being worse."

Exploring the small nick behind his ear, a lick of his claws confirmed it to be o positive, the discovery encouraged another taste, and thus Dracula forgot to rebuke about jinxing ones-self.

"A puz…"

Death whirled on the undead, scythe in hand.

"Oh for Lucifer's sake, if I hear one more word about puzzles I swear I'll find a way to bring you back to life just to kill you personally!"

For a while all was quiet, save the soft lick lick of a bat's tongue on claw tips. One moment became two, two three... Finally the silence became known and the Dark Lord came back from a small spat of blood lust with a blush. Death was kneeling before his master. And for a face of bone, it was quite masterfully twisted into a look of contrition and embarrassment.

"My Lord, what would you have us do?"

Fangs gapped open, to say something, all words were forgotten when a gong went off. Not just any old gong, but the gong. The good-doer Belmont clan is coming gong.

Today, Dracula sighed, was going to be a bad day.