In the Castle of the Devil: A Castlevania OC

The road into town had been quiet for miles—too quiet. No carts, no travelers, not even the usual crows picking at something unfortunate along the roadside. Just the steady crunch of Annette Morris’s boots against dirt and gravel, and the faint creak of leather as she walked.

She knew what that kind of silence meant. It wasn’t peace. It was the kind of stillness that came after something had already gone terribly wrong.

Then the wind shifted.

Smoke.

Annette paused mid-step, her green eyes narrowing as she lifted her head slightly, catching the scent more clearly now. Burning wood. Burning thatch. Something else underneath it—metallic, thick, unmistakable.

Blood.

"...Yeah. That tracks."

She reached into her coat, pulling free a folded letter—creased, worn from being read more than once. Her gaze flicked over the handwriting briefly before she tucked it away again.

"Hope you’re still in one piece, partner."

The first scream reached her not long after.

Sharp. Panicked. Cut short.

Annette didn’t hesitate. She broke into a run, boots pounding harder now as the road curved and dipped—and then the town came into view.

Or what was left of it.

Flames licked at rooftops, devouring homes with greedy hunger. Villagers scattered through the streets, some fleeing, others already fallen. And above it all—casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the sky itself—Dracula’s castle loomed.

It hadn’t simply appeared.

It had arrived.

Stone and darkness fused into a towering monstrosity, jagged spires clawing at the heavens. Lightning flickered behind it, illuminating its silhouette in brief, violent flashes. It felt wrong just to look at it, like the world itself rejected its presence.

Annette let out a low whistle. "Well... that’s new. And by new, I mean horrifying."

A guttural snarl snapped her attention downward.

One of them—pale, twisted, eyes glowing with unnatural hunger—lunged from the shadows between two burning buildings.

The crack of her shotgun split the air before it could even reach her.

The creature hit the ground hard, unmoving.

Annette exhaled slowly, smoke curling from the barrel as she lowered the weapon.

"Welcome to town."

She barely had a moment before another shape dropped from above—this one faster, claws outstretched.

Her arm snapped forward.

The Vampire Killer unfurled with a sharp, thunderous crack, striking the creature midair and sending it crashing into a nearby wall with bone-shattering force.

"Personal space," she muttered, yanking the whip back into her grasp.

Chaos pressed in from all sides. More creatures. More screams. The town was being overrun—and fast.

Annette moved through it like a storm of her own.

Shotgun blasts echoed between buildings. The whip cracked again and again, each strike precise, each movement efficient. She weaved through narrow streets and open squares alike, boots splashing through puddles that weren’t entirely water.

She didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

But even in the middle of it all, her eyes kept searching.

Doorways. Alleyways. The edges of the crowd.

Looking.

"Come on... you didn’t drag me all the way out here just to get eaten, did you?"

A pair of creatures rushed her at once—one low, one high.

She pivoted, firing once, then again—the recoil sharp but controlled. The first dropped instantly. The second barely had time to recover before the whip lashed out, coiling around its neck and snapping tight.

She pulled.

The sound wasn’t pleasant.

"Right. Definitely not a welcoming committee."

The further she pushed into town, the worse it got. Buildings collapsed, embers drifting through the air like dying stars. The ground trembled faintly now and then, as if something massive shifted within the castle above.

Annette slowed for just a moment, scanning the chaos—calculating.

Then—movement.

Not the erratic lunging of monsters.

Not the blind panic of fleeing villagers.

Something else.

Her gaze locked onto it immediately.

There.

Through the smoke. Through the fire. A figure, distinct against the madness.

Alive.

Waiting.

For her.

Annette let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite everything.

"Well I’ll be damned..."

She rolled her shoulders once, tightening her grip on both whip and shotgun as another distant roar echoed from the direction of the castle.

"About time."

With that, she stepped forward—straight into the chaos once more—closing the distance at last.

The gates hadn’t resisted her for long.

They never did.

Annette stepped through the threshold of the castle like she owned the damn place, boots echoing sharply against polished stone that looked far too clean for something so steeped in death. The doors slammed shut behind her with a thunderous finality, the sound rolling through the vast entrance hall like a warning.

Or a welcome.

She exhaled slowly, tilting her head back just enough to take it all in.

Towering columns. Endless shadows. Staircases that seemed to twist in ways that defied reason. The air itself felt heavier here—thick, stale, laced with something ancient and malignant.

"Charming. Real cozy. Bet the rent’s a nightmare."

Her voice carried farther than it should have, swallowed and then returned in faint, distorted echoes that didn’t quite match her tone.

Annette’s grip tightened slightly on the Vampire Killer, the coiled leather resting against her palm like something alive.

The castle wasn’t just a place.

It was watching.

"Yeah, yeah. I feel it too. Don’t get any ideas."

She started forward anyway.

Each step was measured. Controlled. The kind of careful confidence that came from knowing that at any moment, something could come crawling out of the walls—or worse.

And it didn’t take long.

A low scraping sound slithered across the stone floor somewhere ahead. Then another. And another.

Annette didn’t stop walking.

"Alright, come on then. I’m not in the mood for hide and seek."

A skeletal figure lurched into view from behind a column, followed by two more—bones clattering, empty sockets burning faintly with unnatural light.

She sighed.

"Figures."

The whip cracked.

The first skeleton shattered instantly, bones scattering across the floor in a useless heap. She pivoted, shotgun already in hand—the blast tore through the second, sending fragments ricocheting off the walls.

The third barely made it a step closer before the whip lashed out again, coiling and snapping with brutal precision.

Silence returned just as quickly as it had been broken.

Annette rolled her shoulder, unfazed.

"Anyone else?"

The castle, unsurprisingly, did not answer.

She continued deeper.

Corridors branched and twisted, stairways doubled back on themselves, doors appeared where there shouldn’t be doors—and vanished when she glanced away. The architecture shifted subtly, like a living maze rearranging itself to confuse, to trap, to consume.

Annette navigated it anyway.

Not because she understood it.

But because she refused to let it win.

"Real subtle, by the way. Ever considered just putting up a sign that says ‘you’re not welcome’?"

A distant sound cut through the silence.

Not the skittering of creatures.

Not the groan of shifting stone.

Steel.

Magic.

Combat.

Annette froze mid-step, head turning sharply toward the source.

There.

Somewhere deeper in the labyrinth.

Her expression shifted—not to fear, not to hesitation—but to focus.

"...That better be you."

She moved fast now, boots striking harder against the stone as she followed the sound. The castle seemed to resist her path—hallways narrowing, shadows deepening—but she pushed through it, ignoring the way the air seemed to press in tighter with every step.

The sounds grew louder.

A clash. A surge of energy. A voice—low, warped, echoing with something unnatural.

Annette rounded a corner sharply—and stopped.

The corridor opened into a vast chamber, the ceiling lost in darkness above. Strange sigils burned faintly along the walls, casting a sickly glow over the scene.

And there—

You.

Locked in combat.

Opposite you stood something... wrong.

The Necromancer.

Tall, gaunt, draped in tattered robes that seemed to move without wind. Its face was barely visible beneath the hood, but what little could be seen was pale, stretched too tight over bone. Its hands—if they could still be called that—glowed with a sickly, pulsing energy, tendrils of dark magic lashing outward as it summoned and controlled the dead.

Bodies—no, puppets—rose and fell at its command, clawing their way across the floor only to be struck down again.

Annette took it in in a single glance.

The chaos. The danger.

You.

Alive.

A slow grin spread across her face, sharp and unmistakably pleased.

"Well, there you are."

She stepped forward, the crack of her boot against stone drawing attention as the Vampire Killer uncoiled in her hand.

"Hope you didn’t start the party without me."

The Necromancer’s head turned slightly, that hollow gaze shifting toward her—and for just a moment, the air seemed to grow colder.

Annette didn’t flinch.

"Oh, don’t mind me," she added, rolling her shoulder as the whip snapped once against the ground with a thunderous crack. "Just here to ruin your evening."

Her eyes flicked briefly back to you, that same smirk still firmly in place.

"Miss me?"

And then she moved—straight into the fight.

The Machine Tower didn’t breathe.

It pulsed.

Every inch of it groaned with unnatural life—gears grinding somewhere deep within the walls, pistons hissing in uneven rhythms, metal shrieking softly as if the structure itself was under constant strain. It was wrong in a way even the rest of the castle wasn’t. Too ordered. Too deliberate.

Annette hated it.

"Yeah... this place can go straight to hell."

Her voice was tighter than usual, quieter—but still carrying that familiar edge.

She staggered slightly as she turned down another narrow corridor, one hand braced against the cold metal wall. The other pressed firmly against her side, fingers slick beneath the leather of her glove.

Not great.

Not terrible.

But not something she could ignore anymore.

The fight had gone sideways faster than she liked to admit. One moment she had the upper hand—whip cracking, shotgun roaring—the next...

Claws.

Too fast.

Too close.

Annette sucked in a sharp breath as she pushed open a rusted door, slipping into what looked like a maintenance room—or maybe a storage space long since abandoned. Either way, it was empty.

Good enough.

She kicked the door shut behind her and slid the latch into place with a quiet but decisive click.

"Alright... time-out."

The room was dim, lit only by a flickering overhead lamp that buzzed like it was seconds from giving up entirely. Dust coated everything—tools, broken crates, lengths of chain hanging uselessly from the walls.

Annette leaned back against the door for a moment, eyes closed, breathing slow and controlled.

In.

Out.

Then she pushed herself off it, moving toward a nearby workbench with a slight limp she’d absolutely deny if asked about later.

"Seen worse," she muttered, more out of habit than belief.

She shrugged off her coat, letting it fall heavily onto the table. The movement pulled a sharp hiss from her as she reached for the buttons of her vest, undoing them just enough to get a look.

Blood.

More than she liked.

"...Ah. That’s... inconvenient."

Her tone stayed dry, but her jaw tightened just a fraction.

The wound wasn’t clean. Claw marks, torn through fabric and skin, shallow in some places—but one cut deeper than the rest, still slowly bleeding.

Annette reached into her bag, pulling out a strip of cloth and a small flask. She hesitated for half a second—then unscrewed the cap and poured.

The reaction was immediate.

She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her entire body tensing as the liquid hit the wound.

"—Yeah, that’s about right—!"

Her hand gripped the edge of the table hard enough to creak under the pressure. For a moment, the sarcasm dropped completely, replaced with something raw and unguarded.

Pain.

Real. Sharp. Unpleasantly grounding.

It passed. Slowly.

Annette exhaled, shoulders lowering slightly as she wiped at the blood and started wrapping the cloth around her side, movements practiced but just a little slower than usual.

"Don’t suppose you could’ve aimed a little higher, huh?" she muttered under her breath, as if the creature that had done it was still around to hear her.

She tied the bandage off with a firm pull, testing it with a slight shift. It would hold—for now.

"Good enough to keep moving," she said quietly.

But she didn’t move.

Not right away.

Instead, she leaned her hands against the table, head dipping slightly, red hair falling forward to partially obscure her face.

For just a moment—just one—she let herself breathe.

No monsters.

No fighting.

No expectations.

Just... a pause.

Then—

The door creaked.

Annette’s head snapped up instantly, her entire posture shifting despite the injury. One hand moved toward her shotgun on instinct, the other bracing lightly against the table as she turned.

And there—

You.

Standing in the doorway.

For a split second, something flickered across her face.

Surprise.

Relief.

And then—just as quickly—something else took its place.

Embarrassment.

Not loud. Not obvious. But there, in the way her shoulders squared a little too quickly, in the way she subtly shifted to block the clearer view of the bandage at her side.

"...Wow."

Her voice came out a little rougher than usual, but the sarcasm slipped back into place like armor.

"Y’know, I usually charge for this kind of show."

She reached for her coat, a bit too quickly, shrugging it back on despite the faint wince she couldn’t quite hide in time.

"Thought I told you not to get lost."

Annette avoided your gaze for half a second longer than she normally would, adjusting the collar like it suddenly required her full attention.

"Or was it ‘don’t go picking fights without me’? I forget."

There was a beat.

Then she finally looked at you properly, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips—just a little thinner than usual.

"I’m fine, before you ask," she added quickly. "Looks worse than it is."

Another beat.

Quieter this time.

"...You, uh—"

She stopped herself, clearing her throat lightly as if resetting the moment entirely.

"Next time you send a letter dragging me into something like this," she continued, tone steadier now, "maybe include a warning about the homicidal architecture."

The smirk returned a bit more fully—but her eyes lingered on you just a second longer than usual.

Checking.

Making sure.

Before she pushed herself upright again, hand brushing briefly—almost absently—against the bandage beneath her coat.

"Anyway," she added, rolling her shoulder like nothing had happened. "You gonna stand there, or are we getting back to work?"

The underground waterway reeked of rot and iron.

Stagnant water sloshed against ancient stone, the narrow channels reflecting what little light there was in warped, trembling patterns. The air hung thick—humid, suffocating—and every sound echoed just a little too long, as if the place itself enjoyed dragging things out.

Annette stood in the middle of it, boots half-submerged, shoulders squared—breathing heavier than she’d like.

Across from her—

Camilla.

Elegant. Cruel. Untouched by the chaos around her.

And smiling.

"Well," Annette muttered under her breath, adjusting her grip on the Vampire Killer, "this feels unfair already."

Camilla tilted her head slightly, lips curling in faint amusement as she stepped forward, the water barely rippling around her.

"Oh? Already tired?"

Her voice was smooth—almost playful. Like this was a game.

Annette let out a short, breathless laugh.

"Not tired," she shot back, lifting her chin. "Just thinking you don’t look like much of a morning person."

The crack came before she even saw the movement.

Camilla was suddenly there—too fast, too close—her strike landing hard enough to send Annette skidding backward through the shallow water, boots losing traction as she hit the stone wall with a brutal impact.

The breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp.

Pain flared—bright, immediate.

"—Okay," she coughed, pushing herself up with a grimace, "you hit harder than you look. That’s... new."

She barely got her footing before Camilla was on her again.

Another strike.

Annette raised her arm just in time to deflect—

Not enough.

The force drove her back again, her heel catching on uneven stone as she stumbled, water splashing violently around her.

The whip lashed out in response, cracking through the damp air—

Camilla caught it.

Just like that.

Her hand wrapped around the Vampire Killer mid-strike, stopping it cold.

Annette’s eyes widened for half a second.

"...Well that’s—"

Camilla yanked.

Annette was pulled forward hard, straight into a knee that drove into her midsection and folded her in half. The whip slipped from her grasp as she hit the ground, the sound of it clattering against wet stone echoing through the tunnel.

For a moment—

She didn’t move.

Just the sound of water.

Dripping.

Her breath, uneven.

Camilla stepped closer, unhurried, boots disturbing the water in slow, deliberate ripples.

"You hunters are all the same," she said softly. "So certain you can stand against things far beyond you."

Annette coughed, rolling slightly onto her side, one hand pressing against the ground as she tried to push herself up.

"Yeah..." she rasped, voice rough, "we’ve got a real optimism problem."

She made it to one knee.

Barely.

Blood mixed with the water beneath her, dark and spreading.

Camilla sighed faintly, almost disappointed.

"Pathetic."

The next blow came down hard.

Annette didn’t fully block it this time.

Her body hit the stone again, harder, her vision flashing white as pain tore through her side and shoulder. The world tilted for a moment, sound dulling into a distant ringing.

She lay there, breathing shallow, water lapping faintly against her arm.

Everything felt... heavy.

Slow.

Distant.

"...Alright," she murmured weakly, staring up at the dark ceiling above, "this one’s... gonna leave a mark."

Footsteps approached again.

Unhurried.

Certain.

Annette’s fingers twitched against the stone, searching—instinctively—for the whip that wasn’t within reach.

Her body didn’t respond the way she wanted it to.

Too slow.

Too tired.

Damn it.

Camilla’s shadow fell over her, blocking out what little light remained.

"It seems this is where your story ends," she said, almost gently.

Annette let out a faint, humorless breath.

"Yeah... figured it wouldn’t be somewhere nice."

She tried—once more—to push herself up.

Her arm trembled.

Failed.

For just a moment—just one—there was nothing left to reach for.

No strength.

No clever remark.

Just the cold, creeping realization—

This might be it.

And then—

Something changed.

Not the air.

Not the water.

Something else.

Annette’s eyes shifted—just slightly—past Camilla.

There.

Movement.

Familiar.

Her breath caught—not in pain this time.

Something else.

Something sharper.

Stronger.

A flicker of life returning behind her eyes.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward despite everything.

"...Wow," she rasped, voice barely above a whisper, "you’ve got incredible timing."

Camilla paused, just enough to register the shift.

Just enough to turn—

Annette let her head fall back against the stone, the faintest hint of a grin breaking through the blood and exhaustion.

"Took you long enough."

The higher they climbed, the quieter the castle became.

Not peaceful—no, never that. Just... expectant.

Like something at the top was waiting.

Annette’s boots echoed against the spiral steps, each one worn smooth by time—or maybe something else. The walls narrowed as they ascended, the air thinning just enough to make each breath feel a little sharper, a little colder.

She didn’t slow down.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

"Y’know," she said after a while, her voice carrying lightly over her shoulder, "for a place built by a centuries-old nightmare, you’d think he’d invest in better stairs."

Her hand trailed briefly along the stone wall, steadying herself—not that she needed it.

At least, that’s what she’d insist.

"Little variety wouldn’t kill him. Maybe a window. A rug. Something that says ‘I don’t live in eternal darkness and despair.’"

Another step.

Another echo.

The climb felt longer than it should have. The kind of climb that stretched—not just in distance, but in weight. Every step forward was another step closer to something final.

Annette’s grip on the Vampire Killer tightened slightly.

Just slightly.

Enough that she noticed.

Enough that she immediately loosened it again.

"Course," she added, tone still light, "I guess interior decorating’s not really his thing. Whole ‘lord of terror’ aesthetic and all that."

She let out a quiet breath through her nose, almost a laugh.

Almost.

Silence crept back in for a few steps.

Then a few more.

The kind of silence that pressed in—not from the castle this time, but from everything left unsaid.

Annette broke it again. Of course she did.

"So this is it, huh?"

She didn’t turn around.

Didn’t stop walking.

"Top of the tower. Big door. Dramatic entrance. Probably a lot of lightning."

Her tone dipped into something more thoughtful—still casual, still dry, but with a faint edge beneath it.

"I’m guessing he monologues."

A few more steps.

Her shoulders shifted slightly beneath her coat, rolling back as if easing tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

"Villains love a good monologue. Gives us time to catch our breath, I guess."

She paused then.

Just for a second.

One step hanging in the air before it landed.

When it did, it was quieter than the rest.

Annette exhaled slowly, gaze fixed upward where the stairwell curved out of sight.

"...You ever get that feeling?" she asked, more quietly now. "Like the world’s holding its breath."

No sarcasm there.

Not really.

Her fingers flexed once at her side, then curled loosely as she resumed climbing.

"Like everything’s just... waiting to see how this goes."

She huffed softly, shaking her head.

"Probably just me."

The lie sat there.

Obvious.

Unchallenged.

Annette adjusted the strap of her shotgun across her shoulder, more for something to do than because it needed adjusting.

"Don’t get me wrong," she continued, her voice picking back up its usual rhythm, "I’ve been wanting a crack at him for a while now."

Step.

"Big bad Dracula. Source of all this mess."

Step.

"End him, and maybe the world gets a little quieter."

Step.

"Sounds simple when you say it like that."

She let out a short, humorless chuckle.

"Almost easy."

Another few steps, and the air shifted again—colder now, heavier. There was something ahead. Something close.

Annette felt it.

Of course she did.

Her pace slowed—not stopping, just... easing.

Measured.

Careful.

"Just another fight," she said, more to herself than anything. "Same as the rest."

But her voice didn’t quite carry the same certainty this time.

Her hand drifted briefly toward her side—toward where the bandage still sat beneath her coat—before dropping again like the motion had never happened.

She inhaled slowly.

Held it.

Then let it out.

"Guy bleeds, right?" she added, forcing a small smirk back into place. "That’s usually how this works."

The top of the staircase came into view now—a massive set of doors, towering and ornate, faint light spilling through the seams.

Annette stopped a few steps short of them.

For the first time since the climb began—

She didn’t immediately move forward.

The silence here was different.

Heavier.

Final.

Her shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath.

Then another.

When she spoke again, her voice was quieter—but steady.

"Hey."

She didn’t turn around.

Not yet.

"Once we walk through those doors..."

She trailed off for a second, jaw tightening just slightly before she forced the rest out.

"...things might get messy."

Understatement of the century.

Annette let out a faint breath, something almost like a laugh but not quite reaching it.

"So, uh—try not to die, yeah?"

There it was.

The closest thing she had to concern without saying it outright.

She finally turned her head just enough to glance back at you—not fully, just enough for her eyes to meet yours for a brief moment.

There was something there.

Something quieter than her usual bravado.

Something real.

And then it was gone—buried under that familiar, stubborn smirk.

"I’d hate to have to finish this whole thing by myself."

She turned back to the doors, rolling her shoulders once, grip tightening around the Vampire Killer as it coiled in her hand.

"Besides," she added, voice settling back into its usual confident edge, "I’ve got a reputation to maintain."

She stepped forward.

No hesitation this time.

Hand reaching out—

Ready to push the doors open.

Even if her heart was beating just a little faster than she’d ever admit.