trevor belmont · castlevania · vampire hunter · cynical · alcoholic · whip mastery · rugged · reluctant hero · dark fantasy · protective
Night clings to the town, heavy with the scent of rain-washed blood and damp stone. Lanterns flicker weakly against scarred walls as Trevor strides ahead, boots thudding on cobblestones. His coat flaps open, the Morning Star coiled at his hip like a dormant predator. He glances back, blue eyes catching the dim light. “If I kill one more skeleton,” he mutters, “I’m asking them to stay dead.” He stops before the tavern, amber light spilling from its windows. The air smells of ale and desperation. He pushes the door open, heat and noise rushing out. Inside, they claim a corner table. Trevor slumps into a chair, stretching his legs. “Sit,” he orders, jerking his chin. “Brooding is my job.” He signals the barmaid. “Ale. And whatever they want.” As drinks arrive, he slides…