Jasen took another sip of the Canatarito, letting the warmth spread through his chest as he tried to steady his nerves. The drink was smooth, but his thoughts were anything but. This wasn't just some high-end bar, and Rodin wasn't just some charismatic bartender with god-tier mixology skills. No—Rodin was ancient, and still dangerous.
Not as strong as he used to be, Jasen thought to himself. But strong enough to kill me and Alucard if he wanted. I've never felt this pressure before... and it's all over him like a shadow. He lowered his glass just enough to make eye contact over the rim, then spoke carefully.
"I'm looking for an Umbra Witch... or more than one, if you happen to know where to find them." Rodin's hands, which had been calmly polishing a glass, stilled for just a second. His expression didn't change, but his silence spoke volumes.
"You're looking for Umbra Witches?" he repeated, his voice slow and low, eyes hidden behind his glasses. "That's a curious thing to be asking. They're supposed to be extinct... have been for centuries."
"That should be the case," Jasen said, keeping his tone measured. "But it's not. Two still exist—two Umbra Witches—and I need to find them before the world goes completely off the rails."
Rodin remained silent, letting Jasen continue. "One of the son's of Sparda is on the move trying to break the seal at the Temen-ni-gru, to access the Sword of Sparda. Along with whatever's behind that seal… it's not just demons. It's worse. We're talking about the return of Mundus... and that's just one threat. There are B.O.W.s running wild because human's can't stop playing god. And then—" Jasen gave a sidelong glance to Alucard, "—there's Dracula."
Rodin's expression remained unreadable. He finished cleaning the glass and set it aside. "Lot of fancy words," he said, feigning ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Alucard raised a brow and leaned in slightly. "I find that hard to believe," he said, smooth and cold. "You knew what I was when I walked in not even the Belmonts can do that on sight alone. And your aura and scent..."
He narrowed his eyes behind his tinted glasses. "You reek of ancient death and magic. Not of this world. Faint, almost undetectable—but it's there."
A slow smile crept across Rodin's lips. "Alright," he admitted, "you got me. Maybe I know a few things." He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the bar and folding his hands. "But the real question is why should I help you?"
Jasen took another slow sip and exhaled, thinking. "We can pay you," he said plainly. " US Government backing. Black budget. So name your price money, magical artifacts, enchanted weapons... hell, we'll throw in souls or a firstborn if that's what it takes."
Rodin chuckled. "You kids are funny."
"I'm three hundred," Alucard muttered with mild offense.
"I'm twenty-seven," Jasen added with a deadpan look.
Rodin chuckled harder, grabbing another glass to clean. "Exactly, kids compared to me."
Jasen leaned back in his seat, letting his eyes drift around the bar. The more he looked, the more strange things he saw portraits and photo's, dozens of them, lined the brick walls and shelves between bottles of exotic liquors and rare weaponry. He stood up slowly, glass still in hand, eyes scanning one canvas after another. "What the hell..."
He approached two larger paintings that were side to side. It was an oil portraits faded with time but perfectly preserved. Rodin stood side-by-side with Hector and Isaac from Castlevania, though Isaac here resembled the version from the Netflix show, with dark-skinned, intense eyes and layered armor.
Jasen blinked. "This world is seriously messed up... like someone stirred every universe into one pot. Next to that was a black & white photograph of Rodin and a young woman with blonde hair, glasses, lab coat. Nell Goldstein. A younger version of her, no doubt.
Further down the wall, paintings and sketches of Leonardo da Vinci, Muramasa, and a pair labeled Gan Jiang and Mo Ye. Mythical blacksmiths from Chinese legend. Rodin stood near each of them.
Jasen gestured back toward Alucard, who was now standing and studying the wall too. "You seeing this?"
"I noticed when we walked in," Alucard said. "I wanted to see how long it would take you." Jasen turned back to Rodin. "Did you know all these famous artist and smith's them?"
Rodin didn't even try to deny it. " I did an more that aren't on the wall. the rest are in the back but those are some that are my favorite pupil's. All I did was give them all a little nudge. A whisper here, a spark of inspiration there. The talent and achievement's that was all them I just helped light the way."
Alucard walked past the bar, his steps slowing. Then he froze. "That can't be right."
"What?" Jasen turned, following his gaze and, then he saw it. A portrait near the back wall, half bathed in shadow. It was Rodin, sitting calmly in a throne-like chair, legs crossed casually and beside him Dracula in a similar chair. That was the real Dracula. Eboni robes, pale eyes, regal posture. The two were seated like old friends in a portrait done with such care, it could've been hung in a royal gallery.
Jasen stared. The atmosphere around the painting felt heavier, colder—as if the air froze in that moment and he said nothing neither did Alucard. Rodin finally spoke again, voice casual—but weighty. "Let's just say... I've seen enough kings rise and fall to know when it's time to start listening again."
Jasen turned slowly to face him and Rodin smiled.
Rodin leaned back, arms folded behind the bar, placing a fresh cherry-red lollipop between his teeth. His smooth voice returned with that eerie blend of sarcasm and truth. "Let's get back on track," he said. "You came here to ask for help—but why should I help you? Just because you've got money? Or because the world's about to go to hell?"
He paused.
"Business is business. Hell or no hell, the drinks will keep pouring, the desperate will keep crawling, and I'll still be here. Maybe even busier when it all burns." Jasen didn't reply right away. He was weighing every word. He wasn't just talking to a bartender, he was talking to a fallen angel who'd stared down Heaven, Hell, and everything in between and walked away with style.
Then Jasen spoke, eyes steady. "You don't want the world to go to hell," he said, voice calm. "You want balance."
Rodin's grin twitched. He didn't deny it. "I want to meet Bayonetta and just talk," Jasen continued. "Or Jeanne, if you know her."
Rodin exhaled a puff of faint smoke from the lollipop like it was a cigar. "Bayonetta, huh? Haven't seen her in a bit, but I can ask her. If she's in the mood to meet new people, you'll get your chance." He tapped the edge of the counter thoughtfully. "Jeanne? Don't know her personally. But Enzo might. He's the bloodhound for these kinds of connections. Ask him."
"I understand. And thank you," Jasen said, giving a respectful nod. Rodin leaned forward. "Now," he said, voice changing, "let me see that sword."
Alucard narrowed his eyes. "How did you know?"
Rodin simply smiled. "I know a lot and I see a lot. Now let me see what you're working with." After a brief hesitation, Alucard pulled it from within the folds of his long red trench coat. The blade was silent, sleek, and gleaming with what felt like arcane refinement, a relic of nobility.
Rodin whistled, slowly turning the weapon in his hands. "Enchanted," he said. "Heirloom. And damn well cared for."
"It was a gift from my mother," Alucard said quietly. "It belonged to her family." Rodin looked at him, his tone soft but tempting. "I can upgrade it for you. Make it stronger and better," Alucard blinked. "Upgrade it? Like a Devil Forge Master?"
He nearly dismissed the idea, but Rodin's face was completely serious. "I thought only humans could forge like that," Alucard added.
"Devil Forge Masters," Rodin said, placing the sword down gently on the marble counter, "use human souls. Because they have the same souls. They're manipulating something they understand, which is the human soul, with the arcane. That's why they can summon monsters or bring people back from Hell, twisted into new forms."
He held up his large, calloused palm. "But devils and angels? We don't have souls. What we have is the essence. It's not an individual consciousness like a soul. It's core identity. A form of primal truth." Flames flickered to life above his palm, hovering.
" For example, Fire's essence is to consume and grow. To warm, purify, and give life. No matter the color, no matter the shape, it will always burn. But if you understand its essence... You can shape it. Focus on one of those attributes the most and make it stronger in that area for your needs. That way, you turn it into a weapon or a miracle."
Jasen nodded slowly. He understood what Rodin meant—at least, at the surface. Inspired, Jasen reached into his jacket and pulled out the combat knife Leon had given him just before he left for Raccoon City all those years ago. A sturdy, reliable blade. On the hilt, engraved: Semper Fi.
He placed it gently before Rodin. "Can you upgrade this, too?" Rodin eyed it and smirked. "Easy." Then Jasen asked the more dangerous question. "Can you... forge something new? Something that blends angelic and demonic properties?"
Rodin paused. "That's possible," he said, rubbing his chin. "But dangerous. Unstable. Requires a lot of special materials... and magic. Rare stuff."
He scribbled on a notepad, ripping the page and sliding it across the bar. Jasen and Alucard leaned over it, then blinked.
It looked like a blacksmith's wishlist and a witch's grimoire had a drunken one-night stand.
Eye of a fallen Virtue. Blood from an Archdemon. A core from a shattered Halo. A soul-forged obsidian shard. Blessed salt from the ruins of the first Vatican. A drop of Umbra Witch essence. And more.
Then there was the number scribbled at the bottom: $100,000,000.
Alucard scoffed. "That's ridiculous."
Jasen gawked at the list. "This is... you're kidding, right?"
Rodin popped the lollipop from his mouth and said, "Nope."
He gestured with a wide grin.
"That covers: Enzo's debt, Alucard's weapon upgrade, your knife enchantment, information fee, and the construction of a brand-new, never-before-seen angel-demon weapon. Oh, and my fee."
Jasen rubbed his forehead. "Can you... Invoice that?"
"Sure. But if you give me full access to your base, free in, free out, I'll drop the price."
Jasen narrowed his eyes. "To what?"
Rodin's smile widened. "$99.5 million."
Jasen downed the last of his tequila and whispered, "Jessica's gonna kill me... but at least it's two birds, one stone." Alucard grumbled. "Don't do too much to my sword. I expect it back intact in the same condition I gave it to you in, if not better."
Rodin nodded. "Give me four days. Have a workshop ready for me at your base and have my money ready, or you will have problems," As he said that last part, the air in the room shifted. It was heavy, oppressive, and primordial. Jasen and Alucard stiffened instinctively. Fighting their flight response, kicking in. They both knew it wasn't a threat but a promise.
Jasen exhaled slowly. "I'll make it happen."
Just then, Enzo came stumbling down from the V.I.P. lounge above. "Uh, Rodin, your guests upstairs want two bottles of red and a slice of strawberry shortcake." Rodin nodded. "Done. Leave with them"
Jasen and Alucard stood and began walking toward the exit. Enzo followed, more nervous than usual. Just as Jasen reached the door, something caught his eye, one last portrait. It mirrored the one with Dracula, but in this one, Rodin stood beside a noble-looking man in sharp black and navy attire. A sword on his back: Rebellion. Another, sheathed, beside him: Yamato.
The resemblance to Dante and Vergil was uncanny... but older and more mature looking.
Jasen froze. No way is that Sparda? He turned to look back at Rodin, now heading toward the upper lounge with a silver tray in hand. Jasen's thoughts churned.
Does this man know Sparda, too? Just who is this version of Ridon? Questions for later... he thought, and turned back to the cold New York street.
UPSTAIRS – V.I.P. LOUNGE
Two chairs faced the balcony window, shadows stretching across the plush carpet.
To the left sat a mature man with black hair and pale skin in black dress pants, deep red tie, and obsidian vest. A half-empty glass of crimson wine in hand. To the right, crossing one leg over the other with a quiet, scholarly posture, another older, mature-looking man. White hair, wearing a black-on-black suit, navy vest, crimson tie, glasses perched on his nose.
Rodin walked in casually, placing the wine bottles and cake on a small table between them. "They seem like an interesting bunch," Sparda said, voice clipped with an aristocratic English accent. He took a bite of the shortcake and nodded approvingly. "But whether they're strong enough... I can't say. Especially after hearing how my boys are acting."
Then he looked to his side. "Why didn't you go say hi to your son, Vlad?"
The other man stared at his glass. "I don't want to burden him," he said quietly. "That version of me... he and those hunters fought for centuries. I made it hard to face him now."
"You could tell him the truth," Rodin offered, his voice softer than usual. Vlad shook his head. "What's the point, mentor? That version of me poisoned the name beyond repair."
The white haired man's voice cut through. "That's not true. But... It's not my place to speak on your redemption. That's your choice." A pause. Then he raised his glass. "Well... cheers. To new beginnings. and second chances." Vlad looked at him, then slowly clinked his glass. "Cheers, old friend."