Richter almost laughed. Almost. "You think dignity matters? She drank the blood of a Sekhmet. She controls the night sky. Maria's beasts can't scratch her. My magic is like throwing firecrackers into an ocean." He looked down at his own hands. The hands that had failed to save his mother. "I'm not the Belmont she fears."
It felt real enough against Richter Belmont’s skin—cold, sharp, and smelling of brine and rotting wood. But so had the illusion of his mother, Julia, standing in the parlor of their burning home. So had the vision of the Abbot, praying to a God who had already closed His eyes. Richter had learned that his whip could cut through flesh, bone, and even the mist of a nightmare. But it could not cut through memory. Castlevania- Nocturne
Alucard drew his sword, the runes flaring to life, casting his pale face in a ghastly glow. He looked less like a savior and more like a ghost who had forgotten he was dead. Richter almost laughed
"I stopped to watch the sun set," Alucard said. His voice was a low, musical baritone, stripped of irony for once. "I thought it might be the last one." She drank the blood of a Sekhmet