Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs to Kouta Hirano, and Shadowmancer to G.P Taylor
Prologue
'Silence, Donovan. It isn't the time for judgement.' He twirled his fingers in the air with ease, as if trying to grasp a summer apple hanging from its branch. 'Our plans are foiled, yet again, by that ever-irritating vixen and her undead lapdog. It seems out nameless creature failed to silence them completely.. I am utterly- disappointed.'
Shivering in apprehension, the gangly man tried to bite back his fear, trying his best not to start screaming for his mother.
'Are you feeling frightened, now?'
'N-No, sir,'
Uninterested, he picked up a glass of red wine, swirling the damask liquor around. Donovan kept his ground, kneeling on a knee in unease. He could only see the back of his armchair, and the little show the Bordeaux was putting up within the crystal cup in his stretched fingers.
'Very well, Donovan. I trust you will see to the scientists, and the Glashan,'
'Yes, sir.'
A metallic door to his right slid open, allowing his leave of the small room set high in the great tower that enjoyed its solitary encampment in the outskirts of the Arctic Circle. The screen provided quite a view, pooling over little shasms of icebergs and the sea itself, hefting a dying sun on the horizon.
Beside himself, he smiled, the wrinkled skin pulling at his cheeks. The day will come when the moon will bleed, the Earth perish in flames and he- He would cast the god from his throne, and finally bury the Nosferatu for good..
There in the waters of cold sorcery, Damen O'zae laughed in his contemplation.
Advance Guard
Time was naught. He would spend lengths watching her journey in mortal shoes, watching, watching, waiting. Master Hellsing had changed much, if anything, matured. Her mind had developed into a complex chain of never-ending thought, to sift from daily matters, to long-term occurrences. It was a delight to watch as she became a real captain, a real hunter not subjected to become a temperamental artist..
A broad smile played across his sharp features, listening to a tête-à-tête of language, profanity and snared questions on the line.
Integra Hellsing slammed the receiver back into its dial, watching in distaste as her maroon-dressed servant emerged from the shadows. He wore a rather happy expression today, for some self-bemusing reason.
'What do you want?'
'And a very Good Evening, Miss Hellsing,' He inclined his head slightly, crimson oculars left intently on hers. 'I wouldn't have made so much of a fuss for someone who had quite a grasp of the King's English, if I were you.'
'How quaint, to see a Vampire stand up for something as pathetic as Enrico Maxwell.'
'Vampire is such a racist term; My name is Alucard, thank yo-'
'There is a time for games, but it isn't now, Alucard. Out with your point, or so help me!'
Raising a brow in a pleasant surprise, he bowed once more, savoring the hints of fury nestled in her deep, English voice. He loved the temper that portrayed the ferocity of his master, something that not all leaders would have.
'Incognito is permanently non-existent. Despite that, the Vatican cries of more blood, more..witchcraft.I advise you to have the Iscariot as an ally-'
'Of what importance is the new opponent such that the Iscariot join forces?'
'It concerns the worlds themselves, call it intuition, but I don't feel as comfy and secureas I usually am,' His voice dropped to a whisper of patience, printing on a significant innuendo just for guesses and deductions- That is if she would ever care to piece it out. 'It is late- I shall now retreat to my grave. Good Evening again, master Hellsing.'
He bowed for the third time, and left the room with a swish of a cloak.
Some people.
She sighed, collapsing back into her seat in good grace. His presence could make you feel this.. restriction. It was long before she moved again, when dawn has arrived in its glorious streaks that would only reveal how much she had lost.
There was much to do; Walter wouldn't be here to help- Well, not yet for a few damned weeks. Pulling out a sheaf of letters, she brought herself about to begin the long, long reports.
It was pointless to hang around Seras Victoria. After a few nights of conduct, he knew there was nothing too special with her anymore. She had to cry herself to sleep, mourning over the loss of Fergusson, her comrades, and god knows what else. Mind, if he did have a connection with that militant, he'd ditch the memories pretty quick. But what choice was there for her?
It'd take a while for the message to sink into her. She would never, never become human again, how many times did he need to repeat that to her?
And there she was in her nightclothes, head kissing the table like there was no tomorrow.
'You will never understand.. will you, police girl?'
'Leave me alone, master,'
'You are feeble, lamentable, a loser who still weeps for the dead-'
'SHUT UP!'
'Not only that, it seems you regret being what you are, well, I should have left you to die then and the-'
In a fit of pique, she lashed out, trying to punch every inch of his body, wanting to rip off that grin on his face. As she tackled him, hot tears slid down her face, to drag her down into defeat.
In the end, she was crying her heart out at his feet, curled in a tight ball.
Crouching next to her, he patted her head as if she were some pet.
'I'm here, little girl. I'll always be here for you, didn't you know?'
Eyes brimmed with tears, she looked up, for the first noticing how concerned he was about her. So he did care- Not for the sake of her being his servant, because she was.. his little girl.
Satisfied, he smiled, fading into nothingness.
She sat up, feverently rubbing her eyes. It was a while before she managed to interpret his visit. It most probably meant that something was letting up. Something that involved even herself.
Most probably.
Brilliant shafts of light lit the sizeable office, dancing past the walls as wisps of clouds curled about the noon sun. A little tired, perhaps, Integra was left in a doze. Her eyes swam in and out of focus, staring at the double doors. She sank slightly in her armchair, battling the fatigue that was binding her like iron chains. The grandfather cloak in the hall sounded- One in the afternoon.
Back to work then.
She groaned, shaking herself awake.
Hold it.
Where were the papers?
The files?
The cursed documents?
Unbelievably, they were all lying innocently at the places they were supposed to be- After she goes through them, that is- Then.. then..
'You shouldn't have left yourself to do the paperwork, Integra Hellsing.'
Her eyes snapped to the source, at the corner of the room where a lady was seated. She wore a flat cap and lounged in her chair with her feet on the table and a tray of food balanced on a hand. She was sure that no one was there when she woke, and that the table where the lady now sat had been empty. She knew hat no one had come into the office. Untrusting to her eyes, she looked again, and the woman was still there, smiling. She had the kind of eyes that made Integra know that she wanted to speak, that at any moment she would get up from her chair and walk across the room over to them.
The woman looked at her and laughed to herself; it was as if she knew what she was thinking. She pushed the hat back from her forehead, leant forward in the chair, got to her feet and walked over to the table, just as Integra had seen in her mind. Setting the tray down on the desk, she winked.
She had never seen anyone like this before. The lady was every inch a genuine Urbanite, dressed in a white shirt with its long sleeves folded to the elbows, black trousers starched and striped and a navy waistcoat. Her hair was of ashen-silver quality that fell on a side parting, in elegant curls that fell an inch above her shoulders. Yet- She presented a classic aristocrat character, reminding her strongly of Walter. She looked no older than twenty, but then again could have been thirty..
'Really,' she said in a fine English accent, 'I don't think I can come across another unfortunate person like you. Those worksheets could have brought you to the ground in three seconds flat, I tell you,'
'How did you come here? Who- Who are you?'
'I'm so sorry, keeping this conversation up has rid me every ounce of my manners. I am..' Her chestnut oculars skimmed over the portfolios, reading a name on a not-so-obvious fine print ledger. '-Ruth Dimitri, but you can call me Ruth.'
Integra stared at her in slight discomfort, her head swimming in questions and suspicion. It was hard to decide what she wanted to ask first, staying speechless for a few moments before she registered what Ruth was doing.
'Nothing beats a cup of tea fresh from Holland. Coffee will poison your mind, and ale corrugate your teeth,' Pouring hot water into the beaker of tea leaves, she pushed it into her hands, which were set stationary on the table. The smell of mint, lavender, and chamomile erased adjacent thoughts from her mind, taming her worried state.
'Who exactly are you, Ruth?' She inquired, wary.
'Is it important? All you have to know is that I am here to assist you, as darker days are soon to come. It is my duty to help, so you have more time to properly prepare arms,' She nodded at the sorted piles, 'I know it's a lot to take in, and seeing that you don't quite trust me, but, for one thing- You won't be as safe as you think you are anymore.. the Devil might start walking among us again.'
She was speaking in a tone of seriousness, bringing Integra into a sharper ascension. It was just like what Alucard had said.. at least it confirmed that Ruth was not an assassin.
Severely comforted that her life was not on the line, she breathed in the strong fragrance, the hot vapors filling her nose. Opening her eyes, she found herself miserably alone. Strange woman.
It was nothing compared to the unique meal she brought- Well smoked fish and a loaf of bread.
What the hell.
Famished, she began to eat, giving no less damn to any else introspection.
PS: The first chapter might be confusing/crappy, but R&R anyway..