Okay... I know that I'm more... familiar in the Inuyasha category, but, Hellsing is has a lot more... pizazz!
And, I'm a bit tired of writing for Inuyasha, so, I decided to write for my other favorite anime/manga!
Please, don't flame or anything, I'm kinda nervous with this new story, already.
-D.O.C
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I do not own any part of Hellsing. That is property of Kouta Hirano.
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Seras Victoria looked around the spotlighted field sadly, watching as bodies were carted off, on their way to their families.
A familiar scent caught her attention, and she nearly broke down.
His blood.
It's sharp, metallic taste still coated her tongue, and it still thrummed in her veins. It sharpened her senses, causing her sanity to slip, inch by precious inch, second by second.
Her eyes zeroed in onto the bag, the one holding his remains.
She walked over to the gurney, sniffing delicately, painfully aware that it was her comrade lying there, covered in heavy plastic, on his back, awaiting a cremation to ensure he wouldn't turn into a ghoul.
He had no family.
Sir Integra wanted his ashes in the foyer, displayed as Hellsing's greatest soldier to have ever died in battle.
Seras couldn't bear it.
To walk past such a portrait every day. A painting of his happy, grinning face, posted above a stone urn, as if he was just a fallen hero, instead of being so much more than a selfless martyr.
He was a, indeed, a hero, but he was just so much damn more than that.
Slashing her claws over the bag with a silent scream, she looked at her friend. Her best friend.
Seras froze.
She couldn't believe it.
Looking over at the body bag, she just couldn't believe it.
A hand patted her shoulder softly, and the voice of her superior broke the silence.
"Well... I'll be damned... All those times he went out... he never sealed the deal."
The draculina nodded dumbly, her flame arm solidifying into pale, unmarred porcelain.
She reached out with her newly-formed left hand, and touched the black, shredded plastic.
A single, confused, emerald eye blinked, meeting her scarlet orbs.
"M-Mignonette?"
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He was so cold.
He was chilled to the bone.
There was a feeling in his chest, akin to drowning. His lungs expanded, but that only brought more fluid into them, killing him faster.
'Wait... she already drained me... I'm already dead!'
Was this truly the afterlife?
Heaven?
Hell?
No... this couldn't be heaven. He had sinned far too much to even get a glimpse of the Pearly Gates.
Was he in hell? Where was the fire? The tortured souls?
Could he be in some other place? Reserved especially for vermin like him?
A place where he was surrounded by black, inky waters, that dragged him forever downwards, while his lungs were screaming?
He drifted for a bit, the heavy boots, that he knew he had to still be wearing, speeding the process of his sinking.
The man watched in wonder as his unloaded gun was pulled from his frozen hand by an invisible force. No matter how wide he opened his eye, he couldn't see anything, not his own limbs, his own hair, nothing but blackness.
The male simply kept drifting, the darkness maddening.
After what seemed like years, a single light opened beneath him, and he eagerly awaited the devil, the angels, a demonic force, anything!
Anything but the darkness.
As he was drawn closer to the bright, white light, he could see himself.
Most of his green clothing was stained an interesting shade of dark brown, due to the blood that bathed him in large splotches. The fabric was torn, and his arms were covered in gouges. Someone had dug claws into them.
'The girl did not want to let me go...' He thought, a sad smirk gracing his rugged features, glad that he seemed to have won her favor in the end.
He stood ramrod straight, his hands at his sides.
If he was going to meet Satan, he would do it with his head held high.
As he drifted down to the brightness, he closed his eye, feeling warmth cover him, the light burning through his eyelid. He was then shrouded in darkness, once again.
Silence met him.
No screams of sinners, no harp-playing of angels, no voice of the christian God, no voice of the devil.
A sudden riiiiip caused him to open that green orb, an annoying brightness flooding his world.
A feminine silhouette jumped back from the edge of his vision.
'Where the fuck am I...?'
A soft voice drifted over to his ears, "Well... I'll be damned... All those times he went out... he never sealed the deal."
'What? 'Sealed the deal'?... Are they talking about...?' He inwardly blanched.
Then the man recognized the voice.
Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing.
Was his boss dead, too?! Was the whole organization overrun by Millennium?!... Was his favorite little draculina... gone?
A face appeared before him, fair as cream, bangs tinted a whitish-blonde, dark red eyes burning with a fire he had only ever seen in Alucard's.
Struggling to make his torn vocal cords work, he uttered a single word. A single inquiry.
"M-Mignonette?"
'Is it really you?'
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Okay, I'm changing the story.
Walter's not a traitor, Alucard will be gone like usual, and I bet you know what's happened to Pip.
But that's the glory of fan-fiction: the fan gets to change the original plot!
-D.O.C