Disclaimer: I neither own nor harbor any rights regarding Hellsing or any like productions.
Listen
Chapter One: The Melody
"Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed- in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory.'
'Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?'
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
-1st Corinthians 15: 51-58
Amidst the silence of the broken world and absence of all things living laid a woman breathing. Breathing, but not alive. With every gentle rise of her chest, the books which peered over the sagging and warped bookshelves seemed to scrutinize the abomination which went against nature's laws. Here the woman laid with an ethereal glow of radiance which would never grow old and fade away; here the woman laid with a body of false fragility that could withstand more than any mortal could; here the woman laid with the metallic odor of the essence of life which ran through all living being's veins upon her breath; here the woman laid in an eternal paradox: dead, and yet alive.
The fire which blazed brightly against two marble columns shrunk to a low roar as a cool gust blew through the great library. With it, the wind carried the faintest scent of life that had drifted far from a bustling metropolis. The wind snuck through the room, curling along the musty books and scattering their layers of dust before dropping to the polished floorboards and creeping along, not minding to skirt around the woman.
The woman's breathing hitched and then stopped altogether. The fire returned to its great height as the woman took in a deep, long breath. Suddenly her eyes flew open as she breathed in again, the lively scent tantalizing her senses. She rose to her feet, her nose in the air as her lids fell closed once again.
As a smile, small and morose, graced her features, her eyes, in all their scarlet, burning glory, focused on the opened window. She took a step, perhaps two, towards the window whose drapes danced in the light breeze. Stopping at the windowsill, the woman poked her head out into the night and relished in the scent that lingered on the wind. She took in another breath, her smile only dipping down further as the bittersweet perfume seemed to entice her and beckon her further out into the night.
"London," said a voice that seemed to vibrate the very foundations of the old mansion.
The woman froze, her golden bangs falling over her crimson eyes that were wide in surprise. After all this time, she still could not sense his presence.
Footsteps echoed through the grand room, seemingly getting lost in the high walls and domed ceiling. The shadows that rested along the windowsill lengthened and crept along the woman's gloved fingers. She hastily pulled away as they bit at her un-aging skin through the gloves.
"What a beautiful night it is."
The woman, if this had been many, many years ago, would have shrieked and hid behind one of the many bookshelves. But now, after all the years of trials, pain, and victory, the woman merely continued to gaze out at the night which was, indeed, beautiful.
"Hm." The deep voice broke the silence that had fallen once again. The woman jumped slightly, the suddenness dragging her out of her thoughts. "Why so quiet tonight, Police Girl?"
The woman sighed at the old nickname. She was still unsure if she enjoyed the old pet name or found it annoying. Only time would tell, and they both had more than enough on their hands.
"It's her," she said after a moment, turning from the window and moving towards where she had been laying before. She scooped up a book and wiped off a few squirming shadows that had manifested on it. "She should be back by now."
"My master?"
"Yes, Sir Integra. She's at an appointment in town. She was supposed to be back by midnight." The woman settled herself in an armchair that was nestled near the fire. She propped her legs up on the ottoman and leaned into the chair's cushioned back. She found her marked page within the book that rested on her lap, but could not find it in her to read. There was something about the tardiness of her friend and superior that had her tapping her fingers against the chair's arm in an anxious rhythm.
"Nervous?" the library's intruder purred into the woman's ear.
The woman shifted away from the bodiless voice and rolled her shoulders at the unease that the little "trick" still brought her. She glanced over at the man who now stood before the fire with his back faced to her.
The man was far taller than the mantle, which already belittled the woman, and had broad shoulders that was only emphasized by the red duster that hung loosely around his form. A wide brimmed fedora that was as crimson as the duster heavily contrasted the man's thick, ebony locks that brushed along his shoulders. His hands were clasped against the small of his back, and the woman just knew that he had his oh-so famous grin plastered across his face.
A clock tolled out, telling the two that midnight was upon them. The woman pursed her lips, her fingers returning to their anxious tapping – this time against the book's yellowed pages.
"A bit," the woman confessed after some time, her eyes wandering over the man before her. He turned towards her and a few dark bangs fell before his eyes, obscuring them from view. And she was right; the grin was there in its entire impish, sinister glory. She caught sight of a fang before the man began to speak again.
"Do not worry, Police Girl, my master can fend for herself. Better than you can for yourself."
The woman tensed in her chair despite knowing that his words were trying to draw a reaction from her. Before she could help herself, she spat out a retort; "Perhaps. Before, back when I was young."
"Oh?" The man cocked his head and the woman wanted nothing more than to smack off his condescending smirk. "When you were young? Is that so? And, pray tell, what are you now? Old and wise?" He moved forward faster than she could react. He was suddenly towering over her chair, hands on either armrest, his face mere centimeters from her own. His irony breath blew against her face while she stopped breathing altogether, not wanting to give away her inner panic.
She knew this game well. It was what children called "chicken". One child would try to intimidate the others and call them on their bluffs. This was no different. He had been doing it for some time now. Constantly cornering her, trying to coax out some sort of reaction. She denied him the pleasure of her fear she had then and didn't dare show any sort of the frustration, annoyance, and – she admitted – panic she had now.
The woman held her ground and merely smiled pleasantly, forcing her rigid body to relax somewhat. She steeled her mind against his, not wanting him to peer in and see the panic within.
"Yes, something like that," she said slowly, her eyes trying to search for his that were still hidden behind the shadows his bangs casted. How could he do that? How could he create a darkness that even she couldn't see through?
A laugh, cold and cruel, sliced through the momentary silence. She felt herself tense as she clutched her book tighter.
"You? Wise?" he barked as laughter ran through him. He hung his head as his hands left the chair and grasped onto his chest while laughter racked his body. He hollered and snickered before completely losing himself in his maddening cackle. He took a few steps back, doubling over as his dark mirth consumed him entirely.
The woman rose to her feet, tossing her book aside carelessly. Her lips curled over her teeth, her lengthened, razor-sharp incisors visible. No, she would not be treated like this. No, she would not let him belittle her any longer. She was no longer that shy, timid woman who would never dare oppose her master. No, Seras Victoria was now, truly, Seras Victoria. She was, just as him, a force of nature in which nothing could conquer. Fearless and dauntless; powerful and sure. She would no longer bear the sting of his contemptuous insults nor would she settle for being treated as an incompetent, little fool.
"Things have changed, Master," she hissed his given title as she stalked up to him. The pure anger and aggravation that dripped from her words silenced the cackling man, making him return his eye-less gaze to the woman before him.
Something changed in the air. Tension poured into the library and crashed into the two in wave after wave of crackling electricity that begged for either one to make the first move. Shadows, their origins lying in both the man and the woman, crept forth from the library's shelves and alcoves. They slithered up the walls and scourged the floorboards, making a point in skirting around one another's. The tendrils of manifested darkness remained at bay while the man and the woman slowly began to circle one another, calculating the other.
"Nothing has changed, police girl," he purred above the chaotic whirring and snickering of the shadows that only creatures of the night could hear. The shadows seemed to be mocking one another as they, too, began to dance around the other, sizing them up. Surety was written across the man's face, only enraging the woman further.
"Oh, but it has." Her tone was grave, as if warning the man to heed some unspoken threat.
The man's sure, almost bemused expression slipped into a terrible frown of sudden wrath that contorted the once handsome man's features into that of a true demon. Eyes, hundreds upon thousands, popped up and swam within his ever increasing ocean of pure darkness. They were crimson and unblinking, and completely focused on the woman.
Instead of trembling and falling into submission beneath the great flex of power that would have reduced the woman to a babbling mass of fear had this been the past, the woman merely stood taller and smirked over at the man. They continued to step around one another, each running their deck of tactics and tricks through their heads of – according to the man - how to deal with this situation and – according to the woman – how best to win.
"You have been gone for quite some time, Master. Things have changed; people have changed. I have changed." Her right hand twitched as fury, greater than any she had seen directed at her in the past by the man, mixed and morphed together with wrath, creating something truly terrible. "I'm not going to be treated like some pathetic servant any longer. I demand – "
"And just who - ," he spat out the words, looming closer and closer to the woman through their tension fueled, distorted tango. "—do you think you are? Talking like that to the King? You demand something from me? ME?! Your master?! Listen here, servant. I do not stand to be treated in such a way. You will obey! And this," the man brushed against the woman as they rounded one another, coming to a stop just a step beyond the other's back. "This rebellious little tirade ends here. You sound like a brat -," he scoffed the word. The red eyes bobbing along the surface of his tumultuous shadows were still trained on the woman who was grinding her fangs together in both anticipation and anger. "- no, like an upstart. And do you know what I do to upstarts in my court?"
Just as the man spun on his heels and lunged at the woman, his jaws wide, the doors to the library were flung open and light poured in. The shadows of both the man and the woman instantly receded, melting into the background once again. The woman, who had been crouched and ready for the attack, straightened and threw a hand over her gaze, blocking out the sudden and harsh light. The man bared his teeth and hissed at the intruder, casting his heavy, wrath-filled gaze upon them.
An elderly woman with grey hair and a few stray streaks of fading blond wisps, stood before the man with a look of rage that matched his own. Age-lines were accented as her lips twitched and her brows knitted together in pure fury.
"What the bloody hell is going on here?" she growled, taking a terrific stride forward. When she was given no answer, the woman stamped her foot. It would, had it been any other woman, have been seen as a stereotypical sign of feminine distress, but, since this was Sir Integra, the stamp held the power to quiet even the most noble of lords and command the attention of thousands of soldiers. "I said, pathetic beast: what the bloody hell is going on here?!"
The man straightened and met her gaze, anger still smoldering behind his crimson irises. "I was giving a lesson, my master. A lesson, if I must say, you ruined."
Sir Integra scoffed. "A lesson? To whom? Miss Victoria? Need I remind you, slave; she is no longer your jurisdiction."
The words infuriated the man even more, if it were possible. He snarled, showing his lengthened incisors. "All creatures of the night are my jurisdiction."
"Not when they are owned by me. And you, King Alucard," she sneered his name. "Are owned by my family's blood. Now, begone, demon."
Forced by the command of his master, Alucard was swept up in a great wave of shadows and the library suddenly lightened. The fire began to roar again, and the lights overhead flickered on once more. The moment the last shadow dissipated into nothingness, the elderly woman slumped against the library's wide doors. She groaned, her head hanging limply before her.
Seras jumped to attention and was instantly at the woman's side. "Sir," she rested a hand on the elder woman's shoulder. As the graying woman leant against her, Seras wrapped an arm around the woman's waist. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Does he really have to be such an ass? After all these years? You'd think he'd learn," the elderly woman groaned, lifting her head to look down into the younger woman's eyes.
Seras searched Sir Integra's one eye, looking for any tell-tale signs of distress or anything that needed to be worried over. Instead, all Seras found was one blue eye that had become clouded with age and shone wearily in the light. She felt the other woman's shoulders sag against her own as if they were weighed down by the world. And, in a way, they did. This woman, who was only ever defeated by age, held within her blood the restraint on the darkest of all demons, the worst of all tyrants. She possessed within the palm of her hand the power to squander all forces of evil, and, in the other hand, the ability to call on the demons that lurked in the night. Though Integra was burdened with the task of playing Atlas at a young, pivotal age, she was reluctant about the thought of breeding an heir. She thought that, with the superbity of youth and the volatile nature that most men with power had, the world and - worse yet - the Hellsing Organization would fall into fiery ruin had she produced an heir. When one man was given too much power, they were doomed to insanity.
And for that very reason, Sir Integra had waited and waited, bidding her time until she found it within herself to bring forth a child and new heir to the Hellsing legacy into this world. But she had been too reckless; the time slipped through her fingers like sand, and, much like Poe, she found herself pleading and begging for more time. Fertility had up and left without a second thought, leaving Hellsing in a position in which it had never dared to fear to be in; without the blood bonds, what was left to chain the vampire to a human master?
Sir Integra sighed, shivering despite the warmth the hearth provided the library. Though neither said it, Seras knew that the great Iron Maiden's body was failing her. Time, in the end, conquerors all. All except for those who were dammed to Hell.
"Seras," Sir Integra whispered. The younger woman brought her elder closer, practically holding her in her arms. "I...," she trailed off, not able to voice her concerns for once. The fear and uncertainty of the future brought her at a loss for words. She shook her head and tore her eye away from the woman with the scarlet gaze, looking towards the opened window instead. "Seras, you mustn't let him hold power over you."
Seras was quiet for a moment before responding, "Well, Sir. It's not that easy. He's still my master. Time and his absence didn't mean anything. My blood still answers his." She had grown quiet at her last words and had set her sights on the window as well. From here, at the opposite end of the library, Seras was still able to see far beyond the pristinely cut lawn and over the tops of the dense forest all the way to the outskirts of London. The very same London that was a husk of its former self, a disgrace to its former glory.
"Really? Even after that?" Seras stiffened beside Sir Integra, her expression pointedly neutral when Sir Integra glanced down at her out of the corner of her eye.
"Yes…" Seras locked her jaw, her eyes narrowing at even the mention of that. No, Seras certainly did not want to reminisce about things that were better left in the past. Sir Integra leaned a bit away from the shorter blond who had become as still as a statue. She shouldn't have mentioned it, Sir Integra knew, but it was an inescapable fact that that happened. How much longer would she have to skirt around the subject of that gruesome tale just for the sake of Seras playing ignorant to the sins she committed? How much longer would she pretend –
"Besides," Seras' voice cut through the silence that had grown between them. "I think that, even if he wasn't my master, it'd still have to answer to him. He is the king, after all."
"Whatever that's good for." Sir Integra sighed, shifting what little weight she was supporting without Seras' help between her legs, trying to ease the strain on her hips. "He hasn't been around to govern his domain for 130 years. He's lost his right to call himself the king."
"No, it doesn't work like that." Sir Integra turned towards Seras, her expression demanding an explanation. Seras didn't notice, however, for her gaze became unfocused as she drifted through her memories, picking out things here and there from the few times she had encountered true vampire society.
When she had come across those within the true realm of night who submitted to the rules of the darkness and functioned like a normal society, Seras had been picked out time and time again as the fledgling of the great and powerful king. She hadn't have told them her name, and yet they knew. When asked how, they had responded – each, on every occasion – that it was because of the aura of dark power that radiated from her. The vampires had said that it was not dissimilar from the king. It was impossible to miss, they said. And because of her known relation to the king, she had been both held in high regard as well as feared by many of the vampires and other creatures of the night. Though the No-Life king had not been seen in over a century, the mere mention of his name inspired loyalty, respect, and fear alike in the un-beating hearts of all.
"How so?" Sir Integra said impatiently, tearing Seras out of her contemplative and nostalgic state.
"Oh, right. Well… Well, I just get a feeling that master is someone you can't easily forget."
Sir Integra nodded, knowing full well what Seras meant. Yes, she was absolutely right. Even after 30 years of waiting, the woman of steel still had the feeling that Alucard's presence lurked within the darkened corridors of the Hellsing manor. He was a creature of epic proportions whose absence was never fully felt. The darkness left in his wake gave one the impression that he was never truly gone, that he would one day return and wreck havoc once again. Even the faintest of shadows he casted held the power to burn his ferocity, power, and sovereignty into one's mind, forever instilling the sense of fear and foreboding.
"Sir," said a soft voice from behind the women. Sir Integra instantly leapt out of Seras' arms, not wanting a soul in the world to see her in such a weak position. Sir Integra abhorred every and all the social climbing men who were power hungry – and were quite transfixed with her seat in the Round Table – that would constantly pester the old woman with their 'worrying' of her old age. Oh, she knew that those bottom feeders were all too eager for her to keel off so that they could take her place. Bastards, the lot of them.
But, instead of some youthful aristocrat, it was one of the two retainers assigned to Hellsing not long after the Battle of London and Walter's betrayal.
"Ah, Yuri, you had me worried. I had you pegged for one of those youths."
Yuri Antipov was a tall, lean man who was in his early forties. He, and his identical—save for a scar that marred Yuri's jaw – brother, were found in the line of battle some years ago. They had been younger then, still in their early twenties, and had been rebels fighting against their abusive government. The two had been inseparable since birth and because of this they had developed a style of fighting that was both unique and deadly in the extreme. The two knew one another's bodies and limits so well that, when in combat, they functioned as one. Alexandre, the other brother, specialized in hand-to-hand combat while Yuri was far more than efficient in the ability to use and throw daggers. Their most deadly technique, though, came from the fact that the two were spawned of both a human and a fae-like creature which had the ability to shift from a humanoid appearance to that of its true self; a balaur. A balaur was a creature related to the common mythical dragon. But, as Seras found out the hard way, dragons were truly not mythical. Rare, but far from mythical. When in battle, the twins came together to merge into one being; a polysepalous balaur with staggering height and rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth.
When all was said and done, the twins had been given an invitation to join Hellsing once the revolution had been quelled. The two agreed and rose quickly through the ranks, proving to be two of the most important assets of the Hellsing agency. After some time, the two were given a choice of serving under an off branch of the Hellsing organization or to work directly for Sir Integra as personal assistants, advisors, and retainers. They had agreed to the later, for they were fully loyal to the hardened leader. Now the two aided Sir Integra in running the organization and sifted through much of the heaps of paperwork to lessen the stress on the elderly woman. They were also, just as Walter had been before his devastating turn of heart, a trump card that Sir Integra kept with her at all times.
"No, Sir, not at all," said the man, clasping his hands behind his back. " Just checking in to remind you of a conference you are holding in the west end's drawing room with Sir Walsh." His accent, thick as the day Sir Integra whisked him and his brother out of the throes of revolution and war, was naturally gruff, but Yuri's soft tone made his voice more enchanting than anything. His words seemed to dance through the air, enticing all with its foreign melody. "He'll be here in twenty minutes, but, knowing his lack of punctuality, I say that you have about forty minutes before his arrival."
"Walsh?" inquired Sir Integra, fishing through her pockets in order to procure a cigar. When her search was proven to be in vain, Yuri stepped into the library and handed Sir Integra a cigar and held out a lit lighter. Taking a deep inhale of the noxious fumes, the woman nodded, rubbing her fingers against the bridge of her nose in stressed aggravation. "Yes, yes. I remember. He's here to talk about defense, no doubt. That, and a bloody heir."
Yuri nodded, returning both the case of cigars and the lighter to an inner pocket of his suit's jacket. The twins, despite Seras' teasing that they looked like the Men in Black, dressed in ink black suits that were impeccable and always without stain. It didn't seem to bother either of them that the suits were always completely shredded once they merged and transformed into their true self.
"Yes, Sir. Do you have any special requests regarding preparations for his arrival?"
"No." Sir Integra parted her lips slightly, letting the smoke leisurely float up and away. "Walsh is the one bringing the reports this time. All I have to do is sit there and think about how best to annihilate the enemy."
"Charming," Yuri said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as good natured mirth turned the corners of his mouth up in a smile.
"Yes, truly."
The curtains were drawn open as the grandfather clock tolled out the passing of some midnight hour. Moonbeams streamed into the quaint drawing room that held within it two chairs and a solitary table that were pushed towards the far window and had, framed around a center rug, couches and plush armchairs sparingly placed about. A fire had been started for the late fall air seeped in through the walls, bringing with it the bitter sting of cold. A woman, old and graying, sat within an armchair facing the fire and puffed away at her cigar, careful that her suit didn't catch any stray ashes. Two men, identical in nearly every regard, stood off to the side, blending in with the background of the room. Behind them, in the lurking shadows, was a young woman who, every so often, would peak her head out from the wall to properly survey the elderly woman's state of impatient annoyance.
"Am I late?" came a gruff voice from the doorway.
"As always," Sir Integra replied without looking over at the man and his escort. The man came to rest in the armchair beside Sir Integra's, sighing in relief as he settled within the soft cushions. Time was, obviously, as rough on his body as it had been for Sir Integra. "Sir Walsh," Sir Integra said, snuffing out her cigar on a tray resting on the chair's arm. "To what do I owe the pleasure? There must surely be a need great enough for you to demand a meeting at the last moment."
"I wouldn't say that three days is the last moment. But, nonetheless, I do bear news." The man shifted in his seat, waving over his broad shouldered escort and taking from the young man a briefcase. "Have you caught wind of the events happening within the countries of Southeast Asia?"
Sir Integra raised a brow as one of the twins collected the tray and spent cigar. "No. That land is not under our protection. Why should I?" It was true; the Round Table's, the Protestant Church's, and even the Queen's domain did not stretch far from England. All news of the outside world was, for the most part, casted aside in favor of fighting the supernatural on the home front. But, every so often, a client or a far off branch of the protestant church would request assistance in dealing with the pesky creatures of the night. Sir Integra had been lucky for the past few years in terms of long-distance missions. It was, as Sir Integra feared, as if all the chaos was gathering itself together and waiting and plotting, preparing for the right time to strike and take the world by surprise and force.
"Well," the man entered the security code and flicked open the case, "You should have. We fear that the world may be going to Hell. Again." Sir Integra stiffened as a shadow, along the wall where the fire's shadows danced, paused, listening intensely.
The man shifted through a stack of papers before handing a few shaky camera shots over to Sir Integra. The iron maiden grimaced at the scenes of fire and madness, of obliteration and towns rendered to dust.
"What is this?" she demanded, studying one picture intently.
"That one is of a village in South Vietnam. We had a team stationed there for about a month or so. We were informed about these creatures, under the cover of night, coming and raiding whole villages. Sounds like vampires? That's what we thought. So I sent in a team. Highly trained, seen the face of combat before. The mission was created out of simplicity and had been pegged as a one-and-done mission. Everything was going routine until…" The man pulled out a small, portable laptop from the briefcase and closed the case, setting the laptop atop of it.
"This is a video one of the members of the team sent in before we lost contact with them four days ago."
From Seras' position within the wall, all she could gather from the video was the sound of heavy panting, loud footfalls, machine guns being fired left and right, swearing in a multitude of languages, and a noise that made her clasp her hands over her ears. It was horrible, the noise. It was the shriek of a banshee combined with a whirlwind of demonic chanting. It was indescribable. Whatever it was forced Seras to fall from her hidden spot along the wall and onto her knees, crying out in pain as she bled from her ears. Even through the terrible quality of audio from the video, the shrieking that accompanied the sounds of tearing flesh and spurts of blood made Seras double over, gripping her head as if it were about to explode.
"Seras? Seras!" Sir Integra flew from her chair and ran over to the vampiress that was contorting in on herself as the terrible, terrible shrieking continued and only seemed to amplify in intensity. Sir Walsh had risen from his chair, the laptop and briefcase in hand as he watched in horror as thin streams of blood continued to poor from the undead woman's ears.
It burned. It burned from the inside out. It was if someone had ignited Seras' soul on fire. It felt as if it were eating its way out of her. The pain was unbearable. Her claws dug into her skin as she screamed over and over again; "Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!"
Two gunshots rang through the air and the relief was immediate. Seras slumped against the floor and the elderly woman as Sir Walsh stood in pure petrifaction. No longer in his hands were the laptop and briefcase; instead, they both were scattered around the room, completely decimated by the gun too powerful to be wield by a human.
Standing between the women and Sir Walsh was the crimson clothed vampire who had sprung up between the floorboards upon hearing the God awful shriek and the cries of his fledgling. "Is that the kind of music the kids are into these days?"
No-one laughed. Instead, the only one who even dared move was Sir Integra. She rose slightly and casted her furious gaze upon the horrible, facetious, contemptuous, narcissistic, egotistical vampire.
"What the bloody hell was that for, Alucard?!"
Mirth was written across his features as he swung his gun between his nimble fingers. "Well, someone had to stop the screaming or else the police girl would have bled out."
At the mention of her name, Seras glared up at her master from where she was healing—slowly, for that matter—on the floorboard, amidst the pool of her own blood.
Sir Integra glanced down at the vampire who was slumped against her lap, nursing her ears that had blood drying along the folds and creases. Worry flashed across her features. Seras Victoria was not a woman to feign or to exaggerate pain, so an outburst like this could only have been produced by something powerful and… otherworldly.
Seras straightened, climbing to her feet before extending a hand to Sir Integra. The woman waved the hand away though she found that the simple act of rising to her feet had her groaning under her breath. Sir Integra smoothed an unseen wrinkle in her suit as she strode over to the remains of the laptop and the briefcase. She toed through the smoking bits of hard drive and faux leather.
"What were the creatures that destroyed the unit? I presume they were not vampires. And," she added, glancing over at Seras, "what about those creatures had that effect on my soldier?"
"Well," Sir Walsh thawed, some of his boyish charm returning along with the color in his cheeks. "We don't know, actually. We ran it through some screen tests, but found no matches –"
"Wait, you didn't hear it?" Seras inquired, cutting off Sir Walsh. The two knights turned towards her, both their interests piqued.
"Hear what?" Sir Integra's shoes crunched over a letter key.
"That – that shrieking. It was bloody terrible. You didn't hear it?"
Sir Walsh sent Sir Integra a sidelong glance before crossing his arms, stepping out of the pile of rubbled laptop bits. "No, Miss Victoria. We didn't. What was it like, the shriek?"
"It is different to each being of the night," said the mocking voice of Seras' master. Everyone in the drawing room, even the twins, turned their attention to the elder vampire whose face was contorted in cruel glee. "It is a melody only able to be heard by those who walk beneath the moon. To some, it resembles the screams and cries of their perished loved ones. To others, it may sound like their own anguished pleas of mercy. It is, in theory, the culmination of one's worst fears mixed with the most painful memories they have lived. It is the sound of Hell."
Seras noticed, as her master took two steps towards the middle of the room, that, along his slender neck, a trail of blood had dried. The lobes of his ears, too, were dyed a faint crimson.
"It is the rallying cry of war in which every creature is rendered inept. It can slip through the most impenetrable of minds, the most impregnable of walls. It is poisonous and all-consuming. It is the singing of a race thought to have fallen extinct. But, evidently, they have risen once again from the ashes of ruin. And, my Master," Alucard purred, relishing in the face of a newfound enemy, "it just so happens that I have a bone or two to pick with them. It seems that the old rulers of the night wish to oppose the king that overthrew them. It seems that a war against the crown is looming over us."
AN: Hello there! If you've made it here - congrats! In the further chapters of this story I will be surfacing events in which happened during Alucard's appearance as well as incorporating the new threat. As you may have noticed, this will have the vampiric and general supernatural society posed as a general plot idea. Oh! I nearly forgot! My view on Seras is that, after the 30 year gap, she developed some, er, balls. She has always been a brave and gutsy girl, but now Pip has rubbed off on her so much that she has even developed the nerve to stand up to her master. Speaking of that, I purposely made Alucard and Seras' relationship tense and strained. The two have quite a bit to work through (most of it being that Alucard still expects Seras to be a rather submissive servant who constantly has her tail between her legs, even after the London incident). This is just going to be a rather fun relationship to navigate. Also, I really - oh, wait! I shouldn't give everything away! But, gentle reader, there are going to be some rather fun action scenes in here. *Wink, wink* Alright, last freebie!
Update: Just some grammar updates. There'll be more to come, I'm sure.