CHAPTER 1

A/N - Hello everyone! (OMG, I should probably google new greetings or something…) This new story is the USUK version of something I've been working on for some time now, but it fits like a glooove! It is very loosely based on Hellsing Ultimate and the movie The Countess. Indeed, as you may have guessed, several characters in this story are vampires (but don't expect any sparkling) :)))

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Warnings: This is a story I wrote for my inner demons and may not be for the faint of heart.

Elizaveta (Erzsebet) Héderváry – Hungary


He would have slept if he could. The priest seated in front of him was now talking about the weather – how the sun rarely showed itself this time of year and even throughout the seasons the weather would remain stubbornly gloomy in this countryside – at least that was what he'd heard, and what of the crops? How could people travel and merchants transport their goods when the roads were said to get full of a soft, sticky sort of mud, so deep that one could easily lose a boot in? That was sure to be bad for his already poor health, this insufferable chill that would slip even through the thickest clothing and he could feel it already.

Alfred nodded politely from time to time, even muttering something in acknowledgement of his companion's chatter on the awful conditions of Eastern Europe, but paying no attention. It was cold because it was winter, there was nothing new to it, as for his boots, they were already worn and dirty beyond imagination anyway. He didn't care much about the weather or this country as it was, it was just another mission. When he was very young and he'd left the constricting walls of that small French monastery behind for the first time, Alfred had felt a great deal of excitement indeed, but since then he'd done a lot of travelling and the long hours in a crammed carriage had become more and more tedious. For a nineteen year old, his life had been fuller and more adventurous than of most people his age, but it was hardly a solace for one destined to be thrown around by fate, without a past and without a future, only with sorrow. He hardly remembered the day when, a little boy of five, he'd arrived at the monastery in Provence which was to be his new home, after a very, very long journey by sea. But he was a stranger and a nobody, he didn't fit in with the others and soon, as his intended training progressed, his weapons became his only friends. It made sense in very bitter way, the two pistols and the knife up his sleeve were his only worldly possessions, aside from two changes of clothes and a small silver rosary wrapped around his left wrist – that and his own thoughts on the mission to come, which might very well have been his last.

Indeed, it was very likely in his line of work. Many servants of the Church had perished fighting the bloodthirsty monsters he was hunting and it was – in the back of his mind the American had no doubt about it – the way he would probably meet his end too, maybe even before becoming a full-fledged fighter. And so this journey held no excitement for him, if anything only dread. Half-lidded blue orbs swept wearily over the dark landscape unfolding beyond the carriage window as he was more and more tempted to doze off.

"William?"

The voice of his older companion brought the young man back from the borders of sleep and he nearly winced. "Forgive me, Father, did you say something?" After all these years he still felt a like a cold needle shooting through his insides at hearing this name. This name, for it still wasn't his own. William Stone was nobody. Nobody's son and nobody's father, nobody's husband and nobody's brother, so the tale went. And he wasn't William.

"You look tired, William. I am sorry that you couldn't even rest properly after your last assignment, but there was no time," said the priest. "For what it's worth, you could see this as an appreciation of your work so far, the fact that Braginski has chosen you. You know, the bishop really is a special man, with much initiative. And a lot of courage, I might add."

"His choice honors me, of course. I've heard he's a very brave man."

Alfred though it was worth making an effort to please his mentor, Father Bonnefoy. But he had not heard that much about Bishop Braginski, other than that he was known for his stubbornness and resilience. Not so much for successful exploits though, in fact it was remarkable enough he was still alive after doing this for as long as he had and as recklessly as they said he did it. It was a complicated affair, the one they were currently delving into, he was a Catholic, the Russian bishop was an Orthodox and the one they were after was (or rather, had been) a Protestant, but the matter at hand required cooperation.

"You do realise though, this is a very risky pursuit," the older man went on. "Countess Héderváry's family is under the protection of the emperor, who has always dismissed the rumors about them, he has even dismissed the plainly proven facts. Obviously, he would not believe – hardly anyone would believe – the truth about her. His great-grandfather was on the throne in her time, after all."

The dirty-blond boy half-hugged himself, pulling the rough cloak tighter around his body – it was indeed getting colder. He hoped that at least where they were going there would be a warm bed waiting for him, in which to curl up and pass out for a few hours, at least.

"Risky…. Considering the implications, I can only hope that at the end of this we won't hang," Alfred muttered.

The Frenchman only laughed softly. "Ah, no. All I am saying is that nothing upfront can be done, but if we are to lose this confrontation, a much more horrid end awaits us. She will hardly be satisfied just with seeing us hang, rest assured."

Some assurance this was… And his biggest concern – if he were to admit it plainly, but never to Father Bonnefoy – was that Alfred did not trust Bishop Braginski and his methods too much. From what he'd heard, the man was hardly subtle and if somehow they were to survive this mission, he would probably get them in trouble with the imperial authorities. Besides, some crap was better left unstirred, in his opinion. The Church was experienced in hunting down ghouls, but ghouls were mindless beasts driven only by thirst and even if their power was great, they would not use it with skill. A real vampire was something they knew next to nothing about. And that wasn't the only problem, the Héderváry family had a lot of loyal human servants, how were those to be dealt with? Thus, it was plain to him that Bishop Ivan Braginski was most likely stirring some crap much bigger than they could handle.

"I must confess I find the whole story rather baffling," he said after a while."Ghouls and the like usually appear in small, remote villages where people are plagued by all sorts of superstitions and affinities for magic and such. But from what I understood, countess Erzsebet Héderváry was an educated woman, she must have had the finest teachers… And her family was known to be very religious, too. How could such a thing happen?"

"All of a man's learning often fails him when confronted with worldly passions," the priest replied. "After the death of her husband, Elizaveta spent some time in Vienna and found solace in the arms of a man much younger than herself, the heir of a well-know Austrian family. There seemed to be a great love between them, but his parents had other plans. They chose a wife as young as he and even though the affair continued, the countess began to fear that her lover would soon abandon her in favor of his new wife, because she no longer had such freshness that only youth possesses. Somehow, she must have studied the books of necromancers or other such abominable writings and has made the choice to give her soul to the Devil in exchange for youth and beauty. It was no use though – the Austrian ended things with her anyway and the countess returned home, humiliated and chagrined."

The American did his best to stretch his aching legs in the crammed space between the seats, stifling a yawn. "And that was it?"

"No. A few months later the young man and his wife were gruesomely slaughtered in their house in Vienna together with all the servants. That was it. There was no proof that it might have been the countess' doing, but… there's plenty of reason to believe that it was her."

Silence fell afterwards and Alfred was grateful. For some reason this whole intrigue had upset him, this tale from what he would call 'the world of the living'. And maybe it had stirred some old, deep-buried memories inside him as well. At any rate, there was no use dwelling on it, on all the how-s and the why-s, the essential was that Erzsebet Héderváry was now a creature they were supposed to hunt and bring down. But not tonight, not tonight.


It was well after midnight when the carriage eventually stopped. Feeling rather numb after the long hours, Alfred moved to open the door and glanced out, grimacing as the cold air stung his nostrils. They were in a pitch dark courtyard, barren and unkempt, in the back of which he could see a large but austere looking parish house – at least that was what he assumed it was. Two torches burned on each side of the double wooden door, which seemed unusually solid and reinforced with iron bars. It looked quite ominous, especially since there was no one in sight.

A man eventually came out through the door - just as the boy was helping his older companion descend – and Alfred stared at him a bit. Said man was quite young himself, a mess of curls shadowing his forehead and his body was lean under the tattered black robe. But his walk was sort of stumbled and darn, he wasn't hurrying at all.

"Please forgive me, I had fallen asleep watching the road. And be welcome, father, brother. I am brother Heracles," the young man said, taking a bow and leaning to kiss Father Bonnefoy's gloved hand. "I am to take care of all the arrangements…"

The priest patted his shoulder lightly, allowing him to take his travel bag. "I hope all is well with Bishop Braginski?"

"Oh yes, thank God. As soon as you're settled, His Holiness will join you for a late dinner."


Bishop Ivan Braginski was an odd fellow, Alfred thought, eyeing his almost cold stew without appetite. The man was rather young (maybe too young for such a rank?) and had a bulky sort of build, more suited for a different kind of occupation, perhaps something involving hard labor. Perhaps he was a strong, resilient fighter, the American thought, thinking of the heavy hand which had been laid onto his shoulder as a welcome. But in complete contrast to that, Braginski was incredibly soft spoken and appeared very gentle.

"Anyway, there is a new murder occurring almost every week now," the bishop said, pulling Alfred back from his thoughts. "Therefore you see, measures must be taken and this situation dealt with. I daresay it's almost like this land is suffering of plague."

His companion sighed, taking a slow sip of his wine (at least the wine was good here, not too sweet, not too dry and it would help him sleep better). "It is most unfortunate, indeed," the priest agreed. "I was telling William on the way here about the murder in Vienna… how that poor young man and his wife were found slaughtered bestially… it is such a shame…"

"Actually," Ivan pointed leaning back his chair, "Roderich Edelstein's body was never found. They only found some torn, bloodied pieces of clothing which were presumably his and one shoe… but not the body. So it was only assumed he was dead too, da."

Alfred gasped, genuinely surprised at that. "But… do you believe he could be alive, then?" he asked without thinking. Of course Roderich Edelstein could not have been alive after all this time, it had all happened almost a hundred years before. The American inwardly cursed his big mouth, which somehow never failed to embarrass him.

"Well, not alive, surely, but un-dead, da. I have thought about this possibility," Braginski admitted. "It's possible that the countess may have wanted to keep her lover forever by her side. However, that is hardly important. If he has indeed become a Nosferatu, then there can be no salvation for him."

The bishop's sense of practicality was somehow reassuring, Alfred thought. He didn't seem to be interested at all in the whole drama, but rather solely on the outcome of it and he was only counting his potential enemies.

"Forgive me, Your Holiness," Father Bonnefoy suddenly said. "It is very late and I believe we should retire. There will be plenty of time to talk things through in the morning."

The bishop only nodded with a light smile and they were afterwards led to their rooms by a very sleepy looking Heracles. The American briefly looked around his – it was small and austere, pretty much like all the rooms he'd been sleeping in for as long as he could remember – but it was clean and neat so he reckoned it would do. It was cold enough for the boy to throw the cloak over his nightshirt and wrap himself as tightly as possible in the rough blanket, but as soon as his cheek touched the cool pillow, he was fast asleep.

To be continued