Second Crusade
Okay I decided to redo this story, because the first one sucked. Dialogue is being redone, characters are being redone too. And lots of new stuff is being added.
Prologue: The Long Walk Back
God must still have a job for me, the man thought. He was a young man, physical appearance alone he looked to be in his early twenties, but his eyes gave off age and wisdom that went far beyond any normal person's life span. His long dark hair was tied back in a single ponytail that ended just above his shoulders. He was dressed in what looked like a cross between a formal suit and military uniform. The colors were a mixture of black and grey.
Around him the flames happily devoured the wreckage of the airship. He tossed the used parachute into one of the metal pyres, where it was quickly set ablaze, before making his way out. The soldiers from the Legions will be here soon.
Around the crash sight hungry groans stirred the desert air. The ghouls were waking up, and they were hungry. The man turned on his heel and met them head on. He counted twenty five, half of which had become little more then walking flames and four that had been recently relived of their ability to walk.
Silver barbs flew from holes between the knuckles of his gloves, trailing thin, metal fiber wires. He fought with the same technique his family had used for generations. A form of combat first invented by his ancestor, and namesake Walter C. Dornez.
With a single flick of his wrist he turned five of the ghouls to a muddy combination of blood and ash. However they continued on against him unaware of the permanent death they would soon meet.
With the smallest movement of his hands Walter caused the wires to fly around him at a blinding speed. He had long since mastered the art created by the ancient retainer. Several of the undead were maimed simply by coming to close to the shield of wires. But oblivious to pain they continued to their death march. Nothing stopped them, even though their outstretched hands were quickly disappearing into a cloud of blood, like wood in a chipper. They would simply continue until the wall of wires sliced through their skull and took their brain leaving behind tattered clothes that looked as if they'd been soaked in mud. One of the crawlers had stopped just outside the wall of death, and reached into the sand gripping partially solid chunks of his fallen comrades and shoveled them into his waiting mouth. And within seconds all but one had been given an eternal rest.
Standing just above what used to be a man Walter looked down at feasting abomination. It looked up at him, it's face covered with blood and sand, and gave a rasping groan. Though the face no longer looked human the remains of the helmet was all it took to identify him as one of the pilots. While most of it was gone it seemed the fire had welded on the top part of the helmet to the man's head, making it look a bit like a Yarmulkes.
I wonder if you were Jewish, he thought. And he flicked his wrist, sending a single wire up through his chin and slicing his head clean in half. Sorry Yiddle, he thought with a grim smile.
Here we stand on the precipice, the cuff, the razor edge. All that will happen to us depends on them, and what lies beneath that house. This our first step in a new journey either to victory or annihilation.
Somewhere in the distance the insect-like whine from a Legion search ship filled the air. However it had no effect on Walter, all he cared about was surviving long enough to reach the sacred manor, and help Sir Hellsing.
-So what did you think? Good? Bad? Send me a review, and I'll keep writing. Well I'll keep writing regardless.
