Disclaimer: Beware before proceeding, o curious reader! for the story that lies beyond the line is a composition made by a native spanish speaker! I truly attempt to reduce the grammatical mistakes to a minimum, yet I cannot guarantee my writing is completely devoid of them. I try hard! and hopefully my writing is clean enough to be fully understood. Of course there is always room for improvement, and one of my principal objectives with this is precisely that...to learn, to practice my english and slowly become a better writer.
Now, I shall clarify that all the intellectual scheme that gave birth to Hellsing should be credited to Kouta Hirano, and that the reason I use his characters in this story of mine is for mere entertainment, not focusing on obtain some revenue or whatsoever. You could say my only wish is to tribute this manga, for in my opinion it is one of the best I have stumbled upon. Summarizing, all the environment and the characters portrayed here (with the exception of punctual ones) belong to the author of Hellsing, and I would never claim them as my own.
Chapter 1: Exsilium
"And here lays the king of treason, the one who has fallen to the depths of his own hell, burying himself with the heavy burden of sin. The cursed brother, the one who dared to kill in the name of envy, and decided to speak deceit in the name of pride. Delusions have brought you to the top of your narcissism, letting you fall soon enough to be rapt by the gossip of shame, while your almost lifeless body drowns itself in the pools of your inhumane blood. But you shall not die here my son, you shall suffer for the rest of eternity the weight of your sins until the day of your dawn finally arrives, and your soul gets purified. Hours may pass, days may pass, months may pass, years may pass, centuries may pass, millennia may pass...no matter how long it takes, you shall live until your virtue has surpassed your sin! But don't worry child...for all the time you need is yours, even if that time is close to eternity."
Dusk is breaking when the almost lifeless body of the traitor lays in silence over the veil of earth itself. Many would consider it an awful night, since the sky covers the moon with a graceful sheet of dark clouds, each one of them crying their tears of life. Many people would try to find a haven to rest, run in order not to get soaked in the downpour and probably catch a delicate disease, find a nice thick blanket and cover themselves with it, some of them with a nice bonfire close by. Not everybody would actually enjoy the coldness of water on their skin as fervently as the traitor, for in that cold night he lays undisturbed with a smile on his face, water sliding carefully through his eyes and cheeks almost resembling his tears. None could blame him for enjoying this weather though, taking into account the horrors he endured just before nightfall. Actually, he never really enjoyed water nor cold weather, yet the gentle but cold sensation of water is soothing just after experiencing torture and pain with no equal, and the music of water embracing the ground could also become the most beautiful piece of art in the world. He was tired, pained, hopeless, and even a downpour such as it appears as a paradise compared to the emptiness of spirit that was left in his body.
He can almost feel the tiny remains of life parting ways with his soul, as he can feel his humanity slipping away from his hands. Soon enough his smile finds no more livelihood, for his skin becomes numb from the caresses of water. And so he holds his last breath under the black sky, watching the moon as it overlooks earth in the middle of the mourning clouds, slowly turning from white to yellow, from yellow to orange, from orange to red, and from red to crimson; the deepest red he could have ever seen in his life, a red so surreal no human would be able to ever see. And so he closed his eyes and became one with the night, leaving the last traces of humanity behind, holding tightly the hands of eternity, of an undead eternity that was only his, such as the crimson red that now the moon was dressed as.
And so he was reborn.
Not long passed before the sun appeared on the horizon. A couple of hours maybe, but time that in the eyes of the traitor was merely his very last breath of life. The sun was as beautiful as ever, yet its presence suffocated the man like nothing else ever did. The star as always was bright and powerful, travelling through the sky like the king it has always been, but shining in a way that its white light became almost blinding, with its rays violating profusely the depth of his eyes. The heat on the other hand suddenly started to become unbearable. It is not as such it was truly warm, but somehow his skin received the embrace of the sun as if it had never felt it in his life, feeling how the power of the light penetrated his skin and tore of every nerve on his body, with no intention to ever cease. The pain was something he could not even grasp, for its nature was something completely alien to him —and to anybody until then— and because of it he adventured himself to move! to find some place to hide from the inclemency of the now bittersweet sun, finding as soon as he tried that his body was healed completely, and on top of it was stronger and as light as a feather. Surprised he was, and yet wasted no time in finding the sacred shadows that would protect him. A close tree with a rather significant hole would do.
As soon as he found himself slightly more comfortable, not denying the fact that the sun still found its way to violate his eyes, he decided to take care of his strange situation. He recalled accurately the events of the last night, where devoid of all mercy the voices of heaven destroyed his humanity, will and ego. He could remember all the pain he had been through, and how after an eternity everything ceased, the gentle inclemency of a downpour mollifying the pain of his body and spirit. He felt his life slip away, and yet now in the very day, he woke up in the same place he thought would be his last, for reasons unknown to him.
"But you shall not die here my son, you shall suffer for the rest of eternity the weight of your sins until the day of your dawn finally arrives, and your soul gets purified. Hours may pass, days may pass, months may pass, years may pass, centuries may pass, millennia may pass...no matter how long it takes, you shall live until your virtue has surpassed your sin"
The voice of his damnation echoed in his empty body, resonating through his hollow inside and hurting his soul with the amplification of reverberation. What was the true meaning of those words? were they as simple as they sounded? or was that a phrase of simbolism of hazy meaning? for a moment he considered a eternal life between the circles of hell, eternity trapped inside a parallel world, or something of that sort. Hell, he even considered the cycles of reincarnation, feeling as though he would be cursed to continue it forever, never reaching Nirvana, experiencing how in every cycle his soul would rotten a little more each time until it would banish from existence. An yet, his body manifested something that was completely off of his expectations.
Pale skin, inhuman strength and endurance, and also the fact that he could no longer stand under the sun comfortably. He felt no tiredness and no hunger, and so he confused on the thought that his condition seemed more of a blessing that a curse. What are the thoughts of god? what did he intend with this doing? and more imporantly, in what had him become? he grasped death with his fingers, and yet logic confirmed he was still alive. But he felt no life within, no soul within, only void and despair. In what had him become?
Days passed, the man slowly getting more accustomed to his new identity. Nights never felt as graceful, soothing and comfortable, and even though in his previous life he used to find affliction in cold weathers, now they were a gentle breeze for his skin. Yet, he never could handle the sun again. To think that he always lived close to the desert, surrounded by a weather so warm it was suffocating, and still many years surrounded by it only made it evoke a sensation of peace. To think how much he changed in a sole night, how his life changed in a sole night.
He could recall the other small differences in his body. He no longer felt hunger, repulsing at the very sight of the dishes he used to enjoy before. And yet he felt thirst, a thirst of something he could not recall, for water was as repulsive as food, giving him a constant but endurable sense of discomfort. He also saw a sight most intriguing, as the reflection of his face in the water showed a crimson color in his eyes instead of the green he always saw, reminding well the crimson red that dressed the moon that fateful night. But his walk was peaceful, rather gentle, mainly because of his confusion and will to learn a little bit of himself every day. He had no idea of the prowess of his body...his deadly prowess.
The era he found himself living in was not the most gentle, for it was a era of around 7000 years before christ, where agriculture was not that "popular" on his surroundings, and most of the people lived a nomad life based on the economy of hunting. Houses were mostly caves and huts located close to the rivers, and society was limited to the diverse tribes. Life was a constant struggle, subject to the inclemency of weather and the strength of wild animals. And scared was the protagonist of our story to get close to his fellow human beings, for the differences between him and the rest of humanity became acute. So he travelled alone, surviving with anything less that his strengthened feet and convenient no necessity of food; of course, a condition that made him an easy prey to wild animals.
One night whilst he travelled he heard the intimidating roar of a lion close by. Not long he lasted unknown of his situation, for his new eyes allowed him to see better that he ever did before. That did not lessen his fear though. He watched with hopelessness as the hunter locked eyes with him, positioned to destroy what was in front of it if the crimson-eyed tried to move a finger. The man was aghast, and not long passed before he dared to run from the lioness that intended to turn him into her children's food (he was certainly not fitted to be a hunter), thus evoking the animal's ire. Of course she attacked, and as soon as she started to run after him he dared to turn his face, facing death one more time. He had no time to think, no time to reflect upon his inmediate destiny, and still...time was enough to surrender to his instincts. A rage of ire travelled through his body like a lightning, filling his emptiness for a second of the bright flames of strength. His eyes started to shine in the middle of the night, reflecting the deepest red that had ever been seen. His face turned from the expression of terror to a flagitious one, and his position mutated from that of a scared puppy to a courageous hunter, waiting for his pray to reach him. And she did, the lioness reached the man, ending the encounter with disastrous consequences...for her.
No traces of humanity were left in the demeanor of the man, for the violence that showed in him was no match of any wicked human. He destroyed his rival, violated its life with his own hands, leaving behind only her unrecognizable body surrounded by a pool of blood. Of course his savage behavior left his clothes and hands covered of the splatter of blood, and as soon as he focused his attention on his crimson tinctured hands, he found the source of the thirst that haunted him from the very first day.
Never blood dared to present itself in such an elegant appearance. The red fluid shined in a way diamonds would rotten in envy, and its gentle travelling in his hands was more seductive than any woman he ever encountered. Suddenly he felt the bloodlust, the undeniable need to drink every drop of that sacred liquid and leave no trace of it behind. And he did, he licked his hands with no remorse, enjoying every drop of red in his tongue. He then proceeded to lick the blood that had fallen to earth, and the one that was left on the lifeless lioness's body. The sensation of fulfillment was beyond description, a sensation he was willing to experiment once, twice, three times, four times, infinite times.
And so he did.
He dared not to touch human beings at first, not because he did not want to, but rather because the thought never crossed through his mind. He made all animals his prey, though. Small animals, big animals, rodents, mammals, everything was a delicious source of blood he could drink and fall in ecstasy with, discovering that his teeth had changed in ways that penetrating skin and sucking from it was considerably easier. He knew no boundaries to his bloodlust, torturing and drinking the livings beings with a perversion that could not be named. It was a will, a desire, an addiction, a undeniable necessity. But then the day came when he found an injured woman on his trips, covered in her own blood.
- Sir...please help this careless being. I should have...been a good girl and stayed close to my family and now...I am suffering for my foolishness. Please good sir...even though I did a wrongdoing...I do not wish to die...please save me...I do not wish to die - The girl pleaded, seeing her life sweep away by the claws of death, something very similar of what he experiencied that fatidical night. She had been attacked when she slipped away despite her tribe's protests, and now she was suffering for her lack of tact.
In ordinary conditions he would have helped the girl, he would have tried to save her even though her wounds were to severe to endure. He was not a merciless man, even though the crime he commited was one of the most deplorable, to the point he was chained to a new, depraved reality. But now he was a monster, a man devoid of humanity, and taking care of human beings had become everything but a priority. Instead...he could not help to focus on the delicious blood that radiated like a thousand suns from her belly and clothes, with the inmediate need to feed from it. He did not doubt to get close to her and violate her skin with his fangs, not regretting his acts despite the screams of horror of his victim. He sucked her blood with a will he did not show before, not even the very day he discovered the pleasure of it. He sinked his fangs with no remorse, reaching the depths of her body and taking every single trace of blood that flowed through it, and as soon as he was finished he felt reborn...a pleasure as intense that from that very moment all human lives became insignificant, and from that very moment...he proclaimed them as prey and nothing else.
Of course there were protests from the humans, for they tried to defend themselves when he dared to attack their communities. He was almost berserk, his body devoid of fear, with enough trust in his strength to believe he was able destroy any tribe on his path...and he was right. Pleased he was when he discovered that when human weapons harmed him he regenerated almost instantly, making all of them no treat to him. His regenerations seemed to know no boundaries, for even when he lost limbs he was able to recover them almost instantly, and fortunately for him...but not for his victims, his abilities did not stop there. Unless he destroyed the bodies of his prey completely, as soon as he feeded on them he sucked their souls along with their blood, leaving behind undead bodies with no sense of reason that blindly followed him and answered each one of his commands with no second thoughts. He was not very fond of them, disposing them as soon as he found it appropriate, but they nevertheless helped him achieving his goals. He found that young bodies such as children and young teenagers did not become those monsters though, instead, becoming weak versions of himself. A very whimsical of a man he became, and so he dared not to leave traces of the young ones he ate, for he was not willing to create beings that could do such as himself. And still, he could not control the birth of all of these similar creatures, slowly giving birth to a new race that in the future would be named as...
...vampires.
With time the original vampire became aware of another delightful advantage of his new identity, for years passed and he noticed he did not age at all. When after almost one hundred years he found his body as youthful as the night when he converted, he started to understand the meaning of the words of god. "You shall suffer for the rest of eternity the weight of your sins" recalled, being aware of the fact that until a enormous strength came and tore his undead life...he would roam for the rest of eternity. He was not terrified of eternity, instead, he was pleased. On a night of fullmoon he fixed his sight to the blackened sky, smirking as soon as he felt the trace of eternity between his fingers. He was powerful, the most powerful being, and also he was eternal. Life seemed to be promising, a life prospecting of thousands of sins, thousands of bloody sins.
- Thank you god for the gift you have given me! Thank you for making me the strongest bloody creature of all the universe! Thank you for making me alien to humanity, for it only makes people weak. Thank you for making me able to see the moon for the rest of eternity, and thank you for filling this world with delightful human blood. I shall take advantage of this gift by becoming stronger with every bite, stronger with every death. That...until the day I become as strong as yourself, god himself! Remember me, your future usurper, Caín! - He pleaded, echoing his horrid voice in the once peaceful night.