Disclaimer: I do not own any canon characters of 'Hellsing' - Though I do own the other 'original characters'.

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Prologue

Winter of 1462 - Wallachia, Romania

The hall was filled and rambunctious that night. The usually chilled stoned walls of the castle were alit and warmed by the numerous torched candle flames. Shadows danced and shifted with the soft melody of a flute that could barely be heard over the boisterous merry making. And they. Royals and wealthy nobles from around the county sat gorging themselves on the majestic feast that lay before them. Chewing on the most luxurious of meats; suckling on the sweetest of ripe fruits; dining with the finest of cutlery made of gold and rubies alike. Unbeknownst to them, outside, the low darkening skies were rolling in quickly. Darkly. And the occasional rumbles of thunder threatened to break through. They all laughed, they all sang, they all danced. But one.

The host, whom sat regally and with an air of arrogance upon his throne like chair. Positioned at the head of the table. His pale, aristocratic features were set like the stone of a grave. His eyes, almost black in colour, hovered intensely over each individual that sat amongst the uproar.

" Ah! Milord!"

Those eyes instantly shot to the drunken, short blob of a man; anyone could easily mistaken him for a slug, absorbing anything and everything around him as though his life depended on it. Lord Sebastian Stefanor Biaram .The wealthiest and most feared boyar out all whom were present that night. His voice was pitched and slurred as he saluted to his host awkwardly with his goblet.

"You do yourself well, Prince! For I have never tasted better food. Nor drank better wine with better company."

A 'here, here' was heard all around as the other men followed suit and raised a toast to the brooding man at the end of the table.

Unmoving, the man smirked slightly over the rim of his ruby embedded goblet. Eyes piercing, once again, through each of his guests. Some of the of the more sober men shuffled in their seats quietly. Then. Very slowly. His hand raised in a elegant wave of a gesture. The lords present at the table turned with a frown to the far end of the hall were a guard waiting by the door acknowledged the movement with a nod. And then in seconds, swarms of guards and soldiers alike swept into the room by the dozens. Blocking all of the existing six exits of the hall. The doors were heavily boarded and bolted with a mocking clang that that seemed to echo all around.

Puzzled and fearful, each of the guests turned back to their host with wide eyes.

" Tell me," The man started casually, his voice resounding menacingly, deep around the table. Relishing at the fear he saw shining through their wine induced gazes. " How many princes have ruled this land, in the last decade or so?"

The Lord, Sebastian, frowned and stutter. " I… er.. Many milord. Why do you ask?"

The man nodded solemnly, as though agreeing to something but not to the words in which his guest had spoken. " And… How many of these so called 'rulers' have been successful? Please enlighten me." He commanded with an elegant turn of his hand for the other man to continue.

" Not many." Another, more thinner man intervened before Sebastian could answer. The moment the Princes cold gaze flashed to him; he inwardly wished had not spoken.

" Oh." The prince sarcastically replied in mock surprise. " And why Is that, I wander?"

" Most have fallen, milord." Sebastian spoke up again, drawing attention from the other man. " They were not as strong and honourable as you, my Prince. Only you are the true Prince and ruler of this kingdom." The others agreed with mumbles - though some could say, half heartedly. Their voices were low and shattering the intense silence that had befallen the once lively celebration. The dark prince had to control himself from rolling his eyes at the whimpering cowards he called fellow lords of his land. Casually he took a sip of his wine, swirling the dark crimson liquid around the base of the goblet gently. Mixing the flavours……

….. Without a word the soldiers sprang forth from their positions against the wall. Each man addressed at the table was grabbed and thrown either on the smooth floor or against the wall, with a bruising force.

" What?!" One lord cried and he struggled against the men, his mouth bloody and muffled against the smooth marbled stone. "What is the meaning of this?!… Answer me damn you!"

Unaffected by the chaos going on around him, the prince sat casually. One sleek black leg draped lazily over the arm. Still swirling his drink experimentally. The guard whom he had gestured earlier for the soldiers came forth to stand beside his chair.

" What shall I do with them my lord?"

The prince then stopped all movement, and looked up. Very slowly, A wolfish grin grew menacingly across this mouth. Anyone one watching would say his eyes almost gleamed a strange red colour in the firelight…..