Disclaimer: Rated M for mature themes(18+) Hellsing and all its original characters belong to Kouta Hirano

Author's Note: While this fanfic is made to work as a sequel to my other story, Howl, it does not continue from Hans and Seras' point of view, though I would suggest reading Howl first. Rather it jumps 30 years into the future where Alucard returns to Hellsing, thus picking up where the original series leaves off. Much like in Howl, it deals with present events and also flashbacks to Alucard's distant past.

Also a quick fact, Alucard was given his name by Arthur Hellsing in 1944. Before that he was recorded to have been known by the name of Count Dracula according to the events of Bram Stoker's Dracula, which is set in 1897. As this fic gets its start upon Vlad Tepes' death(Alucard's original name) in the late 1400's, he will not go by the name of Alucard in many of his flashbacks and instead will be referred to as either Vlad or Dracula. I understand that this may cause some confusion for my readers, but I hope you come to appreciate the names Alucard used throughout history both before and after the events of Kouta Hirano's Hellsing. Since Hirano did take a few liberties with Vlad Tepes' history, I will keep in that spirit and follow the guidelines he set out.

Prologue

Vlad Tepes

Romania, 1477

Marching across the blood soaked earth, stripped bare of clothing and weapon alike. He was truly meeting death now. The stock which hung from his neck and locked his wrists at eye level creaked with his every step. Bodies littered the earth, like a grotesque lake filled with dead fish. That heavy, copper laced smell of blood hung supreme in the air. Already the crows and vultures were arriving in time for the feast at sunset.

The Turkish soldiers marched him towards a small hill with an old tree, the bodies of friends and officers hung limply from above. It still didn't hold the same impact as when he had impaled the bodies of his enemies upon cut tree branches, but the irony was not lost on him. He knew he should probably feel sorrow at the deaths of his allies, but the emotion merely washed over him like water, none of it soaking in.

So this was death then?

What a load of horse shit. If this was God's attempt at a joke, it was grossly flat. How many years had he demanded God's attention? In the name of God he had crusaded against the Muslim heretics, he had butchered and made examples of thousands of them. He was feared by all and yet God had turned away from him. If his crusades had been God's wrathful will as he had believed for so long, then why had he failed? Why was he about to be put to death by heretics who followed a false god? The futility of it all was maddening, infuriating...

Now he was forced down on his knees, head smashed into the blood and soil of the battleground. How fitting... His hatred had started with him being forced down onto his knees by a Turk, now he would have his head separated from his body by one while also being forced down onto all fours. What a waste. Well, if God had turned away from him, then he would likely be going to hell. Why not return the favor?

That's right... He may have served without any gratitude in return for his grand deeds, but in death he would not return like a beaten dog to its master's indifferent hand.

The executioner's axe rose up and held in the air for a moment. He opened his mouth and let his tongue taste of the battlefield, his last meal being that of the blood of the crusades while his final thoughts were simply 'there is no god.'

Death was a lot like dreamless sleep, minus the part where he would wake up. He was weightless and whole, yet shattered all the same as he hung in Limbo. The rich flavor of the blood from the fallen crusaders and heretics was the only thing he was truly, acutely aware of. All he could think of was that he wanted more of this nectar, to gorge himself on it and wallow in it. To bring despair and madness to those who had lied to him in life, used him as a tool of war... Vengeance would truly taste sweet once he had drank the life blood of his betrayers and who claimed to follow their ways.

"Is that what you truly desire?"

The voice was disembodied, everywhere and yet nowhere. It thrummed inside his head and in his ears, neither male nor female. He just laughed loudly in response, enjoying the madness and absurdity of it all, his life and his death. How beautifully insane it had all been.

How mad. How violent. How perfect...

Vlad Tepes

1477

Hell was not where he had been supposed to end up.

Yet, here he was, like awaking after a fitful sleep.

It wasn't painful or even hot as so many people imagined or perhaps he was simply looking down into Hell from just inside the black gates. While countless souls fell from the endless chasm above, he stood clothed and as himself on the ledge. The endless screaming didn't sound all that different from the battlefields he had spent his life on or the freshly impaled armies he had impaled throughout entire forests, some alive and some not when the deed was done. The land which stretched out below was dark, as if obsidian and ash made up the soil.

The souls which rained down from above were like a meteor shower he had once seen, only they screamed and moaned as they fell and lacked the ethereal beauty of a worldly phenomena. Massive beasts stalked among the endless sea of husks that had once been people, herding them toward a sea of black. These creatures were unlike any Vlad had seen in life, standing on hind legs with hulking bodes and arms long enough to nearly drag their knuckles across the floor. They were harnessed with metal and chains, great rings pierced their nostrils like that of a bull and allowed their riders to direct their movements. The beasts were horrible to look at, their heads lacking eyes and their mouths gaping, as if waiting for a stray body to snap up and devour.

Their riders were no less terrifying to gaze upon, humanoid things with great horns upon their heads, wearing black armor and armed with great whips that cracked fire upon the backs of the wretched they herded through Hell. Vlad could hear their voices from where he stood, a chilling language that sounded more like grunts and gurgled cursing than words. The scene was no less disturbing from his seemingly safe vantage point, after all he would supposedly be here for eternity.

The familiar sound of armor clinking behind him forced him to avert his gaze from the horrors below. Turning, he found himself staring at a sight no less fascinating and horrible than the rest of hell. The being which approached him was both horrible and beautiful to behold. Wearing armor made from bones painted black and chain mail, a woman stood before him with great leathery wings spread wide and a hood pulled low over her head. From the shade of the hood, Vlad could see that her face was either painted or tattooed, strange black lines which moved about her lower face.

"Are you death come to drag me to my eternal torment?" He asked, feeling himself tremble as the horror of her presence overcame his earlier calm.

"Dost thou question death itself?" Her voice was everywhere and yet nowhere, neither in his head nor coming from the figure he beheld. It was terrifying and beautiful all at once, neither good nor evil in nature.

"I don't understand."

"I am Azrael, One Whom God Helps. The Almighty hast tasked me with guarding the dying, separating the soul from the corpse, and receiving the souls of the newly dead. Whether the newly dead meet eternal damnation or paradise is not mine choice, but I oversee their rightful placement accordingly. Thine own soul hast chosen a third path, that which never rests nor findeth peace."

"I was not aware I had made any such choice."

"Silence abomination!" The voice was suddenly incredibly loud, like a thunder clap in his ear and causing the ground beneath his feet to quake at her wrath, "Thou hast no right to question Death, but a choice hast been made and the consequence thine to endure. A fleeting life spent causing pain and torment for thine own greed and pleasure. Thou belongeth in the deepest of pits, but mine opinion is not of consequence here. The Serpent himself hast intervened on thine behalf. Paradise shall be forever lost to thou, but thine fate in the Abyss is to be delayed. Thou shalt be cursed to roam the earth as a parasite, a beast neither living nor dead."

"Cursed? Verily, escaping Hell's torment and roaming the earth sounds more like a reward." Vlad laughed, daring to test this being despite his precarious position.

The tattooed lips beneath the hood twitched upward into a smirk, "Indeed, the Devil's reward and the Almighty's curse, whichever title thou prefers to use. But, make no mistake, thine is a fate worse than death. Now begone from mine presence... and suffer well."

Her massive wings suddenly beat down, a gust of wind and ash suddenly engulfing Vlad completely. Without thinking, he stepped back and fell downward towards the abyss. All at once he was plummeting down, a drop of rain in the downpour of damned souls. His mind could neither grasp at what was happening nor understand it, all that he was aware of was the fall.

Then he hit the ground. His bones shattered and his flesh burst like a melon dropped from the roof, his meat scattered about in the grass as the moonlight blinded him. No longer was he in Hell, but back on the battlefield where he had been executed. From where his severed head lay, he could see his battered body a few feet away. Spears were impaled within the dead flesh and his belly had been ripped open, guts and organs spilled out onto the ground where the flies swarmed for the feast.

He could feel every nibble of the insects upon him, despite being separated from his body. Like a worm cut in half, his body suddenly lurched and began to inch its way toward the spot where his head lay. The spears fell away from his torso one by one and he watched with no small amount of fascination as his guts seemed to be sucked back up into the cavity of his abdomen. Like a pecked worm, his body wallowed in the mud until it reached his head, then as if attracted back to it his head slid back onto his shoulders. Flesh and tendons mended back together until he was whole again and he sat upright in the chilly night air.

There was no life to his body, his flesh felt cold and there seemed to be no heartbeat in his chest nor veins. Even his lungs no longer pushed air in and out of them, instead sitting still and dead inside his rib cage. It felt strange to be a moving, thinking corpse. The warmth of life felt like a distant memory and the horror of Hell like nothing more than a bad dream, yet he knew it was all very real. He was also aware that he desired something, but had no knowledge of what that was. It was a mixture between intense hunger and thirst, yet neither food nor water seemed to motivate him.

Instead he rolled over and lapped his tongue into the puddle of blood beneath him. The gore and red liquid soon covered his mouth and dulled his senses like strong wine, bringing strength unlike anything he had ever felt along with it. The words of the Angel of Death echoed in his mind, "Suffer well."

He had every intention of doing so.

The prologue to my Hellsing fanfic Suffer Well. I hope you enjoyed it and that it piqued your interest. Once I am finished with the final chapters of Howl, I will start on this sequel. This is just a small taste of what is to come. In Suffer Well the story will detail Alucard's death and following unlife as Vlad Tepes and his future upon return to Hellsing 30 years after the events in Howl.

Until this story's beginning, I hope that you will read Howl or at least leave a review on your thoughts for this little teaser on my upcoming fic.