Chapter One: A New Curtain Falls

August 20th, 1953

Buffalo Soldier

Arthur took another sip of his brandy. The walls bare and the floor covered in scuffmarks; there was barely hint of the centuries old art and wooden furniture that once adorned this room. Piles of ash were all that remained of the sensitive papers and files. He's sat there so calm staring out through the window at the orange glow on the horizon; the sun was not rising, nor was it falling, London was burning.

I stride forward and standing by his side. "It could be worse. The Reds in China are having a bitch of a time with that death cult." I say.

He looks up toward me with eyes glazed with despair and exhaustion.

"More then a half century this house has stood with the Hellsing name. It survived countless incursions by vampire, demons, and witches. It survived the greatest depression the world has ever seen and two world wars; now it finally falls with me."

"You'll get it back. You'll get your whole country back. Nobody thought MacArthur would take back the Philippines. But in order for that to happen you gotta stop moping around."

"This is different…" He says between a sip of brandy.

"I've seen a lot of history Sir, Britain ain't Russia."

"England isn't the colonies in 1775 either." He corrects me.

He takes another swig, his right hand quivers as he holds the glass to his lips.

"Do you have any recommendations for a good drinks across the pond." A faint lukewarm smile creeps across his face.

"That's a better question for Witch Doctor or Wendigo Hunter. I don't fancy my self much other then the occasional beer." I chuckle. "You need some help to the chopper."

"I'm quite fine." He pushes himself up from the small wooden chair. "What were they like?" he asks.

"What were what like?"

"The buffalo?"

"Big, wooly, and not too bright. There are still a few left out west, but they aren't like they used to be. Back in the day were herds of them stretching for miles, you could practically walk from Topeka to Helena on their backs. But you know what were just absolutely amazing, passenger pigeons. They had this peach colored plumage unlike anything else in the air. There were so many of em too. It was like there was more of them then the air itself."

I begin to chuckle once more.

"What's so funny?"

"There ain't a single damn passenger pigeon left. In less then a century we killed all of em, and no one gave a damn."

He would never understand. I remember back then I had turned my gaze of hate away from those who had put kept me in chains, toward the non humans.

I scorned those puppet masters both above and below who toyed with us like pawns in their great game; I loathed those who traded their humanity for strength and immortality instead of earning it. It was their fault for humanity's ills, the self-righteous forced us to live with 'necessary evils' and the parasites of the night steal us away like cattle.

No matter the color or sex, mankind was supreme, the pinnacle of all creation. It took me almost twenty damn years of being with the Sons to learn we were just as bad in our own unique way when left to our own devices, we abuse one another and so many of those lesser critters of the earth. Sometimes I wonder if the predators of the night got more restraint then us?

"Is everyone else safe?"

"All personnel listed have been evacuated except for you, me, and the boy."

I pause.

"I didn't see her on the list?"

"Who?"

"The girl from the war."

"She's dead." Arthur replies sharply.

"That's unfortunate..."

In this day and age we could have use a lot more like her and Walter. I know it sounds selfish, but it was true.

Quick footsteps scuttle from behind the door. I swing around pushing Arthur to the ground drawing my colt iron in one hand. The door bursts open its Walter.

At 17 he's a good bit taller, I remember during D-day when he barely came up to my elbow. He bows. "Sir Hellsing, I beg of you please."

"This is a secular war, were evacuating and that's final." Arthur repeats in a defeated voice.

"We can still win this. We can save everyone. You just have to…"

"No!" The man jumps to his feet.

"I will not release that Abomination on my own country men!"

"It's the only way Arthur, I can…"

He slaps the young man across the face.

"NOT ON MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS!"

I restrain Arthur, it takes more force then usual for a mortal man. His eyes are filled with blind rage, a hatred that burns its way through the hearts of man to release the inner primal monsters that we are.

"I'm sorry, Sir." The young butler apologizes meekly.

"And don't you EVER even mention IT again! DO YOU HEAR ME!"

"Yes sir."

Out the window a venom jet streaks across the sky shooting a trail of rockets into the glowing orange horizon.

"Arthur is there something that you forgot to tell my boss about?"

"The boy is stupid, it is far too dangerous to use."

"Then it should be properly contained and not left in a god damned war zone, Arthur."

"It is contained, with all the safe guards I have put into place it will never leave this mansion unless I awaken it."

I stare at him. His eyes beam frustration, anxiety, and hopelessness, his face is covered in a nervous sweat, and his hands shake; all the signs that someone would find dishonest, but after all these years I can see a true lie, and he ain't lying. He's terrified of what lies below.

"If someone so much as stepped the wrong way trying to transport it, everyone involved would be dead, no matter how highly trained, how gifted with magic, or even if they have your special mark. It is the vilest, most evil, and nastiest creature my family has hidden from the world. It is the very definition of a monster and it is powerful enough to challenge your mentor. That is the kind of danger we are talking about."

I stare at Walter. He stands there silently with his head cast down. His sleeves are still stained with blood from this morning and his hair covered in bits of rubble and grime.

With wisdom I always hoped that choices would get easier, they don't. Instinct and logic told me that I shouldn't even go near the catacomb entrance; but odd feeling in my gut tells me that maybe the boy might be right.

I was the man that couldn't die, Cain's prodigal Son; but I know I have limits. I know death is a just as real of a possibility for me as for average men.

I fought a god, a low level pagan god and barely came out alive. The only reason why I survived is because the good old boys at the desks did there research, I had a good week to prepare, and statistics were prepared in my favor. I don't know what kind of creature, demon, or deity lies in the dark catacombs below; but I do know I didn't come with enough gear to kill something like that, something that could turn the tide of a war. Statistics are simply not on my side here.

I turn toward the loud hum of the Chicksaw blades spinning out in the courtyard. It's now or never. I place my hand on Walter's shoulder.

"It's time we leave. Sorry kid."