A Blast from the Past

Chapter One

-1332 AD-

Yet another man cried in agony as he was struck down to the arid ground below, blood splattering across the desert to join the other bodies that already lay there. Steel flashed in the scorching sunlight, momentarily blinding one man until his head was cleaved from his shoulders and he would see no more, blood showering across an unfortunate soldier behind the felled man. Another swing, another death, another target. War cries rang through the air along with the clashing of swords as the battle waged in yet another part of the god forsaken land they had come to conquer. The age of the crusades was upon them all.

"Cut down those who would stand against God and his son Jesus Christ!" the preacher of their forces bellowed from above, far enough from danger but close enough for his voice to be heard, "leave not one heathen standing!"

All complied. If anything the men grew even stronger as they struck down the opposing faction. Why was there so much blood shed? Because they did not believe in their God. And because they had taken their sacred land and the heathens were to be punished for such a crime. Men were recruited far and wide for the cause, many signing up for the promise of redemption rather than fighting for their God, however there were those devout enough to fight purely for their beliefs. One such was a knight in the centre of the furious sword swinging, felling men left and right with ease very few could dream of. The lithe body winding and spinning around swords and soldiers, the long dirtied cloak whipping around their leather armoured body, shrugging off damage with the large shield on their arm.

As a blade swept for the crusader's head, the blow knocked their metal helm to the ground but they barely stumbled as long blonde hair fell from its confines. The soldier that had attacked paused for only a moment in shock giving precious time to fall prey to a blade. The only female soldier stood amongst the fallen, breathing harshly from the vicious onslaught but once again they were victorious. Cheers in the background raised the moral of the others however she hardly cared for it. Pulling her blade from the gut of the fallen man, she cleaned the blade with his shirt before sheathing the long sword at her side. A hand clapped her shoulder, a passing comrade sharing congratulations, she offered little more than a nod in response. It was a brief respite before the next great battle. Of course it was rare to see a woman on the battlefield however she had earned her place among the ranks of men. They had laughed when she had stepped forward to pledge herself to the cause. And they had stopped laughing when she had swayed the tides of battle in their favour. The cardinals liked to call her God's angel of death, bringing justice to those who did not sway beneath God.

"Good work Avelina," the preacher signed a cross between them, "once again the word of God has been cut into these heathens."

Bowing slightly, repeating the gesture herself, Avelina moved past him without a word. At first the fighting had been just and she had cut down men in the belief that she was doing as God commanded. However now...now she was not so sure. As she walked through the battered halls of the claimed castle, dead bodies being moved out of the way by those strong enough to do so, her grey eyes fell over not just men, but women and children also. This no longer seemed right. Since when had killing innocents become just and right? Making her way towards the battlements, looking out across the smouldering remains of the gate and the surviving crusaders milling around victoriously, she leant against the stone ramparts, looking out across the horizon as if looking for her home. How many years had it been since she had left her home to fight for God? How many years had it been since she had left her young son in the care of her sister-in-law? Fondly stroking the bracelet her young son had made for her from thin slivers of hay braided together into a thick band, she treasured it so.

"Not long now," she muttered into the wind, the first words she had spoken since the start of the battle, "not long now before I can return home."

A six year pledge had to be upheld and with the end would come time for her to return home although she had heard the mutterings of the others. She was their best soldier, their 'right hand of God'. They would not lightly let her go but they would have no choice. She was tired of the killing. Tired of fighting for a God that did not care for their struggles. Tired of doing what the preachers and cardinals told her to do. Tired of all the hellish creatures she had seen that should not have been able to traverse the land. Avelina had seen things that would haunt her from demons and witches to ghosts and the possessed. There were things that walked the earth that should not but she did not fear them. Not anymore.

Another battle but this one felt different. As soon as the great wooden doors of the small fort fell, there were no heavily armed men waiting for them. No, as their blades and arrows cut through the sways only peasants fell. Men and women, some cradling children, all fell to their weapons with no way of defending themselves. Avelina paused in the broken gateway, removing her helm to stare in shock at those in front of them. These were not their enemy. These were simply people who had hidden at the sound of fighting, harmless, innocent people afraid for their lives.

"Stop this!" she yelled back at the preacher who spouted his usual words, "they cannot fight us!"

He scowled at her almost as if confused by her words, "these are heathens just like the others and they must be punished! Leave none alive for God has judged them!" he yelled.

"No!"

This was not right. God did not judge the innocent! God did not want people killed in his name! Avelina however could do nothing as a woman suddenly ran from the shadows and made to flee past her. Giving chase, Avelina followed the woman outside and grabbed her by the arm.

"Wait!" she almost pleaded with the ragged woman, "I mean you no harm!"

The woman did indeed pause, looking back at her hopefully only for her eyes to widen as a crossbow bolt shot past Avelina and into the woman's chest. Blood trickled from the shocked woman's lips but Avelina was just as shocked, unable to let go of the woman's arm.

"I...I am sorry..." she whispered.

However the woman's face sudden changed, taking a darker tint as her eyes turned pitch black, a wicked grin on her face. Avelina made to quickly let go of the woman with wide eyes.

"Witch!" she growled out as the woman cackled, the crossbow bolt still lodged in her chest.

"I curse you, crusader. I curse you whose heart has turned to stone, watch as countless fall, unable to lift a finger!"

A violent shiver ran through Avelina's body from her hand that was now gripped tightly by the witch. With a burst of strength she ripped her arm back from the Witch's grasp and drew her sword with gritted teeth. To think she had been about to help a Witch escape! There was no way she would let such an evil creature leave however as she raised her blade, the Witch still cackling madly, Avelina felt her arm suddenly grow heavy. Looking up at her arm with wide eyes, her skin began to take on a grey colour, hardening from her fingertips down to her elbow in moments. Her arm had turned to stone. Panic gripped her mind but she couldn't move her arm and in seconds her body had turned to stone. She gasped for breath, her insides solid and unmoving and yet she wasn't dead even as her heart stopped dead in her chest. As the transformation clawed its way up her neck and jaw, she had one last long look at the horizon as the sun began to rise beautifully. A tear fell from the corner of her eye, turning to stone as the transformation became complete. A lone crusader that would stand through time.

-2030 AD, London-

The museum was bustling with activity for a change, tourist groups taking in the scenes around London and had wished to check on its heritage, or simple curiosity drew the other spectators. They were an array of items and displays around the museum that also branched into an art gallery. Children ran by a particular woman who stood observing a large painting of a great battlefield from hundreds of years ago. She wore a long, formal black dress, a change from her usual masculine suit, even fully equipped with a small hat atop her head, long platinum blonde hair falling gracefully down her back. She looked the picture of formal, English beauty if not for the hard look in her steely blue eye, a black patch covering her right eye, a scar stretching from its depths. The museum was not her usual haunting ground however she had been called there for a special meeting, one she was not looking forward to in the slightest.

Behind her was another part of the exhibition that dealt with the crusades and wars of old but she paid little attention to it, barely listening to the tour guide that explained paintings and artefacts to their little flock of tourists.

"-And this is a genuine statue of a rather famous crusader from the 14th century. Now as you may be surprised to note, the crusader was in fact a woman, one of the very few that took part in the crusades and on the front lines, but she was well known for her achievements. Some called her the proverbial 'right hand of God' but very little is known about her. All the records have ever told was that she was a single mother who fought for what she believed and died months before the end of her pledge, but her body was never found. Even the statue itself is a mystery, created by an unknown artist as a memorial but one question that has puzzled historians is that the statue appears to be crying for reasons unknown. However we were lucky enough to return the statue to her native soil. Now then, any questions?"

Integra Hellsing shook her head lightly, turning her attention curiously to the statue as the tourists moved away only to find someone else already stood there. She was surprised to note the tall and dark figure that now stood observing it curiously, his medium length dark hair falling softly around his pale face like shadows, crimson eyes barely hidden by his tinted glasses. He easily stood out in the crowd with his almost garish crimson trench coat and odd Victorian suit beneath but most gave him a wide berth anyway, just how he liked it.

"I'm surprised you are interested in such things," Integra commented as she joined her servant's side, "the tales of men usually have no entertainment for you."
"Master, you wound me," he chuckled lightly, "the history of women is a completely different subject."

She arched an eyebrow at him before rolling her eyes, muttering something along the lines of 'chauvinistic pig'. It only amused him greater. Turning her attention down the corridor of the museum it was to find a familiar rat of a man walking towards them, his pointed pale face somewhat scarred on the right but bright eyes grinning dangerously. He wore a dark grey suit but the jacket left aside, instead his short waspish ashen hair was brushed backwards messily but it by no means meant he was a messy man; perhaps a little deranged but most from Iscariot Section XIII were. At his side was his ever attendant weapon, a man of intimidating aura rather than his predecessors towering stature. He wore dark priest robes beneath a long trench coat, what looked like old bandages circling his scarred, torn face loosely. His steely eyes barely held his contempt at Integra and her servant Alucard, for the loss of his old tutor and mentor Alexander Anderson during the War. Mukabe and Heinkel, the dogs of the Vatican.

"Forgive me for keeping you waiting," Mukabe leaned forward with a small bow despite his insincere apology, "but we could not help but take another tour of this lovely building. Wouldn't you agree that it is a blessing that they managed to reconstruct this place?"

Ah yes, the War with Millennium had devastated London, turning the entire country upside down and raising the city to the ground amongst fire and into hell itself. It had been a night for demons to run wild and they had claimed many lives. However after thirty years the city had picked itself up from the bowels of Hell and risen back to normality. And since then they had settled with an uneasy peace with the Vatican but Integra knew better than to believe a word from them, not after they too had sought to eradicate the Hellsing organization that night. It was only a matter of time before they tried to destroy them again.

"We're not here for false words Mukabe," Integra fixed him with a steely gaze, "what is it you wanted so badly you could not wait for our annual meetings?"

The Vatican man continued to smile falsely as if he was talking to a child which only annoyed the woman further.

"What we want is something very simply," he pointed exaggeratedly over at the statue where Alucard was stood, "the return of a precious heirloom of the Vatican's! That which you have stolen from us, you filthy English cockroaches."

For a moment she had to beat back her curiosity as to why they wanted a simply crusader statue so much, instead she settled for a smirk herself. It seemed the leader of Iscariot had grown himself a pair, perhaps another fight with the group from the Vatican was not as distant as she believed.

"Oh? Is that so you forked tongue rat? The last I heard the museum had acquired such a thing through legal ways."

Not having expected the comeback his smile turned to a frown, "it was a slip on our part, an imbecile amongst our own who wished to earn himself a few more silver. I am here to reclaim it."

"I'm afraid not," she replied sharply still smirking as she walked towards the statue, placing a daring hand on the cold stone surface of its arm, "but I am quite curious as to why you should want such a thing."

Crimson light suddenly glowed from beside the Hellsing woman, startling her somewhat as Alucard pulled her away, his eyes staring at the now glowing statue with curious but wary eyes.

"What is this?!" she almost hissed out in her shock.

"Dark Magic," the vampire almost spat with obvious distaste, "a witch has done something here."

"A witch?!"

However before anything else could be said the glow suddenly vanished. Instead there was a rather loud crack, a deep split crawling its way up the torso of the statue until it had branched out across the entire statue. The stone seemed to shatter almost like glass, hitting the ground and turning to dust but in its place there was something standing. The woman who the statue had been a great likeness to. No, the woman had been the statue! Clad in medieval armour, chainmail appearing behind a leather cuirass and gauntlets, she wore a black robe over it all, a red and black shield decorating it in the four quadrants. The woman's long blonde hair was tied back in a loose tail but her pale face was still, eyes closed as her sword bearing arm fell with gravity's sway. As her heavy long sword touched the ground with a clang, her bright grey eyes snapped open in shock. Stumbling from the place she had been stood in with a gasp, oxygen filling her lungs as her heart beat for the first time in hundreds of years.

"What in the Hell…" Integra muttered aloud in shock.

There was a flurry of movement, Iscariot priests appearing from the crowds as if they had been there all along, Mukabe yelling for them to subdue their target.

The woman from the statue looked around startled, eyes wide in evident confusion but the sound of an unfamiliar man yelling at his men to confine her snapped her to attention. Forgetting for the moment that she was on unfamiliar territory, Avelina narrowed her eyes at the challenge as several men clad in black leapt at her with strange, small weapons. They would pose little challenge, they probably didn't expect much of a fight from someone who had been frozen in stone but determination burned in her heart. Grasping the hilt of her sword in both hands the blade sang forwards, slicing the head from the surprised man's neck. As blood showered down on the scene screams and alarms were raised from shocked and horrified onlookers. The building became abuzz of activity, people fleeing from the action as Avelina wasted no time in despatching over two more, kicking one backwards with a heavy boot she spun her long sword in her hand to backstab one that had crept from behind. Heaving her sword back from the man crying out in pain, she drove the bloodied blade into the last who lay at her feet. By now most of those in the building had vacated leaving only the stunned Hellsing and remnants of the Iscariot attack and retrieval squad. Withdrawing her blade from the corpse of her last attacker, Avelina flinched as a loud noise echoed off the walls, the bang sound explosive in nature as a metal object lodged itself in the wall beside her head creating a large hole. Turning to look at where the threatening object had come from she was surprised to see the end of one of those small weapons smoking lightly. Had such a small thing caused such force? There was no doubt in her mind that if it had struck her, her leather armour and chainmail would not have stopped it. Her eyes slowly moved up the arm of the wielder, slightly alarmed by the state of the man's face beneath flowing bandages but she could see he was human like the man beside him. Neither of them looked particularly inviting.

"Calm yourself woman," the ashen haired individual spoke up, a sickening smile on his face, one that she had seen many times before, "we mean you no harm, we are men of the cloth like yourself. You have been sleeping for many years, should you come with us calmly then I shall explain everything."

Avelina narrowed her eyes once again, she did not trust him but glimpsing around herself she couldn't help the slight shudder of confusion. Her lips parted as she tried to speak only to find her lips dry and throat hoarse from lack of use. Licking her lips and clearing her throat, she slowly lowered her bloodied sword to speak her first words in nearly 700 years.

"Am I in Hell?"