a/n: This took alot longer to update than I'd originally intended, buuuut work got in the way, so I wrote this in bits and pieces over the week. Hopefully that doesn't show too much. I made it as fluid as I could without having to spend another day altering the shit out of it. So as usual, any spelling or grammar or whatever mistakes are my fault (and Bill Gates'. Why? Didn't we already discuss that guys? Jeeze ;D) Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Another Damn Void (aka: Racist Earthquakes)

How long ago he'd regained his awareness he didn't know. It felt as though he'd always been this way, floating in darkness with just barely a sense of being. His memories came back in bits and pieces, with no order, no rhyme or reason, just scenes of harsh color and whispered audio. There was no control, and as the pace of remembrance increased he found himself overwhelmed with the assault on all his senses. He was reliving everything at once, the sights and smells and noises all blurred together; emotions cascading one over the other until he could no longer decipher them, could no longer decipher anything.

The feeling of floating altered, and all at once he felt as if he were falling. The visions before his eyes blurred, colors brightening and melding until all he could see was red; bright, punishing red. The unintelligible noises in his ears found a common ground, their unorganized ramblings unifying into something recognizable: Wailing.

He was in Hell.

He tried to shut his eyes, only to find he didn't seem to have eyelids. He tried to right himself, to land on his feet, only to find he didn't have a body. He was nothing, he was no one.

But then why did he have these memories?

He latched onto them, the only thing that was left, the only thing that could remind him just who he was. And with that realization of self reality exploded, and he was. When he closed his eyes, he felt it happen, despite the fact that the view couldn't be bothered to change. When he made a fist he could feel every single tendon, every inch of muscle, of skin, of bone. And when he opened his eyes, he became aware of his body relative to the space it occupied.

Hell melted, the singular hue opening its arms to it's darker-shaded brothers. Between the reds crept black, squirming, oozing into place, giving shape and depth to an otherwise flat and redundant plane. The chorus of screams and moans grew, gaining depth as new layers of angst-ridden vocalizations made themselves known. As he watched, vague outlines of what looked to be poorly drawn faces came into being, sliding into existence amid the garish colors. Misshapen mouths opened and closed in time to the noise around him, hollow eyes staring through him as he passed. He chose to ignore them, for the moment.

Looking up, up through his wildly dancing hair and past the thrashing tails of his overcoat, he saw nothing. That is to say, as far as his eyes could see there was naught but the reds and blacks of the wall-faces, the colors blurring into nothingness the higher his gaze climbed. Nothing useful, nothing concrete to say 'you are here'. Dissatisfied, he turned his attention downwards, only to find the view the same.

"Hell is a bottomless pit? HAH, how PATHETIC."

He sneered at the things serving as walling, not caring in the least if they could actually see him or not. This was no hell fit for him, so he'd be damned if he was just going to sit here idly and accept it.

Barely a conscious thought sent forth his shadows to dig into the 'walls', not only halting his downward motion but pulling him within reach of them. They succumbed easily to the brute force he administered, breaking apart completely with every handful he tore away. They were malleable, these things, far less corporal than the souls that he'd found residing inside himself.

There was little resistance as he pushed and pulled his way forward, only the ever-present writhing that persisted regardless of what he did. Soon he was surrounded, completely encased in the entities. Which unfortunately did nothing to drown out their incessant complaining. He doubled his efforts, determined to be free of the squirmy bastards. Feeling as though he'd been dumped into a pit of slimy, retarded eels was not high on his list of 'things-I-want-to-do-before-I-die(or ever)'.

Quite suddenly the view before him changed, and as it did the pressure around him increased. The souls were ejecting him, spitting him out like a bad piece of meat. By the time he'd registered that he was no longer encased in the wall of has-been people, he'd already made a hasty decent, flipped head over heals, and landed. On his back., in a veritable mosh pit. A mosh pit filled with naked people,; creepy, emaciated naked people. Which where not the most pleasant on the eyes, not that he really got a chance to do any proper(or improper for that matter) ogling. The second he'd landed they'd turned their attention to him, grabbing at whatever bit of him was closest. Bony fingers raked across his skin, petting and pulling and pleading.

"Help me!"

"Mommy! Mommy I'm scarred!"

"No, please!"

"Save me!"

Not that he could actually understand a word of it. He may have been versed in many languages, but the fuck if he'd ever heard this one before. All he had to go by was the whiny, woe-is-me tone of voice being used and the creepy finger raping he was receiving to get the gist of it. And never one to go for being molested by a bunch of ghouls, he lashed out.

Their bones broke easily beneath his grip, their flesh tearing like old newspaper with the slightest of movement. They even bled. It was, in fact, much like fighting the souls inside himself. Impossible according to logic, yet still reality as far as he was concerned.

He grabbed onto the things crushing into him, using them to pull himself to his feet, biting and clawing the entire time. They even tasted like real live humans. That piqued his interest, the possibility that he'd somehow wound up inside another being like himself, even if the 'how' eluded him. It also made him wonder what would happen if he tried to eat them. After all, what was the worst that could happen? He'd get locked back inside himself with a couple extra souls to eliminate? Hardly a terrifying prospect.

He grabbed the one directly in front of him by the hair, forcing the man to bear his throat. He struck without hesitation, reveling in the feel of skin and tendons giving beneath his teeth, the rush of blood that flooded his mouth. Memories not his own bloomed behind his eyes and for a split second, he was someone else entirely.

The moment passed and the lifeless form fell to his feet, dissipating as it went until there was nothing left. He stared at the space it had occupied, momentarily oblivious to the horde around him as he digested the new information he'd gleaned from his victim.

"Amestris…"

The word felt peculiar on his tongue, both like and unlike any of the languages he'd ever known, ever spoken. The database of words, grammar, and sentence structure filed themselves neatly away into the black hole of his mind, sorting themselves alongside their counterparts for easy use and instant understanding. Other bits and pieces of received knowledge tucked themselves away for later use, adding to the immense stockpile of random knowledge that littered his mind.

He refocused his gaze, darting it up towards the poor souls who'd soon find themselves his next meal.

"Mommy help!"

"Why? Why is it so dark!"

"I'm scared, please! Someone! Anyone!"

The clamor of voices became understandable, his mind instantly translating every word, every cry for help into something concrete and relatable. It didn't hinder him a bit. He lunged, plunging arms through chests and teeth through throats, taking any and all who dared to touch him, to be near him. Still they came, crushing themselves in on him, holding him in relatively the same place he'd been in when he'd started.

There where millions of them, all it seemed, with the single-minded purpose of holding him in check.

His focus tunneled, the only thing on his mind the slaughter. He released the shadows inside him, choreographing an intricate (and in his mind) beautiful wave of destruction. Every soul he touched he consumed, all the while mindful to keep at least a subconscious grip on his own being, his own reality. He may not be overly fond of the place, but now that he was here(wherever here was) he'd be damned if he ended up back where he started.

"Oh god, why?"

"Make it stop, make it STOP!"

"it's time to go home-"

"it's time to be free!"

The tremor that passed through the void space ripped him from his hunt, his attention instantly expanding outward. The woman he held, dangling above the ground by the throat forgotten, her windpipe never fully making its way to being crushed.

A second wave hit, vibrating the ground beneath his feet with such intensity it seemed to momentarily disappear. It came from everywhere and nowhere so far as he could tell, rippling through everything with a peculiar intensity that seemed to weave around him, bypassing him in favor of the others.

A third and fourth wave hit, during which he was able, through the removing of a few more of his 'obstacles', take note of other peculiarities. For instance it did not, in fact, bypass just him, but others within his sights as well. All of whom, he was curious to note, looked oddly alike. He would have thought the earthquake racist had it not been for the fact that he clearly shared nothing in common with these people. Or did he? Just to make sure he grabbed one of the gold eyed blondes he'd seen unaffected and proceed to eat him. By the time the next wave of peculiar energy surged through the void, causing ripples in the dark recesses around him in an annoyingly familiar way, he'd ascertained that it was most definitely racist. Although what he had in common with the 'golden people of Xerxes' he still couldn't fathom.

The next wave that hit would have sent him to his knees had it not been for his inhuman reaction time(and the many bodies invading his personal space). The forms of all but the Xerxians wavered, becoming erratic and blurry. The peculiar darkness that encompassed the area rolled in and around itself, seeming to flee from a particular point he couldn't see. Despite all the motion it was eerily calm, and with the way all the hair was (once again) standing up all over his body, he half expected the giant eye to pop in for a rematch. Unfortunately for his somewhat bruised ego, that was not the case.

The ground beneath his feet pulsed, the mindless words spilling from the lips of the damned around him began to melt back towards their earlier indefinite whine, and the place took on a brilliant shade of crimson. He blinked incredulously at the color, realizing that it came from within and around the Amestrians.

Their skin was becoming translucent, a red glow clawing its way from beneath it as arcs of similarly red lightning spiked up and around them. The light show this created was spectacular, as if he'd set foot inside a thunderhead. It arched upwards, as if to punch a hole in the sky he couldn't quite see. A shower of sparks and then the lightning was racing back downwards to strike each and every one of it's playthings. The hits came simultaneously, the sheer force of their impact sending the place into utter chaos.

The flesh of the Amestrians exploded, revealing more of the same red and black wailing things he'd first encountered. They swarmed, swept up in a windstorm only they were privy too. They where all he could see as they whipped past, buffeting him as they went round, the cyclone effect nearly lifting him off his feet.

He directed his attention upwards, towards where the lighting storm still raged. The things, the souls he corrected, moved upwards in one fluid motion as if drawn to the electricity, blocking his view. Something shifted, he could feel it in the back of his mind, punctuated by the increased ascent of the souls.

Opening his third eye he was able to see the place where they where fleeing to, that is to say, the point at which they where disappearing. Arcs of energy raced away from the disturbance the souls created as they passed through the void, millions of them crashing through the oddly distorted barrier into freedom. Freedom he wanted, was determined to have.

He made to grab at the creatures with any means, but to no avail. His hands couldn't hold them, his shadows where rebuffed by some unseen force. He refocused his attentions upwards, shadows chasing the tail end of the soul storm. They were fast, but he managed to keep within a few inches of them, gaining ground little by little.

His attack hit seconds after the last of the souls had vanished, darkness colliding harshly into darkness. A few seconds of triumph followed closely by bitter defeat; The give he'd felt had only gained him a few inches into the barrier before crushing inwards, severing the bits of him that had come closest to freedom.

Enraged that it should dare deny him he pummeled the spot that moments before had been a gateway to freedom. His hits bounced off, sparking more red energy to dance above him. He pulled back, but his eyes still lingered on the space above him, calculating and furious.

He moved his gaze slowly downwards, following what he assumed to be the boundaries of the place until his eyes met gold. He frowned, having momentarily forgotten the Xerxians. There where a lot of them, millions if his rough estimates where right. Despite their numbers, there was undoubtedly more space to move around in. He was no longer being continually crowded, and he could spy a gap here and there.

He refocused on the void, intent now on freedom. If freedom was truly what lie in wait beyond those walls. He hadn't been able to see the fleeing souls' final destination, even with his third eye, something to be wary of.

With a calculating eye he scanned the entirety of the place, committing it to memory. Using his base estimates he summoned up the shadows inside him and sent them flying towards every inch of the stubborn surface, drawing on the darkness around him for good measure. Every hit and rebuff added on to his mental calculations, information he'd need if he were to come out on top. The arcs and sparks of scarlet energy bathed everything in a sinister glow, creating shadows that leapt and stuttered in time to his hits.

The Xerxians had failed to ignore his antics, turning and moving as one towards him, filling the empty spaces in seconds. Eyes and hair alight with fire they came at him, arms outstretched, ready to hold him, to bind him. Resembling ghouls now more than ever, awash in the hellish light he was orchestrating they grabbed at him, crushing their feeble bodies against his. He tried to swing out, to push them back, but there where too many too close together.

He could feel his hold on his powers diminishing, almost as if the strange not-humans where soaking it up. That thought, that realization smashed into him like a bus on the autobahn, demanding his attention, demanding he react.

He leapt up and over his would-be jailers, using their skulls as stepping stones. He could still see intermittent arcs of lighting dancing off towards the outskirts of the mob below him, despite having halted his attacks. He moved towards this, both out of curiosity and a need to gain better ground.

Once within sight he noticed that the energy wasn't coming from the void walls, but going to it, coming instead from the souls nearest it. He dropped neatly, putting as much distance as possible between himself and his fellow captives. Those closest to him seemed to be glowing, as if their blood had become luminescent. Skin became transparent, arcs of red dancing along the surface of it to reach out and connect with the void wall. Their hair and eyes became dull, graying with each passing second. The once healthy looking bodies became emaciated, every bone prominent and jutting. They where ageing, dying, their life force being sucked away by the void. When they gave all they had, with one final wail dissipated, what had once been skin and bone became one final bolt of energy, absorbed by the uncaring blackness.

There also seemed to be some sort of pattern to it, though what it was exactly he wasn't too sure. All he could really tell was that it seemed to happen in groups, some larger, some smaller. Whatever this was, it was something controlled, and if his theory about being inside another being was correct, then these souls where being used. For what he wasn't sure, his knowledge limited to his own body and the void he had so recently just left. But if this was anything like what he himself did, then he knew one thing for certain: war was being waged. And whoever this was seemed to be doing a shitty job of it considering the amount of souls that where being used. Now, for instance, he watched as a group of 20 or so men and women instantly became bright red, then dissipated faster than all the others before them. Whatever it was that was happening on the outside, he wanted to see, to be a part of it. He would show this fool how a real Nosferatu did battle!

He spun on his heal to face the void, ignoring the souls and their damned lightning show. The strange substance before him moved as if alive, it's proximity making the curious feeling in the back of his mind all the more prominent. The strange power it emanated was crawling over his skin, invading his space as if it owned him, which it most certainly did not.

"You think you can hold me you piece of shit? Well I'm done playing captive! Prepare yourself mongrel, for the true power of a No Life King!"

He let the old familiar feeling of the controlling mechanisms and the subsequent powers they where guarding wash over him. He knew, had known since he'd re-awoken in fact, that wherever this place was, he was once again whole, once again the monster and servant of the Hellsing family that he'd been for over a hundred years. He was flesh, he was blood, he was hell incarnate.

"Releasing Control Art Restriction Systems three…two…one, approval of situation A recognized. Commencing the Cromwell Invocation. Ability restrictions lifted for limited use until the enemy has been rendered silent."

He felt the sweet, sweet shifting of the control mechanisms, the power they relinquished flooding through his veins. He embraced it, wrapping himself in it as it pushed and pulled at him, altering him to its desires. Every never ending was alight with the sensation of transformation; the feel of his usual suit and coat tightening to become the black leather jumper, even as his actual body expanded and shifted to become something else entirely.

A multitude of eyes opened amidst the shadows that had become apart of him, allowing him to see everything around him at once. He could feel the hair on his head moving in tune with the rest of his shadows, filled with power and gleefully awaiting whatever bloodshed was to come.

He shaped the shadows his body had become to suit his needs, both spiked tendrils and taloned hands issuing forth to strike and claw at the barrier. He was prepared for the inevitable retaliation of the souls as well, bringing forth his Hounds to maul, to devour, should they come too close. Had he still been in possession of his Jackal(or had bullets left in his Casull for that matter) he would have added it's firepower as well.

With every strike came arcs of energy to cancel out his efforts, with every soul his Hounds devoured two more came to take its place. But he was far from being deterred. In fact, he was just getting started. He altered the way in which his shadow hands worked, using them to catch hold of the strange substance that formed the barriers of the void, pulling, pushing, clawing, ripping at it.

He sent his Baskerville's to attack the souls being used, curious to see if he could use the place's own power against it. Hounds larger than a man fell on them, jaws gaping, swallowing as much of the things in one bite as they could. More than a few found themselves swallowed whole, especially the smaller ones, especially the children. In fact he aimed for the youngest looking ones, knowing they had the most life force to give.

Sparks danced around the jaws of the familiars, and he could feel their energy inside of him as it bid for escape. He crushed it, capturing it and turning it to his destructive will, sending it forth with his shadows. He was exhilarated to see that using the place against itself had a greater affect, the give in the barrier slightly larger than what he'd managed on his own.

The material of the barrier began to positively dance, shifting and colliding with itself. He instinctively knew that it was about to change, to fight back. He continued his assault, watching and waiting for it to attack, to show more of it's true nature.

He could see indefinite shapes solidifying, forming from the material he was attacking. The things moved fluidly, exploding forth without warning. They were shadow hands, exactly like those that had pulled him into the eye within the door. He parried them with his own shadows, knocking them off course, severing them, grabbing and twisting; crushing, pulling.

More came, from everywhere before him, and despite being knocked away continued on their quest. He waited eagerly for them to strike at him, to try to grab a hold of him and make him obey, but it never happened. Instead they zipped past him, darting around his familiars to latch onto the souls behind him. The part of him that was still somewhat humanoid frowned, although it was a frown just as toothy and gruesome as his gleefully manic grin. With the same speed and purpose they moved back towards their originating point, pulling their new captives with them.

He sent his Hounds after them, shadows attacking shadows. He managed to sever a few of the offending things, but as soon as he did, two more took its place, determined to have their way. Despite his efforts, his opponents managed to drag more than a few Xerxians to the barrier, where more of the shadow hands emerged, latching on at all angles and crushing their hostages inwards. They began to disappear, as if being eaten by the void itself. He gave up trying to stop the process, instead using it to try to worm his way into the barrier.

Rushing forward, he pushed his own shadows against the point where the men and women where being taken in, worming alongside them, latching on in an attempt to be pulled with. With his hands he grabbed onto the one closest to him, pushing forward while getting as close to the disappearing body as he could.

He could feel his shadows moving with the bodies, even as they disappeared.

The one he was holding was pulled through, his arms going with it. He crushed himself forward, eager to use this soul as his ride to the outside. He got as far as his shoulders before the once-malleable surface snapped back to its former impenetrability. A sickening crunch and he could no longer feel his appendages, the eerie aura of the thing tickling up and along the inside of his shoulder blades.

He moved back, surveying the stumps where his arms had been, taking note of the impeccably clean edges of the wounds before allowing his body to regenerate. Flexing his fingers, he surveyed the void and his fellow captives. Everything was as it had been before the strange hands had appeared, and he couldn't help but wonder just what those particular souls had been used for. It was a toss up; regenerating the void against his assault, or being summoned as familiars. He had a feeling it was the later, which only annoyed him more that his attempts to follow them to freedom had failed.

He lowered his arms, preparing to once again take his shadows upon himself, but had the thought removed from his mind when a horrific red light blinded the half of his eyes focused behind him. Before he could turn to see what the hell was going on now, he found himself slamming into the wall before him, a wave of energy exploding on and around him as it made its way forward.

His heart exploded, once, twice as his mind raced away from him faster than he could actually process. He felt more alive than he ever had, every particle within him singing as the maelstrom washed over him, invading every part of his being. And then it was gone, leaving him feeling empty, dead. His insides twanged with the sudden loss, his skin crawled horribly from his contact with the barrier, and for a moment he couldn't see, couldn't function at all in fact. He stayed where he was, allowing his senses and his mind to recover, focusing on the feel of the voids power on his skin, and the solidity of the barrier itself. As his mind recovered, he noticed something that had earlier escaped his attention: the tingling he felt from the barrier seemed to be some sort of magical residue. He latched onto it, dissecting it. What he found furthered both his recovery and his fury.

"You…FUCK…"

The words barely escaped his throat as he made to push himself up and away, to pull his powers around himself and regenerate his corneas. He shoved at the feelings in his bones and organs, smothered the crawling on his skin, fury fueling his body's swift remolding of shadows.

"How dare you feed on me! You pathetic excuse of a thing, you're not worthy of my power!"

The eyes along his body again snapped open, a snarl marring his face into something gruesome and wholly terrifying. Behind him he could see a vast number of Xerxians being consumed by the void, their life energy snapping and crackling as it passed him. The pace never halted, the lighting throwing about peculiar shadows that he planned to bend to his will. He was mindful to use his shadows to block the energy from hitting him as it passed however. That was something that didn't need a repeat performance.

He pitted all his force and energy against the void that dared to steal from him, ignoring the Xerxians for the most part. Those nearest him where too busy becoming a snack for this place to try to come stop him, so they where of little consequence to him. He fought with both shadows and his own body, punching, clawing, anything to tear the thing apart. Every piece he knocked away regenerated, inciting him to up his pace so it couldn't heal itself. He hit fast and hard, rewarded for his efforts with an ever increasing hole.

The pull on his powers shifted, as if it was being drawn farther than it had before, but he ignored it for the most part, simply upping his efforts to hinder the bond that seemed to exist between him and this cage. The feeling increased, and with it came another, one he'd felt before. The memory hit him, and just in time, for no sooner had he erected a barrier around himself than the tidal wave of energy crashed into him, sweeping past him, tearing at his defenses.

He stopped his assault, shifting his focus onto the energy encircling him. He opened his powers to it, latching on and drawing it within himself. He began to alter it, to swing it around himself and imbue his shadows within it. Around and around he swung it, adding his own power, his own fuel to it until he'd managed to create something far more powerful than anything the place had yet created on it's own.

He sent it forth, his shadows dancing with electricity that had darkened to the color of long-dead blood. The force with which it hit was tremendous, and seeing his opportunity he dashed forward, closing the gap between him and the void in a flash, arm up and ready to swing. There was no noise as his fist connected, the substance of his opponent had changed into something far less solid, sending his arm through straight up to his shoulder.

He swung with his other hand, and after getting the same result pulled himself forward by any means he could, shadows both latching onto the surface and sinking forward in search of new ground. Laughter exploded from his throat as his body sunk forward into the void, until none of the eyes on his body could see anything other than darkness. He was in, wholly and completely.

Whatever the substance he was in was, it moved around him, both trying to be rid of him, and crush him. He pushed outwards against it with the barrier still erected around him, using as little of his actual body to do the fighting as possible. The feeling of being leeched off had increased, and even with his defenses it managed to reach far inside him, hindering his abilities and slowing his progress.

With a snarl he drew his defenses against himself, altered them, then threw them back outwards as far as they would go. The feeling of being used left him, the dark matter pressing against him ripped apart, allowing him to move forwards towards what he could sense was the final barrier standing between him and freedom.

His fist connected solidly with what at first appeared to be the same material as what surrounded him. On further inspection, he noticed a few subtle difference, mainly being that this, whatever it was, wasn't moving in any way shape or form. Warmth radiated from it, he could feel the heat coming off it through his glove. And it was vibrating, as though someone or something was hitting it from the other side.

The thought crossed his mind that maybe he wasn't the only one pissed off at who or whatever the hell this place was, making his grin slightly more genuine, as opposed to just manic and homicidally gleeful. He pulled back slowly, collecting himself for one, hopefully final, attack.

"It's been fun, Piece of Shit Prison, but now I must take my leave."

He wrapped his shadows about his arm, moving all his strength into that one point, then struck. He felt it give, heard the crack as it caved outwards. He pulled back, preparing to hit again.

"Open Sesame!"

This time, when his fist landed, it went through; he felt the jagged edges of the barrier catch at his hand, then arm. Beyond, the heat intensified, feeling akin to sinking his arm into the abdomen of a human, a feeling that lasted only briefly before he felt something he hadn't felt in ages: moving air. He'd been right, freedom was what lay beyond.

He attacked the now weakened and crumbling barrier with his familiars, both Hounds and hands getting in on the final act. A few good hits and it collapsed, revealing a familiar wall of red and black not-people, writhing and silently wailing. Only this time they where spread thin, weak, one final barrier between the outside world and himself.

Gazing into the unseeing eyes before him, he opened his mouth and laughed, right in it's would-be face. In Amestrian he bid the thing farewell, then promptly began dismantling it, and its fellows with his shadows, all the while pushing himself towards freedom.

a/n: The way in which I wanted to write this chapter changed more than a few times, especially when I decided that I wanted everything happening inside of Father, where Alucard is, to correspond with everything that's happening to Father himself. (basically I watched ep. 61, 62, and 63 of brotherhood to organize and come up with wtf Alucard was going to go through as he tries to escape.) Next chapter will bring the FMA characters into play, and the subsequant storyline deviation I'm planning.

See you then!

super-special-awesome-heartz,

deadpan riot

and yes, I did just say 'super-special-awesome-heartz'. You needn't worry, you're not going crazy. I'm just being a weird-ass.