Seras came too slowly; her skin felt raw and stiff, like a bad case of sunburn. Her nostrils flared and she cringed. She couldn't smell anything beyond the rank, cloying tang of burned flesh. Cracking an eyelid open painfully, she observed the reddened state of her arm and frowned. Her shadow-made arm was missing. What…?
Something shifted to her right and her head jerked up to stare wide eyed at the man in the cell with her; well-dressed in traveler's gear with a battered brown fedora at his feet, the human jumped back in surprise at her quick movements.
"My god!" He exclaimed, "What did they do to you?" Seras was confused for a moment; he clearly had an American accent, and they were still in India as far as she knew.
"Who're you?" Seras croaked. Her throat felt as dry as a desert, and being locked into a small room with a living breathing human was putting her restraint to a test.
"Are you alright?" He countered her question with another question, looking concerned at her missing arm and red eyes. "You look like you're about to have a brain hemorrhage." He sounded appalled. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he demanded, waving three dirt-smudged digits in front of her face. Seras coughed, and shook her head,
"My eyes are always like that. It's a side effect from some medication I took a few years back," she lied. Her voice was growing stronger the longer she talked, though she had to keep swallowing and make herself not bite the hand that was not meant to feed her. "Who are you?"
"The name's Jones. Indiana Jones, to be exact." He looked up at the stonework that surrounded them. "And I still can't believe that they got me this time. I'm really getting too old for this," he muttered to himself, running a hand though his graying hair. "Ten years ago, maybe. Twenty years ago, sure. But now? I'll be glad if I can get through this with my bones intact."
Seras wanted to giggle at his one-sided tirade but she had to focus on herself as she slowly climbed to her feet, wincing and gritting her teeth against the pain that racked her body. What was wrong with her? She could hardly see the inside of the room, even though her eyes should have pierced the darkness easily. Blinking rapidly, she tried to make out the walls, at least. The wall closest to her gave her an answer. She saw the runes painted onto the surface and immediately a growl rose in the back of her throat.
"What's the matter?" the man named Jones asked and she turned back to face him, leaning on the bars of her cage for support. He came as close as he could, until only the bars and an arm's length separated him. Seeing him more closely, Seras realized that he was about ten years older than Sir Integra. She frowned; Jeez, this poor guy caught in the middle of all this. She felt a bit apprehensive: if they were in cages in the same room, it'd only be a matter of time before he found out that she was a vampire. "So, are you going to tell me your name, or just keep staring at the bars?"
"Oh!" Seras jerked her head up, looking at him glossy-eyed. "I'm sorry. I'm Seras, Seras Victoria." She reached her good arm out and shook hands with the American. "How did you get to be here?" she asked, trying to quash her rising panic. Her powers were nullified, she was alone with a human and starving, and worst of all—she clearly wasn't going to be able to check in tonight. Integra would be beyond pissed. Hmm, guess you were right, Sir. Your feelings usually check out, don't they? Indiana looked vexed for a moment before sighing.
"It's always the Nazis; they keep trying to steal things that belong in museums for the world to see. You see, I'm a teacher but I'm also an archeologist. I don't know how many times I keep having to kick these guys' asses before they'll learn."
"Yeah, Nazis just don't know when to quit, do they?" Seras laughed. Indiana's face became serious, and he blinked at her in the gloom of the darkened room.
"You sound like you have personal experience with them, little lady. Exactly why are you here?" he asked suspiciously.
"Business." Seras answered, tone mild, but there was a hint of challenge in her eyes as the one armed woman - surely no older than twenty one! - who was clearly not a native of India watched the American.
"Business," he questioned flatly, "and what would that be little lady?" Seras eyed the man thoughtfully, weighing her options.
"Investigating strange occurrences. My employer's India branch is a strong resource we intend to keep intact. Workers going missing aren't very good for publicity." She graced him with a closed lip smile, "My employer takes great pains to ensure her employees around the world do not get predated on."
"Your employer…" Indiana said, not bothering to hide his suspicious tone. "And who might this mysterious employer be? What's his name?" Seras shook her head.
"No, my employer's female." She turned and looked once more at the dark cavern that they seemed to be in. She decided that they must be deep inside the mountain. "Didn't anyone teach you the laws of survival? Lesson #1: Don't make assumptions. Now we better find a way out of here before those Nazis come back." Indiana nodded.
"You're right."
"Well," Seras chirped, "first thing's first; did they search us and take all our shiny escape toys?" She patted at her shirt thoughtfully, feeling for the hidden bobby pins she kept in her bra - well, lock picking was never a very lawful skill, but useful when one forgot their keys. The cheerful blonde's expression soured more and more as her hand searched her body before she spit a curse. "Damnit!" Glancing up at Indiana, her brow arched at seeing his somewhat shameless stare—not that he was ogling her exactly, but he wasn't looking away either—and lack of similar patting-down.
"I got nothin'," he informed her with a nod. "I've had enough dealings with Nazis that they know not to let me have anything." He shrugged, and then examined the walls.
"Mmph…." Seras ran a hand through her hair, and then hissed when she realized even the bobby pin hidden inside her hair tie had been found and removed. "So, you're an archeologist, you said? Do you know what these runes mean?" Her tone was carefully neutral, nothing but casual curiosity as she gestured at the walls.
"I'm no expert, but I've dealt with a few supposedly magical elements in my day." He peered up at the wall. "It's almost too dark for me to make out. I bet it was written using blood. Human blood is most potent, but animal blood's cheaper to come by. Either way, blood is supposed to be powerful at sealing spells into runes." Seras wrinkled her nose, not having thought of that. No wonder she was hungrier than usual. Even dried, the faint smell of blood hung in the air.
"Can you make out the symbols? I can see a bit better than you, I think; do you want me to describe them to you?" she asked helpfully, trying to sound only vaguely interested. She didn't want him to know why she needed the information until it was no longer possible to hide it. Indiana scowled at her for a moment.
"What's with you youngsters these days? Acting like I'm blind and deaf because of a few gray hairs," he grumbled. Seras almost retorted that she wasn't that much younger than him, but bit her tongue at the last moment. He stood for another few minutes and stared at the runes, tracing the shape with his finger in the air and mumbling to himself. After a terse moment he shook his head.
"It's a spell to hinder something, but I just can't figure out what. Those two connected symbols there mean that something's power is drained—no, not drained; locked. It's locking something away and keeping it there, but what?"
"What indeed, Dr. Jones?" a soft, high voice drifted over them, echoing slightly in the empty space. "It's so nice to see one's work being appreciated; I'd hate to have you miss out on the true meaning." Footfalls sounded behind them and the caged bodies turned to see a man stepping out of the shadows.
He was dressed in what Seras immediately recognized as a Nazi SS uniform. The high, black boots stopped above what she mentally referred to as the "wings" of the pants, where the material flared out in a noticeable curve. The gray-green jacket and pants were covered in insignias and medals and the high-peaked hat sat jauntily on his head, the skull-and-crossbones emblem of the SS glinting in the dim light above the brim. The man himself was regal, handsome; his blonde hair slicked back perfectly, shadows playing across the planes of his face, gray-steel eyes shining out from under the hat.
Those expressive eyes: they could have easily been lit in joviality, or deepened in painful sadness. But they were flat, emotionless; like a piece of blank paper. His stare was death and suffering and a complete lack of compassion or empathy. Eyes are the window to the soul; he was evil to the core.
He tilted his head at the pair of them, gaze slowly becoming curious as a black-gloved hand reached up to stroke the hairless jaw. He finally rested his eyes on Indiana and bowed at the waist, arm bent in the perfect poise of etiquette.
"I welcome you, Dr. Jones. Welcome to my little mountain vacation home. Do you like it?" he asked, his German accent lilting the words and making him sound absolutely diabolical. He was the perfect movie villain; he was a pristine demon in human's clothing.
"Heinrich Roestel; I should have known that foul stench was you lurking about in the shadows," Indiana spat in reply. The man smiled grimly and tsked, shaking one finger mockingly.
"Now, now, Dr. Jones. What is it with you Americans and your complete lack of manners?" he cooed, but Seras caught the undercurrent of loathing in his voice. He pointed to his collar, where he wore twin patches that held what looked like leaves of some sort. "That's Brigadeführer to you."
"Well, you know "we Americans": leaves of three, let them be," Indiana fired back cynically. Heinrich rolled his eyes at the American's goading and turned to the other cage.
"As enjoyable as it is talking to you, Doctor, I see that I'm neglecting my other guest." He strolled up to the bars, making sure to stay out of arm's reach. "Hello, my Frauline, Seras Victoria." He rolled her name off his tongue before giving her a wide smile. She was surprised to see blunt, human teeth; in her mind's eye, a monster like him should have sharp teeth ripe for ripping his victims apart.
"You Nazis just don't know how to give up, do you? Filthy bunch of rats," she sneered in reply. Heinrich laughed, his high timbre echoing off the rafters.
"Ah, you English! Always so straightforward; yes, my dear—we are rats. You see one or two of us and you might set out traps, but you aren't worried. It isn't until we come pouring out of your cupboards, overpowering you with our sheer multitudes and strength before you begin to understand; but by then it's far too late." He sighed in contentment at the mental image he'd just created. "Yes, we are indeed rats. But…." He tilted his head once more, staring sideways at her as if she were the most puzzling thing he'd ever come across. "Your kind doesn't give up so easily either, I'm afraid."
He turned and walked away, heel to toe. His prisoners remained silent, the only sounds being the sharp tapping of his boots. He paused and pulled a walkie-talkie from a pouch on his uniform, speaking sharply into it in German. Suddenly, bright light flooded the room. Seras winced, and realized what she was looking at with a shocked gasp. It was her—ten years ago.
"Seras Victoria, the vampire. Blood Heiress to the throne of Dracul; protégé of the Vampire King himself." Heinrich grinned again, this time looking as if she were the best thing he'd ever seen. "Beautiful, simply beautiful." The screen flashed, showing footage of (how did they even get those tapes?) of the Valentine Massacre, of her tearing apart bloody Hellsing Ghouls. It changed and she was in the palace, shooting the video screen of the Major per orders. It changed again and suddenly wave upon wave of flames and blood and death.
"You'd do well to pay attention, Dr. Jones. This will come in handy when you help me ascertain my goal." He leered at the archeologist pressed against the bars of his cage, clearly horrified at what he was seeing on the screen above him on the opposite side of the room. "The Battle of London, The Millennium War, The London krieg, whatever you want to call it; a rose by any other name, yes?" He looked up with a savage fondness at the images. "Seras here was a brand new vampire, but doesn't she look ravishing?"
Seras couldn't look at all the different videos fast enough. Down in the corner was Integra and Anderson, along with the black-cloaked Iscariots; the upper-right showed the impaled body of Enrico Maxwell, but then it flashed and the burning swastika that had once been London filled the right side of the screen. Now, there she was with Integra, who was talking to her—what had she been saying? Who knows? And then—the screen filled up with a face she'd never forget, no matter how many decades passed.
"Master," she said softly, gripping the bars tightly as she looked up on the carnage being wrought by her armor-clad creator. Indiana gagged as he watched the soldiers and knights alike being ravaged in blood and battered souls.
"What the hell is this?!" he cried, sounding weak. Heinrich spoke into the walkie-talkie and suddenly the room burst into sound. Screams, crackling flames, and above all Maxwell's high-pitched shriek, amplified by the microphones he'd been standing behind.
"You're a fiend, a monster, a devil! You—Dracula!" As the images progressed, the sounds all blurred together until Seras wasn't sure which were really in the room and which were her own memories, the ones she'd been striving to forget lest the nightmares drive her insane.
"Heathens like yourself""An Angel?""Blood is the currency of the soul""Guten tag""Police Girl, don't dawdle""Master, my Master!""Kiss it for me""A River of Death""Seras Victoria""Don't be a cowardSerasmySerasmissvictoriamacherallhostagesdeadhelpmesendthesenazistohellhelpmehelpmemasterwhereareyou
"Stop it!" she shrieked, her hand bending the bar she was holding like putty, despite the pain that it must have been to grasp it so tightly with burned skin. Heinrich gasped, his blank eyes widening in a mockery of surprise. He didn't seem frightened, only highly curious and even gleeful.
"Aha, Seras Victoria— you really are a true Draculina, aren't you? Even with the runes, you can still fight me." He gave her a thumbs-up, even as he backed away. "You are truly a special little lady, am I right? But, after all, as your pathetic excuse for a sire fell you would have no choice but to rise in his place, am I right?" he asked, pointing at the screen. Seras looked up to see Alucard fighting Walter, the blood, everything happening in the wrong way at the right moment to make him vanish away forever….
"No. No!" she shouted, pulling the bars away and stepping through them. Powers or no powers, no one dared call her master pathetic in her presence. She snarled, knowing that her own hunger was working against her but not caring. Her peripherals went crimson and she honed in on the dead meat-sack that had the audacity to utter a single derogatory term within earshot. "You fucking bastard. You're dead; you're fucking dead" she growled, feeling her powers grow within her from her own rage as she stepped further and further away from the suppressing runes.
Heinrich reached the far wall and stood against it, his eyes twinkling in mirth as he watched his impending doom stalk towards him. He seemed to know better than to run away and turn his back to her. He chuckled softly.
"There's something to be said for blue-blooded vampires and their loyalties. Even a dog like Alucard managed to find a willing serf," he said as he snapped his fingers. Behind her, Seras could hear her own scream of her Master's name as Anderson laughed, and laughed, and the enraged Draculina voiced a feral scream as she lunged at the thing that was talking about her Master. In that moment of being in midair, the shadows of her left arm flickering at her shoulder, two weights crashed down on her, bearing her to the floor where her nose snapped wetly. Indiana's voice, enmeshed with the lurid sound track of the London Blitz, yelped, "Get off me!"
Seras turned, throwing her subduers off with animal grace and froze for a split second to observe the mortal man being held from behind. Grotesquely long fangs protruded from the Nazi's mouth, threatening to pierce the archaeologist's throat.
"So, little Frauline—for the great childe of Alucard the Vampire King, this would be a piece of cake, no?" Heinrich clapped his hands once and the vampire tensed up around the archeologist. "So, do you want to give in, or are you going to test your luck against my fastest subordinate?"
Seras bared her teeth in a feral snarl as a bone-chilling growl rumbled in her chest. Indiana, who was forcing himself not to move accidentally impale himself on the fangs he could feel threatening his neck, shivered and went pale. Distantly, Seras felt pity for the poor man thrown into a pit of vampires. Indiana cried out as the dark-haired vampire pulled his left arm painfully, twisting it behind his back and up, threatening to dislocate it.
"Well, Frauline?" Seras' mind raced as she sought out her options, but Pip was still unresponsive, and her shadows were still mere wisps from the stump of her arm. Well fuck. Spitting at the commander's feet in disgust, Seras straightened to her full and unimpressive height with a regal look on her pixie face.
"I concede, for the moment. I won't give you the satisfaction of claiming his blood on my hands." The Brigadeführer clapped his hands in glee and motioned for the Nazi to back away.
"Wonderful; wonderful! Now, it's finally time to get down to business."