Hellsing—The Dead Sleep

Disclaimer—I have no legal rights or ownership towards "Hellsing," which is beyond awesome. I am just an obsessed fan with a crazed imagination, having-no-life and access to a computer. After reading you will probably think I am sick.

Rating—Pg-13 to M for language, sexual comments and of course, violence.

Chapter Title—Purgatory

Synopsis—The body of Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing is found on the battlefield but the corpse has secrets of its own.

Author's Notes—I am trying to finish this so I can turn my complete attention in Two-Faced but especially The Dying Rose, which are coming along nicely. I want to post both at the same time, so everyone will be satisfied. I hate disappointing people. Okay here's where Somniator comes in and plays a vital role, but I warn you the word "somniator" is Latin for Dreamer, and as I said the dead do dream.

Ta,

Immortalis

OOO

Purgatory

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Some people, especially children are frightened of the dark—however there are a selective few that relish in its endless dark embrace. It can be comforting, similar to the gentle and light caresses of a lover or the cocoon closeness of a blanket on a winter night. The dark or night as it is, is faceless.

As the dead dream…this is what Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates dreamt, lost in the heavy cascade of sleep and cold—a golden light illuminated a room with hundreds of seemingly floating candles, and each one was drowning in hot wax. Nevertheless of the light, not even the candlelight could fully penetrate the depth of the room, especially the walls. There were no windows and only one door, English-oak amongst the surrounding and endless darkness. The slate-floor was swathed in thick, heavily-thread Persian rugs and rich tapestries draped 'supposed' walls, wherever they might be. The blaze of the candles danced like fiery demons and light chased the shadows lurking around, in an endless pursuit—but especially towards the object of darkness entity, a coffin.

The Death-Box felt ominous and somehow had a dark foreboding presence about it, thick as smoke and hung in the air like a sacrifice to old and evil gods. Her uncertainty yet curiosity hung around, like the hangman noose on its victim, and it slowly suffocated her, inch by inch. Nevertheless Integra felt herself pulled towards it and when she was within reach cautiously peered inside, and was meet with a curious and yet, frightening sight. The box was already preoccupied as a familiar body was laid out on the satin lining, like a modern sleeping beauty—it was herself.

At once she protested in a soft voice, "But….I am not dead. Not yet."

Inside the dream she felt a cold presence inch up behind her and at last, Integra heard a voice that lingered close to her ear, "Embrace your immortality, Integra…and come with me."

Inside slot A-7, Integra woke alive with an imminent start and a gasp of breathing life.

But as the sleep ended, a haunting realization dawned upon her—she knew, just what it feels like to wake up, inside a coffin. Eyes open, she found nothing but the endless darkness and solitude—and of course, emptiness. It was quite and still as a forgotten and abandoned grave. She stirred in the box, moaning sleepily and swaying dreamily on a sea of infinite shadow. Instinctually she reached out half-praying that her sense of being closed-in would be proven false, or at least contradicted. There was nothing in this continuous mass of shadow and silence, but the coffin-like walls that encased her.

Nothing but a top, two sides and a bottom.

Integra gathered a breath of courage, as her hands balled up into fists and pounded on the steel box. "Dr. Trevalin…" she croaked. "Dr. Trevalin?"

There was no answer…

"I am not dead," she whispered. "I am not dead." A gasp escaped her and the distraught sound echoed in the steel coffin like a cruel lover, almost laughing and taunting her. The denial was so omnipotent that her erratic heartbeats pounded in her ears and could be nothing short of the roaring fires of hell overtaking the distressed cries and aching screams of the damned. "I am not dead!" And then she saw the flashes of the flames and the unimaginable scorching heat. Time was immeasurable as the soul-wrenching vision passed before her eyes. Finally, the intimate and suffocating closeness of a coffin became overwhelming, as she started to panic. "I am not dead."

She witnessed firsthand what it is like to be alive and be dead. With a swift kick the door swung open but the movement, force the metal slab along with her to shoot out like a canon and with a cry, Integra Hellsing slumped over the edge. After so long in A-7 slot and the dream, the florescent lights were blinding and each pulsing ray felt like it was eating out her eyeballs.

After adjusting to the blinding light and calming down her hyperventilating breathing, Integra crawled off the metal slab and gathering the only shred of decency, the white sheet walked over to the sink. She splashed cold water over her face and allowed the droplet to run down her neck.

Integra looked up with her crystal blue eyes and stared at the reflection looking back at her. It was Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing staring at herself, and yet, she felt as though the figure in the mirror was a stranger. For a moment she sensed as if the form, her body was an alien planet to her. Something foreign. In an almost sensual manner Integra examined herself—she wore nothing but the white sheet that been her own companion in the steel box. Her Indian copper complexion was gone and replaced with a sickly pallor. Dark circles darkened her red-rimmed eyes. Even her pale blond hair seemed to have lost its luster. While the reflection looked like her, Integra felt far from herself.

Speaking to the reflection she said, "Like Lazarus rise anew…the end is the beginning,' and then she slammed her fist into the mirror, shattering parts of it off the wall and into the sink. "Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing…is dead."

Through the one remaining piece of broken mirror, Integra saw a familiar figure standing at the entrance—it was the Paladin…

Straightening erect, Integra peered over her shoulder and sure enough, he wasn't a figment of her imagination. Anderson stood in his typical purple-trimmed, gray robes with a priestly collar bounded tightly around his thick neck and his olive green were fixed primarily and solely on her, and nothing else. Shocked at witnessing her alive, after seeing her personal dead corpse his mouth was hanging wide open. "No…"

Blinking Alexander Anderson exhaled a sigh. After holding her imagery inside his brain he shoved his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and advanced closer and closer with each deliberate step. "Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing…have ye become the very thing you hunted?" Hands behind his back, he reached into the seemingly endless depths of his priestly robe and seized his bayonets with a grunt of rage. The blades gleamed in the florescent lights and danced in the reflection of her eyes.

She smirked doubtfully and her azure-blue eyes followed his towards the mirror and her own reflection. "I suppose not." Nevertheless, the bayonets remained secure in his gloved hands. "But then…you are alive."

"As are you Paladin," Integra said as if she was having a tête-à-tête with an old friend.

"Yes," he replied grimly, "it seems that I have more value alive than dead."

Integra noted with a degree of measured malice, "The same is not said for me."

Gripping the blessed-blades tighter Alexander demanded in a hush voice, "Why are you playing dead, Sir Integra?"

The Hellsing-Daughter pulled the sheet closer and she did so her free reached behind her and wrapped around a free scalpel. Her grip was so tight that her knuckles were turning white as the sheet that protected her modesty. When the Paladin came too close for comfort her hand whipped around and slashed the air between them. The action was so unexpected that Anderson jumped back, nearly losing his balance and falling to the floor. Looming over him Integra hissed, "Keep your distance, Judas-Priest."

"You are avoiding my question," he growled in his Irish accent.

Shaking her head replied nonchalantly, "And rightly so."

Jumping to his feet, Anderson raised a bayonet towards her and demanded yet again, "Why are you playing dead?"

"I have my reasons, none which I expect you to comprehend." When he stepped closer she lashed out again, nicking the bayonet with a spark and yelled, "Regenerator or not Paladin—at this moment I am the deadliest woman on the planet."

He implored, "Sir Integra Hellsing—"

"Integra Hellsing is dead!" she declared in a booming voice. "I am dead."

"No!" he counterattacked. "You are alive and breathing—despite the false report of Dr. Trevalin, who has already been silenced." He paused allowing the information to sink in. Bowing his head Anderson said in kingly voice, "And now, under the jurisdiction of Iscariot you are under arrest in violation of heresy, subordination and treason against his Holiness, the Pope. Come with me or I will use excessive force—No, you refuse?"

"Flatly and defiantly."

Anderson reached yet again, in his robes and pulled out a cell-phone.

Watching this she lowered the scalpel an inch and licking her dry lips, Integra stated harshly, "If you call in your reinforcements, you have signed my death-sentence, and then you are guilty of murder."

"The Vatican will not kill you," Anderson promised, but completely ignorant to the truth. "They would not."

"You are an idiot, Paladin. Think about it," she urged. ""I am the last and only entity against Iscariot taking over England. As I said, I have more value dead than alive," she paused and added slowly, "especially now." There was something in the tone of her voice that sent every hair on the nape of his neck to stand erect and he simply stared at her, trying to decipher the reason why she, a Hellsing-Daughter had been playing possum. "Please," she pleaded, the scalpel trembling in her white-knuckle grip. "I am begging you, not as Sir Integra Fairbook Wingates Hellsing… but as a woman. Would murder me? Should the innocent suffer for the sins of the sire and dame?"

Fearfully of the answer he still inquired, "Whatever are you blabbing about?"

The answer was simple.

"I'm pregnant."

At those two words, both bayonets clattered to the floor.

OOO

TBC

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This chapter took a bit longer than intended, but it is none. Yes, I know. What surprise! Next chapter—The Reason. Be back very soon. As you can guess it alludes to a HellsingXVampire Hunter D crossover, which is the universe Derelictus will be set in. But that story, I am hoping will be first posted in fall, or at least in the winter—that is, if enough people are interested. It will be set in an I-am-Legend world, where electricity and water are difficult to come by and The Covenant, who now name themselves "Nobles" are taking over the world, bit by bit. Naturally, humanity resists. Want to know more, kjust let me know. Again, I may or may not write this.

Ta,

Immortalis