Chapter 8: Götterdämmerung

"What happened to make you change?"

The Doctor looked over at Alucard, confused.

"Your face, I mean." The vampire clarified with the hint of a smile.

Realizing that Alucard's words held less deep meaning than he thought, the Doctor marshalled his thoughts and spoke.

"It's a process my people undergo. When our bodies are mortally wounded, instead of dying, we can heal ourselves at the cost of losing our old form. I've done it eleven times by now. Seven since we first met back when you were still alive. Before you hid your true name."

Alucard's brows furrowed as he considered the Doctor's words carefully.

"These other men, they are still… within you?"

"Well…" The Doctor cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "In a way, I suppose."

The Vampire standing across from him on the scorched, creaking deck proceeded carefully as the pair sailed through the dark.

"Who are your people, Doctor? I take it you're not from this world."

"Correct. My people are- were the Time Lords. I was born on the planet Gallifrey."

"And the Time Lords fought these 'Great Vampires' in ancient times?"

"Yes. The First Great Time War was the result of one man's arrogance. In an attempt to artificially create and harness the power of a black hole, Rassilon, our civilization's leader back then, accidentally opened a rift to another universe. That universe's most advanced inhabitants called themselves the Yssgaroth, and ruled as its overlords. They immediately invaded this reality. It's said that just one could completely drain a world of life. Entire systems were consumed. The Time Lords eventually beat them back and sealed the rift, but the power of the Great Vampires remained in the lesser servants they had created. This power continued to be passed down through blood and spread throughout the cosmos; diluted, but still a threat to life everywhere."

"Were."

"What?"

"You said the Time Lords 'were' your people."

"…there was a war." The memories were still all-too fresh in the Doctor's mind thanks to Rassilon's attempt to break free of the time-lock. "Everyone lost."

"The Master and I are the last of the Time Lords."

"Then the two of you carry your people within yourselves, in addition to the men you used to be." Alucard said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Blood is the currency of the soul, Doctor. Those who pass from this life do not simply disappear. They remain within those who refuse to give up, those with the will to live on… Those who perish from your actions, even more so."

There was no reply from the Doctor. If only Alucard knew how much blood weighed on his soul: The countless lives that he carried within himself… the burden of it.

A thought occurred.

A terrible, horrifying thought.

"Is that what I saw?" The Doctor could not bring himself look directly at the vampire as he spoke. "When you fought those Nazis?"

Alucard's shark-like grin was unmistakeable.

"Blood is the medium by which life can be transferred. To drink blood is to take the essence of a soul into oneself, Doctor."

The vampire spread his arms wide, presenting himself like a showman.

"If Time Lords are made up of the lives they live, then Vampires are made up of the lives we take! How's that for a parallel universe?!"

The Doctor unconsciously took a step away as Alucard's voice crept up in volume, his mind still racing.

A parallel universe… An alternate universe… Were the Yssgaroth alternate Time Lords? Another path our race could have taken?

The ship now forged ahead at a quicker pace, accelerating as Alucard's excitement grew. Turning away from the Doctor, he returned to his survey of the horizon, a faint red glow now visible through the thick fog.

"Hm. That aroma… It's so familiar…"

He breathed in deeply with his eyes half-lidded, inhaling the smoky air, tasting the atmosphere like a snake flicking its tongue.

"The aroma of men being impaled, of women being cut down where they stand, of babies burning to a crisp, of the old being lined up and shot…"

Alucard chuckled with amusement, continuing his grisly poetry. He crossed his arms over his chest with satisfaction.

"The bouquet of death, the smell of war…"

"We're coming for you, Major."

"So, how many of us remain?"

Anderson, Heinkel, Yumie, and the remaining paladins stood amid the field of vampire corpses. Integra, the car, and those in it had remained untouched through the pitched battle.

"Half of us have fallen." Heinkel replied to Anderson. "Ze Nazis are fierce…"

"Get the thermite!" She barked, reloading her pistols. "Burn zis tainted demon meat! Burn 'em all to ashes!"

Integra, a new cigar hanging unlit from her mouth, stood up straight and began to deliberately pace down the street, away from the paladins.

"Enjoy your fire…" She said coolly.

One of Heinkel's guns was immediately aimed at her head.

"Vere are you going?" Her voice had a hard edge.

"To my mansion, obviously." Integra's condescension made Donna wince. Abandoning the car, she led Martha and Rose toward the suited woman, tired of being ignored.

"My forces are under attack." Integra continued. "As their commanding officer, I need to be there, so lower the gun… Papist."

"I don't think so. You're in Vatican custody now, you left-legger."

The Londoners' view of the exchange of oddball insults was obstructed by Yumie blocking their path.

"Can I help you, my children?" She asked, smiling sweetly. Her hand casually rested on the hilt of her now-sheathed katana.

"You can start by telling us who the hell you people are!"

As Yumie patiently explained Iscariot's origin and purpose, Rose and Martha looked past her in confusion as Integra apparently hypnotized the gun-toting blonde priest into lighting her cigar.

"Now then, I'm going home." Integra declared, cigar now smouldering brightly. "I'll be taking these survivors with me." She indicated Donna and the two teens. "If the thought of it vexes you, go ahead and shoot."

Heinkel, meanwhile, was having a minor panic attack, drawing Yumie's attention away from the trio.

"Why can't I deal with her?" She hissed. "She's just one woman, what ze hell?"

"Hey, how about we tie them up and take them away with us?" Yumie proposed, apparently forgetting that the people she wanted to kidnap were standing right behind her. "That would work!"

"I vanna shoot her!" Heinkel griped.

"We can hear you!" Donna pointed out, more aggravated than scared by the pair's antics.

"They want to either tie us up or shoot me." Integra mused. "What is it that you want, Anderson?"

"What do you think?" Anderson spoke from immediately behind the three Londoners, making them jump. Shadow cloaked his face as light reflected creepily from his round glasses.

"Teaming up against an unarmed woman to do God-knows-what to her? We're Paladins, not rapists."

Donna was pleased to note that Heinkel and Yumie had been struck as speechless as everyone else was at that statement.

"I'm glad we're of one mind." Integra continued, seemingly oblivious to the madness of the people she was talking with.

Or is she just used to it?

Donna shuddered to think of the kind of patience required to manage a group of super-powered freaks like these.

"-But we really shouldn't walk home alone." She admitted, setting off again.

"Come on."

"Aye." Anderson pronounced without a hint of sarcasm. "We'll protect your maiden virtue."

The paladins were rooted to the spot.

"Step lively, papists." Integra said, her voice giving away a hint of amusement.

Rose, Martha, and Donna trailed contentedly in Integra's wake, followed by the crowd of paladins as Heinkel and Yumie continued to bicker.

The streets of London continued to burn beneath the Deus ex Machina; a funeral pyre for millions of dead. It was mirrored by the blazes that had by now been set in every city on Earth.

The Major chuckled quietly as he, his officers, and the Master lounged on the zeppelin's bridge, viewing the full glory of the devastation as they took a break from 'entertaining' their two guests.

"This glorious struggle has only just begun, my friends."

Millennium's soldiers were swarming into Hellsing Manor, burning as they went, slaughtering the mercenaries defending it as if they helpless sheep.

"Atrocity will beget atrocity. It must. For such… is the nature… of war!"

The fat man was no longer able to hold back his hysterical laughter.

The red-and-black airship floated above the Thames like a massive, bloated insect, its engines droning loudly as it slowly rotated in place to allow its commander a panoramic view of the domain he had crafted for himself with fire, blade, and bullet.

It was later in the night now; the Major and the Master stood atop the Deus ex Machina itself. The rigid armour plating offered a hard surface to walk upon, and the zeppelin was so large that there was little slope to either side if someone stood along the frame's dorsal seam as they did. The Major's coat flapped in the cold night air as glowing embers whirled through the sky aimlessly around the two warriors. The Master held a steaming mug of tea between his partially-gloved hands to warm them. Gallifreyans were a hardy people, but the zeppelin's altitude demanded some kind of external heat source for anyone to remain comfortable.

Anyone who could be properly counted among the living, anyways.

Taking a deep breath and sweeping his arm out to encompass the entirety of his great work, the Major broke the silence as the Master took a tentative sip from his tin mug.

"This is it." He grinned. "What my eyes have so longed for… Ah… what a sight."

"I've lost count of how many cities I've watched burn." The Master contributed. "I don't even remember how many I've made burn… But I have to admit…" His smile mirrored the Major's. "I never get tired of the sight."

"For what it's worth, Zorin's dead, sirs." Schrodinger spoke up from just behind the pair, surprising neither of them. "Killed by a gnat."

Schrodinger did not seem to be bothered by the cold, either. Not too shocking when it was taken into account that in many senses of the word, the child was not really there.

The Major laughed as he responded. "Well, that's hardly a surprise…"

He quickly returned his focus to the city beneath him.

"Watch how it burns, boy…" He spoke reverently. "Like the end of the Gotterdammerung…"

Twilight of the Gods… The Master translated. Ragnarok.

Inspired, he quoted the relevant human religious text, accompanied by the near-subsonic vibrations of the airship's engines and the dull roar of the city-devouring flames.

"In this din shall the heavens be cloven, and the Sons of Muspell ride thence: Surtr shall ride first… then straightaway shall Surtr cast fire over the earth and burn all the world…"

"You two are such meanies." Schrodinger almost purred. "You bring a whole army with you, but really they're nothing but kindling for your personal bonfire."

The Major's grin widened as the Master once again grew troubled by the level of the cat-boy's perception.

"What is hell if not a bonfire?" The Major opined.

"I am become death." He continued, quoting a text from another ancient human culture.

"I am the serpent; devouring myself. I take and am taken from without end… How many days of wild aspiration, how many nights of black entropy have I slain to witness this triumph?

Schrodinger quietly disappeared from his place behind the two men, clearly having heard all this before. The Master hardly noticed, fixated on the deep madness, the primal insanity that his ally was spinning into words.

"Our destruction approaches…"

The ageless SS officer's alien eyes stared crazily into space, seeming to vibrate with sheer chaotic intent.

"…together with our victory!"

Light bloomed from the dark, pre-dawn sky, trailing downward in three broad streams of glowing matter. To the untrained eye, and to the shell-shocked survivors hiding throughout London, it appeared that an angel had appeared to save them.

Several more angelic waterfalls of light burst into existence, shedding their radiance upon the burning city below. The beatific scene was then shattered by noise; a high-pitched whine of feedback, one loud enough to be heard across most of the city.

"We have come for you!" The rich, Italian-accented voice was one clearly used to public speaking. The man delivered his sermon unhesitatingly, with no inflection save the effortlessly self-righteous tone of the true zealot.

"We are the righteous soldiers of the Angel of Death! And tonight the world below shall know judgement!"

A fleet- No, a swarm of helicopters came into view, moving over the city from the South. They were visible now that they had been lit by the glowing, white-burning chaff dropped by the cargo planes escorting them.

Steel-armoured knights wearing the hoods of priests sat astride each helicopter, red crosses standing out from their white tabards. The crusaders were armed with customized anti-vampire weapons provided by the Vatican's Administration of Holy Relics' Third Division: A cross between modern .50 calibre anti-tank rifles and long-hafted halberds of a medieval design.

"England is guilty. The heathens are guilty! You are all now sentenced... to your death!

All over London, vampires looked up from their meals in alarm, suddenly confronted with a legitimate opposing force.

"I can offer you my pity, but my forgiveness? NEVER! Now prepare to be purged from the Earth. Mowed down like grass! CRUSHED LIKE BUGS!"

Maxwell's laughter filled the skies of London, growing hysterical quickly as he revelled in the glory of his task.

Deus ex Machina rumbled slowly toward the airborne armada.

Schrodinger had rejoined the two commmanders on top of the zeppelin's frame. He was handing the Master a freshly-filled mug of tea as the Major remarked on the sudden appearance of the catholic army.

"Who knew?" He said, genuinely impressed. "That kid can really put on quite a show when his heart is in it!"

"It seems your taunt had its desired effect, Major." The Master said agreeably.

"Major!" A desperate shout came from a distance behind the trio. Dok was crawling towards them. His permanently-bloodstained lab-coat billowed in the breeze as he scrambled across the metal surface, clearly uncomfortable with precariousness of his position. Schrodinger rolled his eyes at the sight.

"Major," he called again, standing up to appeal to his leader, "this is dangerous! Please won't you come back inside?"

"Doktor, are the special projects ready?" The Major asked, ignoring his request.

"Ah- yes, sir. The younger has been prepared precisely to your specifications." A hint of a smile now replaced the look of concern on Dok's face as he related the success of his work. "I should remind you, he is untested, and deployment would be extremely risky."

Dok's smile grew as he good-naturedly baited the Major, knowing that 'untested' and 'extremely risky' were a few of his favourite words.

"And the elder?" The Master inquired, looking over his shoulder.

"The Captain is with him now." Dok replied. A flutter of unease ran through him as he mentioned the silent officer. Dok knew well that both the Captain and his actions were entirely beyond his control; something the scientist did not care for at all.

"Thank you, Doktor." The Major said contentedly. "This is most splendid news."

"Well," Dok said humbly, his smile back in place, "they are outstanding specimens."

"Adequate work, Dok." Schrodinger said without feeling, intentionally goading his creator.

"It's not like you've done any work, IDIOT!" The Doktor shouted, instantly rounding on the boy.

"I've done plenty of work!" Schrodinger shouted back. "I was watching Zorin at the Hellsing house and everything!"

"Oh…" Dok instantly deflated. "Right… hehe."

"Would you like to do the honours, my friend?" The Major asked the Master, indicating the helicopters before them, some of which were now descending to disgorge their occupants.

"It would be my pleasure, Herr Major."

Stepping forward a pace, the Master held his laser screwdriver up to his mouth like a microphone.

"SOLDIERS OF MILLENNIUM: PLEASE ATTEND CAREFULLY!"

Despite its name, the device still held some rudimentary sonic capability, which the Time Lord now employed to attract the attention of every vampire in London.

"ALL UNITS EQUIP YOUR ULTRAVIOLET COUNTERMEASURES AND PREPARE TO MUSTER!"

All over the city, the Nazis equipped themselves with gas masks. Their lenses had been specially treated to filter out the wavelengths of solar radiation harmful to vampires. This would allow them to fight during the day, and shield them from the impending sunrise.

The call spread across London as NCO's summoned their troops and swarmed together with all their supernatural speed to the centre of the city.

"Muster the battalion!" They cried. "Muster the battalion!"

All the while, crusaders continued to pour onto the chosen battlefield of Trafalgar Square. Ranks formed, row after row of holy warriors stacked up on the steps of the classically-designed buildings, their tower-shields facing their enemy and shielding them from above. They sighted down their Halberd-Rifles unafraid and ready.

Their immortal, unholy opponents glared back at them across the square, carbines and RPGs loaded and ready. The main forces of Millennium and the Vatican were assembled together, neither willing to open fire without orders.

"Enemies stand to our left. Enemies stand to our right! Eradicate all who stand before you!" Maxwell commanded, directing his air forces toward the Deus ex Machina. "Execute them all… Kill them…"

"Exterminate."

With a snap of Maxwell's fingers, the barrage of missile and gunfire began, projectiles speeding toward the hulking mass of the airship. It was a target that was impossible to miss.

Those elements of the Last Battalion too far-flung to get to the battle lines in time instead engaged the Vatican's aerial contingent, firing upwards at the nimbly-manoeuvring helicopters with everything they had, using their own lightning speed to dodge returning fire and keep pace with the sky-borne armada.

All the while, Deus ex Machina droned forwards, directly into the oncoming fire. Hit after hit was scored on the airship's armour, peeling off the plating as fireballs left scorch-marks and the occasional gaping hole in the floating behemoth's superstructure.

Dok was forced to drop to the ground in a highly undignified manner as a flying piece of wreckage sailed through the air, through Warrant Officer Schrodinger, and directly towards him.

"Major! Do you hear me? Please come back inside!" He appealed. "The armour plating won't hold out for long! Major-"

He ran out of words abruptly, having finally grasped what he was seeing. At the airship's bow stood the Master, laser screwdriver in hand. He was sending blast after blast of killing energy at the swarming helicopters. Untroubled by range or the agility of his targets, the rapid-firing beams struck with deadly accuracy each time. A single moment of the bright amber light playing across one of the flying machines' hulls was enough to heat it to the point of detonation. Helicopters were falling as burning wreckage across the sky as the Master continually rotated and moved with his enemy, acquiring target after target with supernatural efficiency, dodging bullets and grinning out of sheer joy as he danced to the rhythm of battle: To the drumbeat.

The Major heard the same beat. Heard what Dok could not. He waved his arms expertly, not accompanying, but conducting the rhythm; conducting the battle itself.

"They think that it is music!" The Doktor wondered aloud. "Music of the battlefield!" The battlefield is their symphony… and we are their instruments: Great howling instruments, wailing their cacophonous notes! How could anything stand against them?!"

A single Vatican helicopter rose into view, having somehow pierced the Master's deadly screen of laser beams.

"We found our target!" The co-pilot radioed in as his partner rotated the chopper to face the Major, who was still happily conducting. "He's on top of the airship!"

"What the hell is he doing?" The pilot wondered aloud, disturbed by the heavyset man's insane, unconcerned actions. "He's crazy! A mad spirit of war…"

The helicopter's twin miniguns swivelled, zeroing in on their target. The Major completed his symphony with a flourish, spreading his arms outward, facing the helicopter head-on as it prepared to fire. The Master completed his dance, ending by pointing his screwdriver at the helicopter, sighting down his arm at its fuel tanks. At the last second, he put up his weapon, closing his eyes and grinning while he awaited the impending gunfire.

"Major!" Dok called in warning.

"Die!" The pilot yelled, pressing the firing switch.

There were two simultaneous gunshots and an eerie whispering sound. Two bullets cracked through the helicopter's windshield, hitting the pilot and co-pilot between the eyes. At the same time, loops of monofilament swirled around the helicopter, slicing it apart like a block of cheese as the strands were pulled tight. The pieces, stained with blood and oil, fell silently to the ground.

The Major's voice was sly and self-assured. "Quick and excellent work… my butler."

Walter stood partway back along the zeppelin's length, wearing a grim expression on his newly-youthful, unlined face.

The Master reopened his eyes, his smile still in place.

"Very nice shooting… Captains."

Two extremely long pistol barrels extended over each of the Master's shoulders, their ends still smoking. The Captain returned his Mauser to its holster. Jack Harkness did the same with his modified Webley. Now wearing the black leather long-coat of an SS officer, Jack's expression was as blank as Walter and the Captain's. His eyes now possessed the same intensity as the other two; the same deep rage and hatred only barely prevented from bubbling to the surface.

The two Captains flanked the Master, their fists now clenched as Walter took up his position just behind the Major. Dok and Schrodinger looked on eagerly.

Unable to contain himself any longer, the Major let loose with a laugh. It was a deep, rolling, howling belly laugh that echoed off of the buildings below.

"A plan half a century in the works!" He almost shrieked. "A death's-head mark for the Hellsing's angel of death!"

His laughter continued, the Master now joining in as he celebrated his own, total victory over the freakish immortal who now stood by his side.

Your weapon is now mine, Doctor!

Author's Notes: The Doctor's elaboration of the First Great Time War is based on information from the novel The Pit (1993) and the two-part story (also in novel form) entitled Interference (1999).

The post-battle scene with Iscariot was difficult to write as it's based on a scene that is offbeat, comedic, strange, and honestly does not translate well.

I changed the wording of Maxwell's command to open fire from 'Destroy' to 'Exterminate' in order to form a connection between the zealotry of the crusaders and the murderous xenophobia of the Daleks. Everyone can relax; there are no Daleks in this story.