Disclaimer: Don't own Hellsing.
Well, this is the last chapter. I hope people have enjoyed reading this as much as I've had fun writing it. Thank you to the reviewer who caught that I had different names for the Knights of the Round Table, I have reinstated the proper knights to their rightful positions in this chapter.
This chapter isn't as gory as the last few have been but I hope that it does a good job at wrapping things up. Ok, enough author's notes. Onto the chapter:
Father Alexander Anderson sat in his room pondering recent events. Just one week ago he had been in London on orders from Maxwell to be there due to a suspicion that there would be a major vampire attack on the city. There had been but something else disturbed him.
He had followed the vampire Alucard closely throughout the battle, following him as he and the other vampire crashed through St. Paul's roof. Inside he heard Alucard say the statement that he usually said before delivering the killing blow to a heathen or demon from Hell.
In that moment, he had felt a strong presence in the cathedral with them. Anderson could sense vampires, but this was nothing like a vampire. Looking around he saw a man standing next to him in a crisp suit coat.
Order 10: Protectors of Man
"Who are you?" Anderson asked the strange man.
"My name is of no consequence," the man laughed, he had a beautiful laugh, "I am here to observe, and maybe help someone find his path."
"A holy man then," Anderson said, "a fellow man of the Cloth."
"In a sense," the man said, "You saw the battle between the two vampires, did you not?"
"Yes,"
"Truly amazing. Two individuals with that kind of power. We must be grateful of what "side" Alucard is on, he is truly a monster at times."
"What are you getting at?"
"I know a great deal about the man who became the vampire Alucard. Before he was Alucard he was the vampire Dracula, feared by many, hunted by Abraham van Hellsing. Before that he was the King of Romania, fighting for the freedom of his people. He had been captured and his troops slaughtered in a battle against the Ottoman Turks. His army was all that stood against the hordes of invaders at his country's borders. In a desperate plea, he prayed to my Master to give him strength. He was on the verge of death and there was little hope for him and his country. My Lord granted him his prayer and as the ax of his executioner cut through his neck a great power filled his body. With this power he avenged his men and saved his people."
"Your Master is a powerful being," Anderson stated, narrowing his eyes at the man's tale.
"Indeed he is," the man laughed, "My Lord can do many things."
The two men stood there staring at each other for a moment.
"Does Alucard still serve your Master?" Anderson asked.
"They have their disagreements," the man said idly, "but he still does. Alucard was given great power, but due to the nature of his wish was punished as well. Eternal suffering, in exchange for retribution."
"A heavy burden," Anderson commented.
"He bears it well," the man said.
Anderson thought about this for a moment before turning back to the man to question him some more, only to find that he was alone.
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"What did that mean?" Anderson asked himself. Alucard served two masters? One human and one seemingly other worldly? Standing, Anderson left his room and went to the library in the orphanage he ran. The children were all in bed, for it was well past midnight, and the Father knew he should be in bed to. However with his regenerating abilities he needed far less sleep than a normal man his age.
Once in the library he found the book he sought. An old book it was, supposedly written by a vampire telling of the nature of the beast. Anderson had studied it intensely when he first started working for Iscariot, but there was one section he had not read yet. The one pertaining to the legendary Count Dracula.
Originally, Anderson had blown this off as an account of a mythical being. But after the encounter with the strange man he knew otherwise.
Finding the passage he looked for Anderson began reading.
The vampire formerly known as the Romanian king Vlad Draculae or Vlad the Impaler, now know as Dracula, is a truly unique vampire in that his creation was the will of the Lord God. As punishment for his ruthless and bloody tendencies, the Lord gave Dracula the power of the strongest of the Undead so that he would wander the Earth until the time of Judgment unable to be killed, unless he passed his blessing and curse down to another.
Anderson closed the book. He had spoken with an angel in St. Paul's Cathedral that night. And Alucard was a servant of God? This was against everything Anderson had understood about vampires. Vampires had been spawned from the Devil to bring evil into the world. But here was a vampire created by God.
Nothing made sense, Anderson decided as he returned the book to its shelf in the far back of the library where no child would go because all the children's books were at the front. As he left, he returned to his ponderings.
Halfway back to his room Anderson realized something. Lucifer, Satan, the Devil, had once been an angel in the presence of God, but had been cast from heaven. If this fallen angel had the ability to create vampires than the same task for the Lord would be trivial. And in fact what was the best tool against a monster? Another monster.
'Perhaps not all the things the holy texts declare evil are truly evil,' Anderson thought.
Returning to his room, Anderson removed his coat and hung it up. As he unbuttoned his shirt his eyes caught a file that had not been on his desk when he had left. However his door was locked when he got back, just as he left it, and there were no windows to his room. The only ventilation system the room had was far too small for a normal person to crawl through, so something rather than someone had put that file on his desk.
Curious, Anderson picked up the file and looked through it. As each page flashed before his eyes, Anderson grew angrier and angrier. Inside the file was extremely well documented evidence showing that Vatican Sector XIII had funded an operation creating artificial vampires. Pictures of humans being experimented on, pictures of "Freak Chips" with the Nazi swastika on it, the final pictures in the file were of Yumie attacking a child, though Anderson recognized that the child was a vampire, but in the room there was a large Star of David.
Grabbing his coat from the coat rack Anderson stormed from his room. He would get to the bottom of this. If Maxwell was using the resources of the Church to create demons, there would be Hell to pay.
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Sitting back in his chair, James Moor looked around his office at an unnamed weapons and development facility in an undisclosed location in the United States. He knew the reason for having such secrecy behind facilities such as the one he owned. Especially when this one employed and kept tabs on the supernatural creatures on the continent.
There were some days when James could hardly believe that the event that had started all of this happened over two hundred and fifty years ago; forty years prior to the Revolutionary War of the United States.
Still, as James leafed through the various memos and documents that required his approval to be set in motion, the night where the bond between him and Kyle was strengthened indefinitely was easily the most vivid memory of his life.
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James hissed as the shackles burned against his wrists. Kyle was breathing heavily a few feet away from him. Three nights ago Ann had finally told them what their master had been doing to her for the last three months.
'Why didn't she share this with us earlier?' James demanded to himself, 'And what the Hell can we possibly do to help her?'
Again he tugged on his shackles helplessly, hissing in pain as the silver burned his skin. Ann was sitting quietly in her corner of the room they were imprisoned in. James paused for a moment, thinking, calculating what time it was. They had roughly four minutes until a servant came to take Ann for her nightly rape. Anger coursed through James' body, the thought of his sister being violated infuriated him.
Kyle didn't seem to be much happier than he was. He sat just a few feet away from James, breathing heavily, something he wasn't required to do anymore, shaking his head, straining against his shackles more times than necessary.
'What's the matter with Kyle?' James wondered. Normally the brother's were calm, in control; they had learned to be that way from training with the local militia. But Kyle seemed to be punishing himself for some reason.
"Brother," James said to Kyle in the coded speech they came up with when their master took Ann away for the night. No one but the two of them knew what the phrases truly meant. "Brother," he said again, getting Kyle's attention, "What is the matter? What is plaguing your mind?"
"Our sister's violation," Kyle grunted, "and our inability to help her."
James knew Kyle was lying. While they were human, James had learned his brother's mannerisms, knowing that their father was becoming sick and their mother had died in childbirth with her fourth child. The baby was stillborn to make the offense greater, grieving their father into his sickness. The way Kyle's mouth twitched tipped James off to his brother's falsehood, as well as a feeling that simply told him that Kyle was lying. That was new to being a vampire.
"You dishonor me, brother," James rebuked Kyle gently, "I know what you do when you lie and I can sense when you do so, now in our un-life. Tell me. What distresses you?"
Kyle tugged hard on his shackles, the flesh sizzling at the contact with the silver, Kyle crying out in pain. Whatever it was that was bothering him was causing him a tremendous amount of guilt.
"Tell me, Kyle," James pleaded, "What bothers you?"
"You remember your reason for becoming a vampire?" Kyle gritted out, "You grieved over Danica, your wife. You were told that you could be with her again if you became a vampire and you submitted. Do you wish to know why I became a vampire?"
James nodded, noting the red tears making their way down Kyle's face.
"Our master confronted me as I rushed home to see what was happening. I had heard the screams from the village and returned to find everyone dead, but moving as if they were alive. Our master told me what he was, and that he understood my desire to be greater than you. Slowly he goaded me into making the decision. Actually it didn't take much, my dream to be your better consumed me and at the mention that I might be greater than you if I became a vampire tempted me too much. I submitted without a second thought, waking up chained to this wall next to you and Ann. Suddenly I realized that I had betrayed you, not physically, but spiritually. I was willing to become a demon, just so that I could be better than you!"
James stared at his brother, disbelieving what Kyle had just confessed. But Kyle wasn't done yet.
"You had the easy path out of the two of us," he seethed, "The eldest, you had all the inheritance, I was the second born, given what you grew out of. You were the respected fighter; I was the tag-along kid-brother. You met Danica and were married within a month; I while able to have my fair share of wenches, never managed to get a relationship to last past the first encounter. I hated, loved, despised, and looked up to you all at the same time. I became a vampire because I wanted to be better than you at SOMETHING!"
"And as it turned out," he said, turning his head from James, "your reasons for becoming a vampire were out of love for your wife, an honorable reason. My reasons were petty. I am worthless, unworthy to be called your brother."
"You think being the eldest son is easy?" James shot back at Kyle, "As Father grew sicker and weaker I had to take up the mantle of head of the household. When Danica showed signs that she might be pregnant, with my child, conceived out of wedlock, I had no choice but to propose to her to save her from scorn. I loved her anyway but would have wanted to propose to her in a different fashion than that. As eldest son I was expected to take up Father's profession, regardless of whether I wished to be a blacksmith or not. That was something you enjoyed. Yes, I enjoyed creating things, but I liked a more fine touch than beating something into the proper shape."
"I was the respected fighter because no one wanted to get on the wrong side of my temper, with Father ill, me having to take his place in the family and in the smithy, I was not a pleasant man to be around."
The brother's stared at each other in the eye, a sudden understanding forged between them in a way that neither knew how it happened, but both could feel.
The turn of the lock to their door alerted both of them to the presence of one of their master's other servants, here to take Ann away. The servant walked in, striding over to Ann, who cowered farther into her corner.
"No," she pleaded as the servant unlocked her, "Please don't do this. Please don't take me to him!"
The servant pulled her to her feet, "You will do as the Master says, whore," he spat at her, slapping her across the face.
In that instant, unbridled rage overflowed James' body, Kyle's as well. The sudden new connection between them magnifying their rage tenfold. Roaring load enough to shake the walls, the brothers ripped their shackles from the wall and descended upon the servant. Blood flew through the air as the brother's tore at the vampire, venting their rage at the only thing in the room that deserved their fury.
Panting, Kyle looked at James. The brothers scanned the room, now covered in blood and entrails. Slowly, the entrails turned to ash. James reached down and picked up the keys that the servant had brought with him.
"Kyle, you wished to be better than me at something," he said as he unlocked their shackles, "Now is your chance. Ann liked you best out of the two of us. You must take her with you and run from this place. Get as far away as you can."
"What are you going to do?" Kyle said, picking Ann up bridal style.
"I'm going after our master," James said, "Take care of Ann."
Kyle swallowed, and then pulled James into a tight hug. "I love you, brother," he said.
"As do I," James said, returning his brother's embrace.
Kyle let go and, taking a deep breath, smashed through the wall of the hut they were in and ran into the night.
James turned, stalking from the room. He doubted his chances of living through the night, but he would make his sister's rapist pay, he swore by all that was Holy.
The master's servant's stood in his way. He beat them down, leaving them smoldering in his wake.
"James, I see you're out of your room," his master's voice rang out from behind him, James slowly turned to face the vampire. He hid behind several other servants, including one that was only a young girl, Helena if he remembered correctly.
"You robbed my sister of her honor," he snarled, the servants cringing at the force of his rage, "I've come to make you pay."
"A Master must do what he has to do to ensure his servants loyalty," the vampire smiled charmingly, "all you had to do was do my bidding an your sister would have been let alone."
"You never gave us that option," James roared, "and I doubt you would have left Ann alone if Kyle and I had submitted. But you'll never get her now; Kyle is likely past the next village by now, with Ann." He said the last part with a smug tone to his voice.
"A nights travel at the least," the vampire waved his hand, "you can't possibly think that your brother can escape me."
"My brother has a stronger temper than I," James said, "And you won't have any servants to cower behind by the end of tonight. Making more will slow you down longer, allowing Kyle to slip through your fingers completely."
"I grow tired of you insubordination," the vampire drawled, "Kill him."
The servants ran forward, unable to resist their masters' command. James resisted out of sheer willpower.
James grabbed the first servant to reach him by the throat, squeezing, snapping its neck. The second received a punch to the face, sending it to its back. James dropped the first servant, smashing its head beneath his foot. Ripping the arms from another servant, James impaled the second servant through the heart and another servant through the head. Kicking the armless servant in the gut, James sent it stumbling backwards into the fire.
The other servants fell as they tried to fight James until finally the young girl, Helena, remained. James simply looked into her eyes. Helena froze, unable to move under James penetrating gaze. Quietly she started sobbing.
"What are you waiting for!" roared the vampire, "Destroy him! He's over a century younger than you!"
Helena gave a strangled cry, and ran at James. James picked up the small vampire and held it at arm's length. Then he quickly threw her across the room, impaling her through the stomach on a hook. Helena hung there on the wall, bleeding, but not turning to ash.
"You're out of pawns," James taunted, turning to his "master", "you can run if you want. But I was rather fast as a human, I'm sure that attribute has been strengthened with my new vampiric powers. I could probably chase you down relatively easily, and we'd be back where we started: staring each other down."
The vampire snorted, and removed his outer coat. "You think you, a newborn, can fight me? You're a greater fool than I thought. What power do you think you possess?" He rolled up his shirt sleeves and stepped toward James.
Suddenly he was on his back and James standing over him.
"My power is the love of my sister," he growled, "Her honor will be avenged tonight."
The vampire snarled and clawed at James' face. James grabbed his hands and threw him across the room into a wall, which cracked under the force of the throw.
Roaring, the vampire recovered and rushed at James. His attacks held power behind them, but as untrained as he was, James easily blocked them, disgusted that this thing once held power over him.
"You're a pitiful waste of existence," he sneered, "I know why you hide behind others, making them do your work for you. Because you can't do anything for yourself. You have no power at all."
The vampire's face contorted in fear as James plunged his hand through its chest, grabbing its heart. With a mighty tug, James ripped it out.
Shrieking in pain, the vampire burnt into ash. James watched for a moment. Then pain wracked his body. Screaming, James fell to the ground, his cry drowning out the one of Helena's as she continued to hang from the wall.
Miles away, Kyle doubled over in pain, Ann crying out as well.
"You did it, James," Kyle groaned as the pain subsided, "he's dead. We're free."
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James knew that Ann had never found out how Kyle had been changed. It was probably for the best. It wasn't one of Kyle's proudest moments in his life.
Lighting his pipe James thought back on how Kyle had changed over the years. Even after their new understanding he had remained a bitter person for many years, venting his anger during the American Revolution on the British troops. James had spent half the war fighting his own brother, keeping him from going wild.
By the time the War of 1812 or Mr. Monroe's War as it was called at the time, an unpopular war that did not put the president in a good light for a while, Kyle had begun to calm down, possibly because he was more accustomed to his new life. In fact it was during that war that he truly began to make the act of war look more like a deadly dance, though it would be 1945 before Ann gave him his little name.
James smirked. Interesting how the eldest Moor received his nickname last. It wasn't until the Vietnam War that he had received the title "Lightning Death". He had outrun a small missile fired from a bazooka to save some Vietnamese civilians. Once again it was Ann that saw the act and gave him the name.
Just then a file caught his eye. Scanning through it, James found that the situation fit his interests.
"Nova Scotia, eh?" James said to himself, doing some swift calculations in his head, "about twenty minute jog from here. For me anyway."
It was true that no one really knew how fast James could run. But that was because nobody was ever with him when he traveled to site locations. A two hundred mile trip might take him twenty minutes on a good day. If his calculations were right, this meant that he, James Moor, Lightning Death, could run at speeds up to six hundred miles per hour. And if it was at night, he could move faster.
But only if he wanted to. He, like Alucard, only worked hard enough to get the job done and have a little fun while he was at it. Unlike Alucard, James was only a 2nd Level Master vampire. But that was the thing about James. He was only just a 2nd Level Master. And we mean only just…
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It had been a long time since Kyle Moor had done a recon mission. Still it was a welcome relief from the mass of killing that he tended to do as the number one assassin for the "Blood Trinity", as they, he, James, Ann, called themselves. This particular one was to simply observe the movements of a group of vampires in southern Texas. So far they hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. But since they had been known KKK members in their human lives and there had been an abnormal amount of African American disappearances in the area that they were in both he and James agreed that they needed to check out the group.
Kyle never understood the difference between Black and White people, even when he had been human. After gaining his so-called "immortality" the concept of racism still puzzled him. An African could become a vampire as easily as a Caucasian, and so could an Asian or Latino person. In recent years it had been discovered that all humans were over 99% genetically identical. So what was the whole point really if they were all practically the same?
Sixty years ago, Kyle had faced himself with a similar question. Only that time it had been over religious affiliation. The Nazi's oppressed the Jews, even going as far as to systematically kill them. Though Kyle had got the satisfaction of putting an end to that in at least one camp…
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Kyle shifted uneasily in the crowded bunk of the concentration camp he was in. His military unit had been captured by Nazi forces and put into a Death Camp not far from where the battle had been. Looking around, Kyle saw that his fellow soldiers, who had been fit and healthy at the beginning of the war, were now practically skin and bones, a haunted look in their eyes as they tried to sleep in the crowded conditions.
There were thousands of Jews in the camp with them. Taking pity on the oppressed religion, Kyle and his comrades would subtly take hits for them, trying to keep them alive so that when the war was over there was still something left of them.
In the months that they had been there, the death rate of the camp has mysteriously dropped by around 40%, or so Dyke, one of Kyle's buddies who understood German quite well said. Kyle was fluent in German, Russian, French, knew the Mexican dialects of the Spanish language, and had learned some Gaelic from a Welsh vampire that had stayed with them, Kyle, James, and Ann, for a while. But having an eighteen year old boy who dropped out of school at the age of fourteen to help his brother on the farm knowing too many things would look unnatural, so Kyle feigned ignorance for the sake of seeming normal.
Unfortunately, Kyle had just received word from James via their telepathic communication that a Nazi warehouse in Warsaw was creating artificial vampires to fight the Allies. Kyle knew that not many military forces in the world could stand up against the might of the undead. So somehow he was going to have to break out of the camp to meet up with his brother, feeding along the way since it had been several months since he had last tasted blood.
Sighing, Kyle rose and walked over to the door where Dyke stood; keeping watch for Nazi soldiers coming to see if everyone was in their beds. The soldiers slept on the floor, making room for the Jews on the small beds that the Nazi's put in the prisoner barracks. If a Nazi came for a midnight inspection, whoever was on watch would walk everyone up and everyone would pile onto the beds for as long as the Nazi was in the barrack. As soon as he left the soldiers returned to the floor and someone else took watch.
"What's bugg'n the shit outta ya'?" Dyke asked in his Boston accent.
"I worry about my older brother," Kyle half-lied, "I'm not there for him on the farm. He has to tend to all the tasks himself as well as care for our sister's illness."
"Ya' know yer not very good at lyin', Ireland," Dyke said to Kyle, calling him by his nickname, "What's bugg'n ya'?"
Kyle looked at Dyke for a moment. Kyle was dubbed "Ireland" due to the strange coincidence that he had a bit of an Irish accent. But what bothered him was that after two hundred years he still couldn't lie well enough for someone to believe it.
"Alright I confess," he said, "I'm really over two hundred years old, work with my brother and sister to fight the dark side of the supernatural world. We can communicate telepathically with each other and I have just been told that the Nazi's are making artificial vampires to send into combat against Allied Forces. There is only one force qualified to fight that sort of thing and that is my family."
"Glad yer bein' honest with meh," Dyke said.
"What?" Kyle's voice cracked a bit at his buddy's statement.
"I've known that ya were a vampire since the day I met ya," his friend said, "Yer smell, yer seemingly educated demeanor, though ya acted uneducated, tho' I have to admit I was surprised ta see ya out in the sunlight."
"After a while, the light of day is no longer weakness to the children of the night," Kyle said, "But if you know of the existence of vampires what are you? I can tell that you're human, but there is something different about you isn't there?"
Dyke grinned at Kyle and pointed to the lock on the door. It turned by itself.
"You're a warlock," Kyle said.
"Good call," Dyke said, "Whadda ya say we bust outta this place."
"How do you suggest we do that?" Kyle said, "Bullets can't kill me so I could annihilate the enemy forces here. You can unlock doors with your abilities so can free the prisoners. But how do we get out of the camp?"
"Perhaps I can help," a deep voice said next to them.
Kyle and Dyke looked over to see the frame of Godfredson, the massive African-American, one of the few in their regiment, move toward them.
"How can yeh help?" Dyke asked, "Yer big, yes, but tha's about all I can tell from ya."
"You're a Lycan," Kyle sniffed, "a werewolf, but it's not a full moon."
"Who said I needed my wolf body to do this?" Godfredson asked, "I am weaker in human form, but I'm still far stronger than any human."
"How fast can ya rip down one of the fences?" Dyke asked.
"Faster than you might think," came the reply.
"Let's do it," Kyle said, and slipped out of the barrack.
Dyke and Godfredson were smart enough to know to wait until Kyle had caused sufficient chaos before making their move, but Kyle still needed to act fast. He was alone against probably two hundred or so Nazi soldiers. Thankfully it was at night and many were probably asleep in their own barracks.
'I wish I had a sword or something,' Kyle thought, 'wait, they confiscated our weapons, but we know that they never took them away from this facility. I can get my kabar.'
Avoiding the search lights with his unnatural speed, Kyle swiftly made his way into the main compound of the camp. Quietly he slipped past the colonel's office/bedchamber and hurried down the hall to where the weapons were stored.
'Shit!' he thought as he reached the door, 'I don't have Dyke to unlock the door or anything to pick the lock with.'
Frustrated, he leaned his head against the door, wishing that he could simply 'will' himself through the door. Suddenly the door seemed to just give way and Kyle stumbled through, catching himself just before running into a stack of M-16's.
'Holy shit,' he thought, 'I just walked right through that door.'
Shaking himself he quickly found his kabar, and, still not knowing exactly how he did it, walked back through the solid door.
'This will come in handy,' Kyle smirked, phasing through the colonel's door and walking over to the sleeping man. He gave a loud hiss, startling the military commander awake.
"Vat's going on?" the colonel asked groggily, "Who ist there?"
Kyle stood silently in the darkness looking down at the man, who was still frantically looking around for him. "Who's there?" he mocked, "Who's there? A better question would be 'what is there?'"
"Who are you?" the colonel demanded rising from his bed, "Vat do you vant?"
"Death," Kyle said.
A scream could be heard from the colonel's office, followed by a thud. Kyle smashed the door down, no longer caring who heard him, half the camp had to be awake from the dead colonel's final breath.
Sure enough a dozen Nazi's were sprinting down the hall at him. Kyle turned and rocketed toward them, slamming into the first one with such force that he probably killed the soldier. Plunging his left hand into the chest of another soldier, he ripped its heart out and flung it in the face of one of the other advancing Nazi's.
Using his kabar, Kyle slashed the throats of several of the soldiers. The last one Kyle bit down on the man's neck and drained him of blood. Strength began to return to his body as the fresh blood began to course through his veins. Kyle picked up one of the rifle of one of the dead Nazi's. It had a full magazine.
'Thirty shots, thirty kills,' Kyle thought as he made his way out of the building.
Nazi's were pouring out of their barracks, milling about in bewilderment. Kyle took aim at the watch towers, skillfully taking out the men operating them. Without the watch towers looking for escaping prisoners, Dyke and Godfredson could begin taking the prisoners to safety beyond the fenced compound.
Kyle spent the gun's magazine and threw it to the side, once again armed only with his kabar. By now the Nazi's had an idea of where the commotion was coming from and began heading in his direction.
Gun fire ripped through Kyle's body as he rushed at the advancing Nazi's, but he plowed on, crashing into the humans at full force. He became a shadowy blur, moving in and amongst the Nazi's, slashing with his kabar, biting down on throats and ripping heads off. Dazed and confused by the sudden, unexpected attack, the Nazi's fired wildly around, shooting many of their own men.
Suddenly it became very quiet. Kyle looked around. The bodies of dead German soldiers littered the compounds grounds. Two hundred meters away Godfredson and Dyke were ushering the last of the prisoners through a sizable hole in the fence.
"Godredson wasn't kidding when he said he could rip down a fence," Kyle said, running in their direction.
Halfway across the compound several gunshots were heard. Bullets ripped through Kyle's body. They didn't hurt, much, but more than just Dyke and Godfredson saw him get hit. The last twenty prisoners gasped in horror as Kyle intentionally fell to the ground and lay as still as the dead.
"Go!" he heard Dyke shout, pulling a young woman back to the fence, "he sacrificed himself so that yeh could escape! There is nothin' ya can do for 'im now!"
The woman sobbed hysterically, though Kyle didn't know why he had never met the woman. Godfredson eventually lifted her to his shoulder and ran into the night with her, the last person to leave the compound alive.
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Kyle met up with Dyke and Godfredson after the war was over. Both knew that he wasn't dead, but for the sake of keeping their abilities secret they acted as if he had. Dyke had gone on to be a high school science teacher for forty years before retiring about a year ago. Kyle and Godfredson dropped past his home near Lake Superior often, Godfredson finding more time than Kyle lately.
Shaking himself from his memories Kyle watched the targets across the bar as he sipped his beer. They still hadn't done anything that needed drastic measures yet, though he had followed them into a KKK meeting. They were still actively white supremacists, that's for sure. But that didn't mean that they were behind the disappearances.
They were leaving so Kyle called the bartender over one last time. "Bottle of Jack to go, if you will," he said.
"Sir, I'm still skeptical if you're actually old enough to be drinking," the bartender said.
"Sorry what was that?" Kyle asked, looking the bartender directly in the eye.
"I asked you to clarify your order, Sir," the bartender said, his memory jumbled around. He would have no memory of Kyle ever being there when the night was over.
"I asked for a bottle of Jack to go," Kyle said, pulling out his wallet and paying the man as he gave him his drink.
Following the vampires looking down on them from the roof tops, Kyle began to get suspicious of them. They were headed for a predominantly Black neighborhood in the city and it was around the timeframe that many of the missing people tended to be last seen.
The whiskey burned down his throat as Kyle followed the vampires farther into the neighborhood. He was willing to bet a large amount of money that these vampires were behind the disappearances. He knew where they lived and it was on the far side of town from here. The only business that they had here tonight probably wasn't friendly.
As he suspected the vampires began to circle a house. One began to make its way to the front door.
Kyle stepped from the shadows where he had been lurking and began to stagger toward the vampires as if he was quite drunk.
"Hey! Wha 'r' you guysh doin'?" he slurred as if he were piss drunk, talking as loudly as he could.
"Shit! Dean take care of that drunk. He'll alert everyone to our presence," one of the vampires hissed. It was quiet enough for a human to be unable to hear it, but then Kyle wasn't exactly human.
"K," another vampire, Dean, said. He turned and walked over to Kyle who still theatrically stumbled around.
"You must be lost, sir," Dean said in a friendly voice, "Nigger's (A/N: I apologize to any who finds this offensive, it was used to make these characters more dislikable) live in this part of town. We can help you back home when we're done with our business if you like."
"An' wha's your bus'nis?" Kyle burped, gripping the vampires shoulder as if for support.
Dean leaned in close, "We discipline the nigger's," he said, "they disappear, and no one knows where they go. It's our job to keep the blackie's in line."
"And it's my job to dispose of trash like you," Kyle said, dropping his drunken antics.
Dean had a moment to register the change in Kyle before a blade was stabbed through his heart and a knee was placed firmly in his gut. He fell to the ground and his skull was crushed beneath Kyle's foot as the Master vampire stalked toward his prey.
The other vampires turned to see their friend turn to ash as the five other blades slide out of Kyle's fists.
"Hello boys," Kyle said raising his fists, the blades shining in the moonlight, "I'm sure you've all heard of me, and I don't give a shit who you are. But what does matter to me is that you're attacking humans on a regular basis. Black humans to be exact. Now I can understand if you have a particular taste, but with only four, now three, of you I'd say one body every other month would be more than enough. And besides there are places for supernatural beings such as ourselves to go and purchase blood so that our supply doesn't die out."
"But that isn't what you're doing here," he continued as the vampires rushed him, trying to score a hit on him. He easily dodged their feeble attacks, giving them a few of his own with his legs. One vampire found itself in a dumpster in the alley on the other side of the street.
"You're here, instead, to continue your puissant mission of white supremacy," Kyle snarled, "I don't care what you did in your human lives but as vampires you are not bound by the same laws. You break these laws and you aren't "put away" sent to prison to stew over what you did. The only penalty is death. And your crime determines whether said death will be quick and painless or slow and painful."
One of the vampires began stammering about how he was sorry about what he had done and to please, please not kill him. His head was lifted from his shoulders before he had time to draw another breath to continue his plea.
The two remaining vampires had grabbed clubs, which were just chunks of wood from a nearby fence. Roaring they rushed at Kyle, swinging the wood at him with all their strength.
Kyle knocked one vampire to the ground and allowed the other one to break the block of wood over his head. He blinked and looked at the vampire unfazed.
Two more flashes of steel and Kyle picked up the bottle of whiskey he had tossed to the side so as to not break it at the beginning of the fight. The quiet of the night returned to the neighborhood as he walked away, vanishing into the shadows, and the bodies of the vampires turned to ash and were scattered by the winds.
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Ann Moor stood at the top of the Hellsing Mansion. Her granddaughter had just been informed that she was being transferred to Hellsing, partially so that she could spend time with her grandfather, Walter, the Angel of Death, and partially because she was going to replace Walter when he retired. That was likely to be any day now considering Walter's age.
She had come a long way from the meek colonial girl she had been in the sixteenth century. Back then she had been content to keep house for her brothers. Now, two hundred years later, she was a deadly assassin working for James, though she wasn't quite as good as either James or Kyle, but she had something that neither of them had. A family beyond her siblings.
The daughter she had had with Walter had a typical one night stand with a boy her age when she was twenty-seven. The boy was actually seventeen and thought that she was seventeen as well due to the fact that a half-human, half-vampire ages a bit more gracefully than a normal human. They didn't use any sort of protection or precautions so as to not get her pregnant, so naturally nine months later Danielle was born.
They later found out that the boy died of alcohol poisoning on his twenty-first birthday, and Ann's daughter died in a fight with an underground vampire coven in Russia. Kyle, being rather close to her, and the one with her on the mission had gone into a bloodlust and the coven was destroyed within seconds. He had done almost as good a job at mauling the coven as Ann would have done.
Sipping from her flask, which had a shot of Wild Turkey, Vodka, and a variety of spices mixed with the blood, Ann slipped into a memory of when she first started developing into the person she was today.
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Ann sat back and looked at what she had done. The colors were not right, the way she had drawn the features was all wrong. "Damn it," she muttered, throwing the artists tools away from her. She had been trying to draw a portrait of her brothers and herself. But after five failed attempts and then starting on something that she could hardly believe she had thought of she was angry and upset at her inability to adapt to a new life as James and Kyle had done so easily.
The War Between the States had been over for about two decades and Ann no longer wanted to just be the younger sister in the family. Yes that is what she was, but she no longer cared to just sit back, cook, clean, and mend for her brothers.
Kyle and James had accepted this quite well. James was teaching her how to shoot a gun. Kyle was teaching her how to use a blade. She could shoot relatively well, though nowhere near as good as James, and Kyle was very impressed with her knife wielding. Though, like James, Kyle was far better than her at both hand to hand combat and knife throwing.
Growling, Ann grabbed several knives and threw them around the room. Each blade sunk deep into the wood, but each giving a less than satisfactory thunk as they hit their targets. Growling louder, she grabbed more knives and turned to the target wall fifty feet away from her.
Aiming as best as she could, she threw the knives hard and fast, resulting in a more satisfying sound as they hit the wall. Ann smirked, finally something had gone right.
She pulled open a drawer and took out a small bottle. Inside it was a concoction of whiskey, blood, and a few spices for some added flavor; a mix that Ann had come up with herself during the war. Opening the bottle, she took a long draught from it, feeling the hard liquor burn as it went down her throat.
Each of the Moors had picked up a bit of a habit over the years. Both James and Kyle smoked, James on his pipe and Kyle on a cigar. Ann hated the smell of the smoke, though her brothers refrained from smoking around her, the smell of it remained long after their activities. Ann had picked up drinking, the alcohol giving her a warm fuzzy feeling, taking her mind off her dark past.
Emotions swelled up in Ann as she remembered the first months of being a vampire, causing her to sit down and drain the rest of the bottle hurriedly. Grabbing another bottle with slightly stronger whiskey, Ann opened it and drank some more.
She heard footsteps on the stairs outside her room and instantly knew that Kyle was coming up to see what was wrong. James would undoubtedly follow him shortly. Ann briefly wanted to cover up her painting, but decided not to knowing that Kyle would just uncover it again wondering what was under the canvas.
"You're distressed," Kyle said, "Can we ask you what the matter is?"
"I can't seem to adapt the way you two have been able to," Ann groaned, "I can't shoot as well as James, I can't fight as well as Kyle, Hell, I can't even draw the painting I want to draw."
"You didn't draw the painting you wanted to draw and it's still amazing," James said as he entered the room, "Ann, some things never change."
"But I want to change!" Ann screamed, "I don't want to just clean the house for the rest of eternity. You two have gone out, fought in four different wars, learned different trades, and…what did you say about my painting?"
"I commented that you didn't draw it the way you wanted to and it still turned out amazing," James said, "Tell me, how did you want the painting to turn out?"
"You're the older brother you should look regal, self-possessed, good posture, a person who looks in charge. Kyle is the younger good-looking brother, the all the girls go after because the older one is out of range for them. I'm the kid sister that everyone wants to court but they're too afraid of my brothers to ask."
"But that's not exactly who we are," Kyle said, "James is the eldest, he is the strength of the family, as you portray him in his strong features, his sharp looking eyes, and his position behind, yet looking over you and I. I am the younger brother, the bad boy of the family, as you portray in my handsome yet not quite sophisticated features, the daring look in my eye, and my arms crossed, as if my body language is daring you to try and fight me. You are the sister, beautiful, and angelic, as you've portrayed. But it's not your older brothers that make people unsure, there's something about you that makes you more desirable, but that's something take can't be portrayed in a painting."
"You say you're not as good a fighter as Kyle," James said, "But I seriously doubt that Kyle can throw knives like that."
Ann looked at the targets on the far wall, and for the first time noticed that each knife had hit the target dead center.
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It had been Kyle interpreting her painting that told Ann that she was adapting, but not the way she thought she was going to. Ann realized that in her mind she was still the colonial girl, the one who stayed home and got married. If she was going to be a contemporary woman she would have to grow past her original beliefs, adopting new ones. In other words, make a new life for herself.
Looking down, she saw Danielle showing Walter her archery skills down at the firing range. Smiling she realized just how successful she had been.
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Integra blew the smoke out of her mouth as she looked out of the window. The Knights of the Round Table had been disciplined harshly by Her Majesty. Many were stripped of their positions and replaced, though the only ones that seemed to impress her were Sir Hugh Islands who took over Sir Grimsby's position and Sir Shelby Penwood who took over Sir Perryworth's position.
Sir Islands was a powerful man who knew how to use all available resources to get the results he desired. Sir Penwood had worked with her father in the past and could be described as not the bravest of men but loyal to the end and when in tough situations would be the most likely to pull something unexpected out of his sleeve. Both men had done a complete upheaval of their new organizations and things that normally would have taken a week to get done was completed in a matter of hours at times.
A knock on her door broke her from her thoughts. "Come in," she called, extinguishing her cigar in the ashtray on her desk.
"An interesting message from Sir Islands, Sir Integra," Walter said as he opened the door, "He recently received a message from the Iscariot Organization and immediately sent it directly to us, saying that the contents of it are of the upmost importance."
"What could the traitorous Catholic's have that's so important?" Integra asked slightly exasperated. Still she took the envelope from Walter and opened it.
"What's this?" she asked scanning through the documents inside and the pictures. Inside the envelope were pictures of several high level Vatican officials being taken into custody, including Enrico Maxwell. Father Anderson was standing with what appeared to be secret service agents, but his hands were in his pockets and he appeared to be talking with them. In one photo he was even shaking hands with an especially important looking agent.
At the very bottom of papers was a letter.
To Sir Integra Fairbrook Windgates Hellsing,
We hope that your organization has not suffered from the recent attack on London. In hindsight, the entire situation could have been prevented had we been more observant of what our underlings were doing.
In recent events, it has come to our knowledge that Enrico Maxwell was creating artificial vampires in the intentions of bringing your organization down. Whether this was to send these creatures to attack you or to frame you for the production of them we are not sure at this point.
If you wish to hold a meeting with Vatican Sector XIII, this time in the hopes of a more cooperative and peaceful relationship, I encourage you to contact Father Alexander Anderson at his orphanage in Rome. The good Father now is the head of the Iscariot Organization and has requested to speak with you in person.
May God find favor in You,
His Grace, Pope…
Integra collapsed into the chair behind her. Anderson had discovered and brought down the Iscariot Organization's dark production line.
"Sir Integra?" Walter asked in a concerned tone.
"Send a message to Father Anderson," Integra said, handing Walter the address, "I'll come and meet with him at 11 o' clock this Saturday."
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Alucard looked up as he felt Seras enter the room. He still referred to her as "Police Girl" sometimes, mainly as a pet name and sometimes to annoy her, but she was no longer his fledgling and he was obligated to call her by her true name. Not that he would if he didn't want to.
Seras came to a stop a few feet away from him as he sat in his throne-like chair. She had changed her usual attire from her modified police uniform to an outfit like the one she wore at the Tower not too long ago. Black boots, tight black leather pants, a sleeveless blood-red top that fit her snuggly, and black gloves with the pattern Alucard had on his gloves on the back of them.
"Seras," Alucard greeted her, raising his wine glass in a sort of toast.
"Alucard," she said in return, crossing her arms across her chest.
They stared at each other for a moment, sitting and standing in silence.
"I saw a lot of things through your blood memories," Seras finally said, "How you never had a master because of a special creation, the fact that you're a 1st Level Master and have been since your creation, your loneliness through the ages, the number of fledglings you've had."
"Anything that perked your inquiry?" Alucard asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You had so many fledglings," Seras said, "Many of whom you killed. What were you trying to accomplish? Especially since most of them were female? Were you looking for a mate?"
"Not exactly," Alucard said, "More like a replacement."
Seras blinked at the older vampires words.
"As you said, I have been as strong as a vampire can be since the dawn of my undead existence," Alucard said, "with that power came a price. I cannot be truly defeated. If I am to die, I must wait until the Judgment of Man at the end of time or I must find someone suitable to take my burden from me. It is a heavy choice either way. I must endure the untold ages until all that is left is me in my suffering or I must face the consequences in the afterlife of passing on my blessing and curse."
"You've searched for three hundred years for a person to take your place," Seras said.
Alucard nodded.
"I hope you can find such a person," Seras said, turning and leaving Alucard sitting in his chair.
"I think I have," Alucard said as Seras closed his door, "but then again, it's her choice whether to do it or not."
Alucard's laughter could be heard reverberating throughout the basement. Seras paused for a moment as she walked up the stairs to debrief new captains with The Commander.
"I know it is," she smirked.
The End.
Seriously, no chapters have been planned after this. I could plan more if people want but you'll have to review and tell me that.
Anyway, let me know how I did. Please review this one last time.
By the way this chapter has over 10,000 words in it.