What Could Have Been


Seras Victoria was falling.

The blonde opened her eyes, and stared down at the approaching valley with a blank uncomprehending expression. And then it all came rushing back to her; the fight with Walter, her Master hurt… She tried to move, and winced as the wires dug into her skin, drawing blood. Speaking of blood, she was absolutely soaked with it, and the stump of her former arm was still oozing freely. That's right, Walter had wrapped her in his wires and flung her out of the hallway through the very walls to keep her from interfering.

The onrushing air burned her eyes and they watered with faintly red tinged tears. She blinked and time seemed to slow until it was as if she were floating there above a horror movie in progress, an impartial observer. A familiar figure caught her gaze amongst the chaos of the battling nosferatu; the shimmering moonlit gleam of Nekette's immaculate hair despite her blood drenched appearance, crouched at the feet of that man, no, that werewolf who had taken her from the grand hall that first night. He held what appeared to be a leash and a sick grin on his face that rivaled even her Sire's, she saw his lips move and sounded the words out in her head; Go Fetch. He dropped the chain, and the other vampires leaped back in fear as Nekette voiced a blood curdling war cry, shadows consuming her as she lunged into the mass of her new victims. All this took place in a matter of seconds, and then the fledgling was no longer barreling towards the carnage soaked ground. She blinked and shook her head, still dazed by shock and blood loss, and looked up and up and up into vibrant amethyst orbs. Oh.

"I've got you, little vampire." He spoke, her proximity to his chest sending the deep rumble of his voice shivering through her entangled form. He righted her in his hold, and took up position on one of the damaged castle's parapets to watch over the battle field and the insane creature he held sway over. Seras' feet touched the cool stone and her legs nearly buckled before she regained her balance and sense of self enough to dilute her form so that the wires fell limp and useless.

That little spark of power drained her already strained reserves and she groaned as her skull throbbed in protest, leaning helplessly against the lycan's side. He grunted and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder to keep her from toppling off the low wall surrounding the sloped copper roof.

"Thanks." Seras mumbled, faintly embarrassed. He said nothing, but that suited her just fine.

Morbid curiosity drew her once more to the bloodbath, watching as some great black feline beast with a silver mane eviscerated Nazi troops in geysers of blood, smaller shadows of her murderous attacks followed behind the dangerous paws, felling many of those that dodged the first assault. Something told her that that was Nekette's familiar form, and a ripple of unease sent goosebumps rioting across her pale skin.

So powerful, and so mad… Was this what her Sire would have been without the tempering the Hellsings forced on him? She knew he had his moments, but… Gods.

"She's terrifying isn't she?" The grinning man asked casually, his gaze locked on the demon on the killing field,

"Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely," He continued, an amused edge creeping into his words, "But her… She was mad before she gained power. She may not be on the same level as your Master, little vampire, but she is quite the sight to behold, no?"

"Why… did she turn on the other vampires when Iscariot invaded?" Seras asked, tilting her head up to watch his face – that grin never wavered, and it only grew as he glanced down at her – as he spoke. "Because she can. She enjoys killing. I stepped in when she took it too far." She blinked, and canted her head to the side curiously, "Why does she obey you? No offense, but you're not strong enough to force her to do anything."

That grin… a shiver rolled down her spine as she stared at it, and his laughter reminded her disconcertingly of her Sire, "Because she chooses to."

That was the end of their conversation and Seras swallowed dryly, wondering what was happening in that hall with her Master and Walter. She felt terribly useless, then, unable to do anything worthwhile in all the fighting. She recalled hen, the words her Master spoke once to the FREAKS they had hunted down on her first mission. She likely wasn't supposed to hear them, she was on the bloody roof for gods sake, but she had.

You don't know how to change your body into mist or a bat, you can't heal any of your gun shot wounds, and now that you're out of bullets you can't even defend yourself. You dare to call yourself Nosferatu? You disgust me!

That feeling of depression from her incarceration in the room crept up on her again, but she shoved it back with a mental snarl. No! She would not be useless!

Finally, the wound where her arm used to be stopped bleeding, and an unnatural breeze fluttered her sodden clothes against the force of the winds surrounding the castle. Determination lit her ocean blue eyes and the werewolf observed her with benign curiosity as the red stains marring the girls clothing dried and turned the once white fabric crimson. The blood was absorbed back into her body, but the amount she lost was far greater than what she gained back, and weakness again took her.

The sky bled crimson before everything went black, she was still a young vampire, and her body was unused to the strain of such a hectic day, and simply shut down. Before all feeling left her completely, she felt a pair of hands settle over her shoulders and lower her safely to the chill of the roof.

I will get stronger.