Attention! Hellsing still isn't mine. *Shakes fist* I quit smoking, and I still hate Seras.
Hellsing Manor was eerily quiet, and footsteps echoed thunderously as they stalked through the halls. So, this was the enemy stronghold. Impressive as a museum, but he could see how the so called Valentine Brothers had so easily breached the mansion's defenses. The few men at various points in the great house turned their heads and stared, then whispered to eachother and clipped radio exchanges were made as Anderson followed his Red nemesis deeper into the headquarters of the Hellsing Organization. By now, everyone must know he was here, and he noticed as they moved on that the numbers and attentiveness of the troops increased. He tightened his grip on the single blade in his right hand reflexively.
As they rounded a corner, Anderson spotted the little female vampire. She raised a hand to her mouth and backed herself against the nearest wall as the priest sneered at her. Anderson purposefully took a few advancing strides toward her, raising his fortified hand, though before he could bring it down, if in fact that was what he intended, two bullets ripped through his shoulder and side and he dropped his blade, turning to growl at Alucard, who still had his weapon raised and ready. All of the surrounding troops had also raised their rifles and handguns and trained them on the Paladin, and he decided, wisely, to stand still.
The damned vampire gave an amused and condescending grunt and replaced his own gun into the recesses of his garish coat. "Now, Father Anderson, you wouldn't want to abuse our hospitality, would you?" He grinned, flashing sharp, white teeth and waited for the blond man to return to his side as the armed men around them went back to whatever they were doing before, and miss Seras Victoria ran off down a darkened corridor, shaken.
"Just where is it we're going?" Anderson grumbled, stalking beside the vampire king, stiff-armed and head lowered predatorily. The further along they got, the more convinced the priest was that this was some sort of labyrinth—and Alucard was it's resident Minotaur. The Beast of London, he thought dourly, and harrumphed quietly to himself.
"Down." Alucard answered simply, and Anderson realized that the floor had been slanting downward slightly for some ways, and now they came to a dank and moldering staircase, cool air rose from its black nothingness, and smelled of dark, wet stone, like a cave. The cleric raised a whitish eyebrow and tossed a sideways glance to his host, the image slightly skewed at the edge of his glasses.
"You don't really think I'm that stupid, do you, vampire? That I'd follow you down into the depths of this maze to your own lair?" He produced a pair of blades and stepped back from the edge of the staircase, facing Alucard.
A cigarette appeared in the black haired man's hand and he brought to his own lips, lighting it somehow. The little stick gave off a burning glow and smoke churned up from its end, making faint unnatural shapes in the black air between them.
"You're free to do as you like, Catholic. But without an escort, you'll have to fight your way out of here." He grinned and pointed up "One hundred men, plus our elite membership. I doubt even you could handle that in your current state." The vampire reached into his coat and Anderson tensed only to find a pack of cigarettes pulled out instead of the Jackal.
Sweat beaded on the priest's forehead as his enemy laughed and offered him a smoke. He stared at the cigarette and shook his head grimly.
"What 'state' is that, then?"
"You're obviously tired." Alucard replaced the pack of cigarettes into his pocket and smirked, taking another drag on his own smoke. "And paranoid, I'd say."
Anderson growled and thrust out with his arm, shoving a blade through the vampire's throat, causing him to choke a bit and give a gurgled grunt, which he repeated as the blade was pulled out again.
The priest grinned. "I may be a bit tired, vampire, but I haven't let my guard down." He gave a high kick, landing his thick booted foot into the monster's chest, and shoved with his leg. Alucard went backward down the stair case, looking a bit surprised, rolling halfway down and rising to his feet with something approaching a growl. Now Anderson smirked.
"Well, so it seems you do have a temper after all." He laughed and stepped back from the stairs again as Alucard climbed them and stepped up level to him. This was excellent. Anderson had just managed to bring the monster and himself back onto a level playing field. Or battlefield as the case may be. Now it was just a matter of finding what goaded the creature—other than a bit of embarrassment. He stowed his blades again and crossed his arms, the emerald fire sparked back to life in his eyes as he laughed again. Alucard dusted himself off and smirked back with a single breathy chuckle.
"You managed to surprise me yet again, Father. You have my word" he thrust his hands back into his pockets and turned his back on the priest, looking over his shoulder in that familiar are-you-coming-or-not fashion "that I'm not leading you to your death at this moment. Unless you choose death down here, of course." The vampire started down the stairs and seemed to dissipate into the darkness beyond Anderson's vision.
Ha! The word of a vampire? What good is that? And yet he followed, again, tailing behind his most worthy rival into the bowels of Hellsing Manor. Tiled floors and painted slab walls gave way to crumbling mortar and cracked flagstone, the wet, limestone cave smell grew stronger. Small dark rooms branched off from the hall they were in, mostly empty, some with broken crates, chairs, rusted steamer trunks and other various things scattered about. Anderson's senses were alert, he was nervous—maybe the vampire was right and he was getting paranoid. No, stupid to think that. He was merely ready for the fight, anxious to get this over with and get out of here, back upstairs to take care of Sir Integra.
He was sweating despite the cool, dank breeze that trained around this maze, his pulse sounded thunderous in his ears and his breathing was slow and heavy and deep. The priest stripped off his long coat as they walked, folding it over one arm, he loosened his collar. The Crucifix that hung around his neck felt heavy and his boots felt as if they were caked with mud, leaden, his steps began to slow. Further along, he had to stop and lean against the wall to rest, panting, and he could hear himself complaining of dizziness and where was that laughing coming from anyway? He felt the floor drop from under his feet and saw it rush up to meet his face before he blacked out.