Never Been to Heaven
By: Kyoryoku Nazo
................. Act I The Faithful .................
"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what do not see" Hebrews 11:1
.......... Chapter 1 ..........
The second hand on the office clock ticked by steadily, pulsing in rhythm with Isabella's fingers as they drummed silently against her knee. Father Enrico Maxwell was silently reading over her report for the third time; and absorbing it for the fourth since he had her verbally brief him immediately after she returned from her mission. Her eyes scanned the room around her, taking in details she'd analyzed dozens of times before. Maxwell coughed softly and her attention jerked back towards his desk, straightening her posture up in her chair.
"Your work is very impressive, Forte," his face was in that implacable half-smirk that the priest always wore. It was impossible to decipher any meaning behind his diplomatic mask, a trait Isabella envied. If she had the power to fix only one of her personal flaws, she would adapt Maxwell's smooth mask of indifference in a heart-beat. The Lord knew her face was as easy to read as a book sometimes... "Very impressive, indeed," he continued, once again pulling her attention away from her wandering thought paths.
"Thank you, Father," she bowed her head slightly, accepting his praise with proper modesty and a hint of well-earned pride. "Whatever it takes to better serve Our Lord God."
Maxwell smiled, setting the papers of her report back down on his desk, leaning forward slightly and tenting his fingers under his chin. "Excellent, my child. Your service and dedication to the Vatican has not gone unnoticed. In fact, soon enough I believe you will be ready to take on the full duties of a member of Iscariot." He stood then, crossing the short distance from his desk to the window. "You've been with us for two years now, Isabella. Two years today, actually. I'm sure it's been frustrating for you. You must have felt left in the dark, working as a solo agent."
She opened her mouth to protest, but bit it back down. If nothing else, she had preferred working alone to the thought of having a partner or being part of a team. She didn't have to rely on anyone but herself to get the job done, something that had always appealed to the young fighter. But Father Maxwell was obviously trying to make a point, so she remained silent.
"As you've probably guessed, Iscariot is not alone in this war against the undead. There are other institutions out in the world that deal with the paranormal. One in particular that even claims to have the blessings of God on their side," the corners of his eye tightened in fought- down annoyance. "And it is of these...warriors, that I have brought you in today to discuss." Once again, he paused in his speech, reaching a gloved hand up to open the Venetian blinds, letting the afternoon sun fully into the office.
"Hellsing," he murmured, staring out into the courtyard.
"Hellsing?" she repeated. The name sounded familiar.
"You're a unique case in this organization, Isabella Forte. Your identity has remained a secret to all other agents of this most sacred institute. The Church both respects and appreciates your talents, and we wish for no harm to come to you by making it known that someone so young is involved in the midst of something so deadly. But these days of secrecy are numbered. And that is why it is time you learn some of the heresy that takes place outside these walls."
Isabella was confused at this point to say the least. Surely another religious organization with the mission to fight against the undead was a good thing. But the way Maxwell said the name sent shivers down her spine for no good reason other than the ominous tone. Hellsing... where had she heard that name before?
"The Hellsing Organization," the priest continued, turning to glance at Isabella out of the corner of his eye. "Run by the equally noteworthy Hellsing family. An Order of Knights located in England," he scanned over her face, adding when he did not see her flinch at the implication, "They're Protestants."
Her eyes widened, and she nodded slowly, once, satisfying his need to see her expected annoyance. Personally, she couldn't say she was intimidated yet. But then again, she never was one to share some of her fellow Catholic's prejudice against other religions; especially when they were another branch of Christianity. It was his next words, however, that drove the point of previously mentioned 'heresy' home.
"The current leader is a childish, headstrong, pig-headed blasphemer who is currently keeping not one, but two vampires in her employ as 'agents'," his voice took on a mocking quality, "Sir Integral Wingates Hellsing."
"They...employ...vampires?!" Isabella was finding it hard to keep the shock out of her voice. Rage was slowly blinding her senses, and she found that her hands were shaking. To claim the name of God and yet dispatch undead scum alongside your own human soldiers? This was unforgivable. All of her hatred towards any occult creature roared through her veins. It was a good thing that she was still wearing her gloves; otherwise her fingernails probably would have broken the skin on her bare knees, as she clenched them down in trembling anger.
Maxwell looked over her reaction and allowed a quick smug grin to pass over his face. "I suggest you search the Vatican's archives for more information involving the Hellsing Organization. As always, the facilities are yours to use. And now that you know what to look for, I have a feeling that you'll be busy with new information for weeks to come."
Well that was a dismissal if she ever heard one. Slowly, Isabella rose to her feet and made the sign of the cross with her right hand, closing her eyes and bowing slightly towards Maxwell. "Thank you, Father. Peace be with you."
"And also with you, child. Have a good evening."
She nodded numbly, paying close attention to the path of her feet, unsure of her physical balance at the moment since her mental balance was surely off and thrown for a loop. Her preoccupied thoughts barely even acknowledged the man that stepped past her as she opened the door to the hallways, nodding a silent and half-blind greeting to him. She could hear the door to Maxwell's office close behind her as she shuffled down the hall, as well as the muffled and faint sounds of Maxwell's voice.
"Ah, good afternoon, my dear Paladin..."
Isabella was certainly in no state of mind to walk all the way back to her dorm room, so her destination at the moment was one of the Vatican's libraries, one of the lesser ones, in fact; the one that held texts and information about Section XIII - the Iscariot institution. She'd walked this path so many times, that her thoughts were able to almost completely wander their own courses at the moment, letting her feet and memory do the work. She didn't even notice her approaching friend until she literally smacked right into her.
"Ack! Sister Yumiko, I'm so sorry!" Papers scattered everywhere in a tiny maelstrom around a very confused looking nun with big round eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. But after a few blinks, the nun smiled, bending down to help the alleged school-girl gather her paperwork.
"And where are you in such a hurry to, that you have lost track of all else but your destination?" the nun moved into place alongside Isabella as she continued her trek towards the library.
"Oh, nowhere special, just one of the smaller libraries. I...need to do some thinking, I do believe," she lifted a hand to the side of her head, massaging her temple in a slow rhythmic pattern.
"And what troubles you, my child?"
Isabella grimaced, gritting her teeth as she racked her brain for words. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to tell the young nun about her involvement with the Vatican's best kept secret. But on the other, her loyalty and allegiance urged for silence. She needed to phrase her problems in a way that could still get some good advice out of her friend.
"Well," she began, "It's not that I'm...questioning my faith. Far from it actually. It's just that... there seems to be... levels within the Church." They now stood outside the doors to the library Isabella sought. She pushed the door open and waved a greeting at the elderly nun who sat in vigil at the main desk and headed back towards the far wall, up the stairs to the second level and towards her favorite chair. Once seated, she closed her eyes and leaned backwards, continuing her thought. "So many pledge faithful, all expecting the same Eternal Reward, but there is such a great range of faith and dedication."
Yumiko smiled and leaned into the embrace of her own worn and comfortable arm chair. "I think I know where you're going with this, child. Here you are in the heart of the Mother Church, so close to Our Lord, that you surely feel the power of His love and presence. You wish for God to see your devotion and your love in return, and feel almost slighted when you see the crowds of faithful but reluctant followers in each Mass. Well worry not, young one. The Lord is all seeing and all knowing. As well as all loving," the sweet nun smiled, reaching a hand out to place on Isabella's shoulder. "Your faith and love does not go unnoticed. Just look around you," she gestured about the stone-carved library, decked with statues and tapestries dating back to the days of the Roman Empire. "I have no fear that you will find comfort in this most Holiest of God's Houses."
And with that, Yumiko stood, making a tiny cross about her chest before heading back towards the stairs she had just climbed, leaving Isabella with her musings and still nagging problems.
'Well,' she thought. 'That almost helped...'
She desperately wished for wine, but knew that it wouldn't do at all to be seen drinking in public. She had to keep up the facade after all.
Her eye inadvertently narrowed at that thought and her mind began to wander dark paths. Maxwell seemed fit to remind her at every opportunity how important it was for her to keep her involvement with the Iscariot institute a secret. As well as her true age. She always had to cough back humorless laughter whenever Yumiko referred to her as 'child', for in truth she was probably closer to the nun's age than anyone but Maxwell knew. To the outside world, Isabella was a harmless and academically challenged school-girl around the age of sixteen. In truth, she was close to twenty- one and should have graduated with high honors years ago. But who would suspect a sweet little school-girl, right? Who would guess that underneath the plaid skirt and bouncy ponytail was a tool of God that killed on command? Out of habit, Isabella toyed with the hidden sheath of throwing knives under the fabric of her left sleeve. Her instructor told her that she was getting better. In a few months she might even be good enough to use the knives in battle and not just as a security measure of defense.
Of course if she ever needed to use the knives in defense, her fabricated life would be thrown away by default. Trying to explain why she had those knives on her body with the knowledge to use them wouldn't go very far with the persona she was putting on right now.
Hell, she wasn't even sure if she would consider herself Catholic. She believed in God well enough, but the last time she checked, that wasn't enough to make a child of the Vatican. The Bible said many things, and in her free time and devotion to study, she'd read it plenty of times. Maybe it was just that God didn't stir a sense of fear in her that it seemed to place in all those surrounding her. And the true tragedy was that she wanted to believe so blindly like the others. She desperately wanted to be able to follow the ways of Catholicism without question or doubts. But Isabella has long ago quietly decided that she was a tool of blasphemy. Even as she eradicated the creatures of the undead that plagued the City, she was breaking one of the Lord's most sacred Commandments.
Thou Shalt Not Kill.
How could she ever hope to believe she deserved a place in the Immaculate and sinless realms of Heaven? How could anyone who killed in the name of Judas Iscariot, the supreme traitor who was believed by some to be residing in the jaws of Satan himself at this very moment...
At this point she had a headache, as she always did whenever she let herself think too much on the subject that was always gnawing in the back of her brain. But when she opened her mentally exhausted eyes, she saw yet another familiar face, one that made her relieved with the promises of events to clear her mind.
"Father Renaldo," she bowed her head slightly from her sitting position, raising up to her feet, folding her hands politely in front of her. The middle-aged man who stood before her was completely unremarkable, another trait that she almost envied. She couldn't exactly blend into a crowd with her rather un-Italian mane of wild red hair. But Renaldo... he was a perfect example of the ideal agent. She half-suspected that he too was a member of the Iscariot organization, but of course nothing official had ever been imparted to her. He was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, ugly nor handsome. He was average in every shape or form. Except, of course, his weapons skills. He was Enrico Maxwell's personal bodyguard as well as her instructor in the arts of self-defense and physical training. It was her only class that held so definite schedule; he would appear and she would follow him to a workroom where they would spend the next four or so hours working her on every weapon ever devised by man.
"Miss Forte," he returned the bow, gesturing with his chin for her to follow him as he headed down the stairs and out the doors of the library. He spoke as they walked, "I spoke briefly with Father Maxwell today and was informed that you have been granted some much deserved information," he paused to smile in acknowledgment of a passing group of young school-boys. "And as you've probably guessed, I am at least peripherally involved with Section XIII and have been aware of your membership as a fitting explanation for why a young lady like yourself should be versed in combat. Such assumptions are of course logical."
She nodded and waited for a response that didn't come. All she needed to know at the moment was that he was indeed involved and knew she was as well. And he was also correct that she'd guessed as much. At least he had some faith in her mental capacity, which was a little astounding all things considered. But if he spoke of her to Maxwell... Ah well. It was all speculation, after all.
"In addition to your two year anniversary with Iscariot, today also marks the beginning of a new approach to your training. For the past two years I have tried you out on every type of offensive or defensive weapon under the sun, and while you've taken to most of them fairly well, you don't really seem to have a passion for any of them."
They moved down halls and staircases at a brisk walk until the unimposing priest pushed open the doors that led to the sun-soaked grounds of Saint Peter's Square. The sunlight caught Isabella off guard, lifting her arm up to shield her eyes from the brightness. Beams of light reflected off every surface within view. 'The Light of God', she thought. After all these years, the pure white marble that made up the majority of the heart of the Vatican City never ceased to leave her with a sense of awe. The muscles in her legs burned with the pleasant exercise, quickening her pace to keep up with Father Renaldo. He guided her past the columns that surrounded the wide and open Square, into a secluded series of buildings few people ever stopped to notice. It was the Offices of the Swiss Guard; the elite law-keepers of Vatican City. The brightly-clad man on duty nodded in acknowledgement of Renaldo, eyeing Isabella with a bit of trepidation, but letting them past none-the-less.
"At this point in your training I'm open to suggestions. You've proven yourself level-headed enough to deduce your own strengths and weaknesses, and it would accomplish nothing to have you use a weapon that you are less than comfortable with." He paused once more in his speech to fling the doors the training salle open, flipping the lights on and slowly scrutinizing each of the racked weapons along the wall. "Guns are far too ordinary for you. Your agility yearns for something more... graceful. Which was why I had initially leaned towards the sword," she made a face at the memory of those days. Not only had she not taken to the sword -of any make or origin- but she had very nearly lobbed the Father's hand off in sparring. Though why he gave her live steel to practice with was beyond her...
He continued, oblivious to her musings. "And although the sword didn't suit you, you took fairly well to most of the other eastern blade weapons. The sai. The spear. The scimitars and shorter swords. The European boar-spear, even." He continued to walk along the wall, stopping for a moment at an array of bayonet-like knives with strange angled handles that he had never tried her on. He looked like he was about to say something but moved on instead towards more modern weaponry. She's often thought to herself that this was one of the most morbid rooms she'd ever seen: an entire wall of weapons faced off by an entire wall of black-glass mirrors. If only the fluorescent ceiling lights had been replaced with torches, then the room would have completed its torture-chamber motif. "The cross-bow," he continued, "was also something you did fairly well on. But seeing as you are obviously a lone wolf out in the field, this would do you very little good if forced to resort to close-range combat. And there lies the dilemma." He stopped his stroll, turning to face her fully with his hands spread wide. "As much as it goes against the grain, you seem to have a flare for masculine weapons of brute strength. Without any offense intended, you have proven to be a jack of all trades yet master of none; not particularly bad on any of these weapons, but probably not good enough to serve you well against anything truly difficult. Which brings us to the second problem."
Isabella fought against every muscle in her face to keep from rolling her eyes. This was the point in time in which he would remind her of how ridiculously easy an opponent the average "ghoul" was. Although one of these undead monsters never actually crossed the walls of the Vatican City, Isabella was often sent out into the streets of Rome, eradicating small groups of ghouls. Her most recent mission had been to destroy the vampire who'd been creating these ghouls for the past two years, which was a task she felt deserved a fair bit of praise and recognition. It certainly wasn't just anyone who could face down the nosferatu. For all of her training on the bladed weapons, she'd been prowling the streets with a modified handgun, which once again, had been serving her fairly well in her opinion. 'Know humility,' she told herself sternly. 'He means well.' Her thoughts flashed back four years ago to flashes of teeth and claws, harsh laughter and glowing yellow eyes. She shivered and knew he was right. Creatures prowled the night that she was not ready for.
"The second problem is that you're not getting the experience that you need here in Rome. Therefore... you're being sent on a new assignment in three days. I told Maxwell that you weren't ready, but he insists that your involvement is a vital part of the mission." Renaldo sighed, staring off into the distance at a point somewhere past Isabella's shoulder.
"Well..." Isabella spoke up for the first time since he'd greeted her at the library. "Whenever I go out on assignment, I stay in the school uniform. It's all about the element of surprise, right?" The priest nodded slowly and she went on with her slowly forming idea. "So what if we ran with that?" She proceeded to tell Father Renaldo about a strange and unorthodox weapon she'd been toying with the idea of. The most un-ladylike piece of machinery she could think of that combined the blade and the mechanical power she'd come to be smitten with. She was describing to the priest... a chainsaw. It took strength and control to wield such a tool. Its deadly pointed blades could even be tipped with silver to ensure the demise of the undead. As she went on, Renaldo's initial look of aghast slowly turned into a wry grin. He paused her descriptions only long enough to grab a pad of paper and pencil, sketching out the preliminary designs of a device Isabella would eventually name Penance.
"...and thus, I fear you will be sent back to London without much of a reprieve." Maxwell leaned back in his chair and eyed the imposing man before him up and down. According to rumor, the overly tall priest sitting before him was loved by children and animals alike, who received his love in return. Perhaps Enrico simply had a problem believing this because he was one of the few blessed individuals to see the paladin in the height of a killing-lust that would horrify even the most hardened of soldiers. Alexander Anderson's eyes took on an insane quality, equaled only in insanity by his incessant cackling that usually followed one of his Biblical speeches in English. Something about Anderson's thick Scottish accent when speaking in that infernal tongue always grated against Maxwell's nerves. Thankfully, the accent barely invaded the man's Italian.
"I figured as much," Anderson replied, holding a hand out in front of him and examining the writing on the back of his right glove. 'Jesus Christ is in Heaven', it read. "More troubles from the Hellsing succubus, I presume?"
Maxwell blanched at the mention of Integral. Hiding his snarl in a cough, he raised his eyes to meet the lazy gaze Anderson was giving him. "No. At least not yet. There are problems on the border of Scotland and the Northwest county of Britain, Northumberland."
Alexander arched a long blonde eyebrow at that. "The border? Then why, pray tell, am I going to London? I might as well deal with Scotland from right in this room."
Maxwell wasn't sure which was more disturbing; Anderson at his craziest or his most calm. "Take a look," he tossed a clipped stack of papers at the deceptively calm priest.
And look he did. Anderson leafed through the stack, noticing a pattern in recent FREAK attacks that spanned in an almost perfectly straight line from London to a small town near the Scotland border called Crookham. The attacks seemed to occur in a pattern. One in London, then another on the line to Crookham, closer and closer until one hit the town itself. Then another would happen in London and the pattern would repeat. Hellsing had been dealing with the individual attacks, but had done nothing to investigate what was an obvious trend.
Enrico watched as the other priest's eyes grew with interest. The paladin never could seem to turn down a mystery. It was something that the Iscariot director has always admired about his most valued agent. Inside that unruly blonde head, there was a mind working as sharp as the knives he wielded. "As you can see, an attack has just occurred a few days ago only fifty kilometers away from Crookham. Within a week, a ghoul outbreak will infest the town itself and then in another, London will be struck. The pattern has held thus far, and there is no obvious reason for it to break at this point."
"Say no more," Alexander Anderson muttered, stuffing the papers into his oversized grey coat that he always wore when sent out on a mission. "When do I leave?"
"Three days," the director responded. "And on your way, you'll be escorting someone to England. You'll meet them at the train station and accompany them to the safety of the hotel I've reserved for you before you start your assignment."
Anderson dismissed the chaperone part of his trip to London without a second thought. What truly occupied his mind was the thrill of the impending hunt. It had been far too long since he'd been given the privilege of tracking down and eliminating an undead creature worth his attentions. The Hellsing abomination that plagued his dreams was an infuriating stalemate that he'd grudgingly accepted as such. But this... This was a mission that sent his blood racing with anticipation.
"We are God's representatives. Earthly agents of Divine Punishment," Enrico stood while reciting Vatican Section XIII's sacred creed.
Anderson picked it up without missing a beat. "Our mission is to destroy the fools who would oppose Our God."
"Amen." Maxwell finished, making the sign of the cross in front of him.
"Amen." Anderson growled out, grinning from ear to ear before turning with a flurry of fabric and heading back out into the halls.
Deep in the thought to be forgotten corridors of the Offices of the Swiss Guard, Father Renaldo held an intensified blowtorch to the long, flat surface of a chainsaw blade. In beautiful English cursive, he scrawled out the words 'Jesus Christ is in Heaven'. When his pupil awoke, training would begin on this strange and fascinating new weapon. His thoughts wandered to the undead creatures of the night that Isabella would confront with the device he now finished off with the final 'n'.
"May God have mercy on their souls..."
END OF CHAPTER 1
By: Kyoryoku Nazo
................. Act I The Faithful .................
"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what do not see" Hebrews 11:1
.......... Chapter 1 ..........
The second hand on the office clock ticked by steadily, pulsing in rhythm with Isabella's fingers as they drummed silently against her knee. Father Enrico Maxwell was silently reading over her report for the third time; and absorbing it for the fourth since he had her verbally brief him immediately after she returned from her mission. Her eyes scanned the room around her, taking in details she'd analyzed dozens of times before. Maxwell coughed softly and her attention jerked back towards his desk, straightening her posture up in her chair.
"Your work is very impressive, Forte," his face was in that implacable half-smirk that the priest always wore. It was impossible to decipher any meaning behind his diplomatic mask, a trait Isabella envied. If she had the power to fix only one of her personal flaws, she would adapt Maxwell's smooth mask of indifference in a heart-beat. The Lord knew her face was as easy to read as a book sometimes... "Very impressive, indeed," he continued, once again pulling her attention away from her wandering thought paths.
"Thank you, Father," she bowed her head slightly, accepting his praise with proper modesty and a hint of well-earned pride. "Whatever it takes to better serve Our Lord God."
Maxwell smiled, setting the papers of her report back down on his desk, leaning forward slightly and tenting his fingers under his chin. "Excellent, my child. Your service and dedication to the Vatican has not gone unnoticed. In fact, soon enough I believe you will be ready to take on the full duties of a member of Iscariot." He stood then, crossing the short distance from his desk to the window. "You've been with us for two years now, Isabella. Two years today, actually. I'm sure it's been frustrating for you. You must have felt left in the dark, working as a solo agent."
She opened her mouth to protest, but bit it back down. If nothing else, she had preferred working alone to the thought of having a partner or being part of a team. She didn't have to rely on anyone but herself to get the job done, something that had always appealed to the young fighter. But Father Maxwell was obviously trying to make a point, so she remained silent.
"As you've probably guessed, Iscariot is not alone in this war against the undead. There are other institutions out in the world that deal with the paranormal. One in particular that even claims to have the blessings of God on their side," the corners of his eye tightened in fought- down annoyance. "And it is of these...warriors, that I have brought you in today to discuss." Once again, he paused in his speech, reaching a gloved hand up to open the Venetian blinds, letting the afternoon sun fully into the office.
"Hellsing," he murmured, staring out into the courtyard.
"Hellsing?" she repeated. The name sounded familiar.
"You're a unique case in this organization, Isabella Forte. Your identity has remained a secret to all other agents of this most sacred institute. The Church both respects and appreciates your talents, and we wish for no harm to come to you by making it known that someone so young is involved in the midst of something so deadly. But these days of secrecy are numbered. And that is why it is time you learn some of the heresy that takes place outside these walls."
Isabella was confused at this point to say the least. Surely another religious organization with the mission to fight against the undead was a good thing. But the way Maxwell said the name sent shivers down her spine for no good reason other than the ominous tone. Hellsing... where had she heard that name before?
"The Hellsing Organization," the priest continued, turning to glance at Isabella out of the corner of his eye. "Run by the equally noteworthy Hellsing family. An Order of Knights located in England," he scanned over her face, adding when he did not see her flinch at the implication, "They're Protestants."
Her eyes widened, and she nodded slowly, once, satisfying his need to see her expected annoyance. Personally, she couldn't say she was intimidated yet. But then again, she never was one to share some of her fellow Catholic's prejudice against other religions; especially when they were another branch of Christianity. It was his next words, however, that drove the point of previously mentioned 'heresy' home.
"The current leader is a childish, headstrong, pig-headed blasphemer who is currently keeping not one, but two vampires in her employ as 'agents'," his voice took on a mocking quality, "Sir Integral Wingates Hellsing."
"They...employ...vampires?!" Isabella was finding it hard to keep the shock out of her voice. Rage was slowly blinding her senses, and she found that her hands were shaking. To claim the name of God and yet dispatch undead scum alongside your own human soldiers? This was unforgivable. All of her hatred towards any occult creature roared through her veins. It was a good thing that she was still wearing her gloves; otherwise her fingernails probably would have broken the skin on her bare knees, as she clenched them down in trembling anger.
Maxwell looked over her reaction and allowed a quick smug grin to pass over his face. "I suggest you search the Vatican's archives for more information involving the Hellsing Organization. As always, the facilities are yours to use. And now that you know what to look for, I have a feeling that you'll be busy with new information for weeks to come."
Well that was a dismissal if she ever heard one. Slowly, Isabella rose to her feet and made the sign of the cross with her right hand, closing her eyes and bowing slightly towards Maxwell. "Thank you, Father. Peace be with you."
"And also with you, child. Have a good evening."
She nodded numbly, paying close attention to the path of her feet, unsure of her physical balance at the moment since her mental balance was surely off and thrown for a loop. Her preoccupied thoughts barely even acknowledged the man that stepped past her as she opened the door to the hallways, nodding a silent and half-blind greeting to him. She could hear the door to Maxwell's office close behind her as she shuffled down the hall, as well as the muffled and faint sounds of Maxwell's voice.
"Ah, good afternoon, my dear Paladin..."
Isabella was certainly in no state of mind to walk all the way back to her dorm room, so her destination at the moment was one of the Vatican's libraries, one of the lesser ones, in fact; the one that held texts and information about Section XIII - the Iscariot institution. She'd walked this path so many times, that her thoughts were able to almost completely wander their own courses at the moment, letting her feet and memory do the work. She didn't even notice her approaching friend until she literally smacked right into her.
"Ack! Sister Yumiko, I'm so sorry!" Papers scattered everywhere in a tiny maelstrom around a very confused looking nun with big round eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. But after a few blinks, the nun smiled, bending down to help the alleged school-girl gather her paperwork.
"And where are you in such a hurry to, that you have lost track of all else but your destination?" the nun moved into place alongside Isabella as she continued her trek towards the library.
"Oh, nowhere special, just one of the smaller libraries. I...need to do some thinking, I do believe," she lifted a hand to the side of her head, massaging her temple in a slow rhythmic pattern.
"And what troubles you, my child?"
Isabella grimaced, gritting her teeth as she racked her brain for words. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to tell the young nun about her involvement with the Vatican's best kept secret. But on the other, her loyalty and allegiance urged for silence. She needed to phrase her problems in a way that could still get some good advice out of her friend.
"Well," she began, "It's not that I'm...questioning my faith. Far from it actually. It's just that... there seems to be... levels within the Church." They now stood outside the doors to the library Isabella sought. She pushed the door open and waved a greeting at the elderly nun who sat in vigil at the main desk and headed back towards the far wall, up the stairs to the second level and towards her favorite chair. Once seated, she closed her eyes and leaned backwards, continuing her thought. "So many pledge faithful, all expecting the same Eternal Reward, but there is such a great range of faith and dedication."
Yumiko smiled and leaned into the embrace of her own worn and comfortable arm chair. "I think I know where you're going with this, child. Here you are in the heart of the Mother Church, so close to Our Lord, that you surely feel the power of His love and presence. You wish for God to see your devotion and your love in return, and feel almost slighted when you see the crowds of faithful but reluctant followers in each Mass. Well worry not, young one. The Lord is all seeing and all knowing. As well as all loving," the sweet nun smiled, reaching a hand out to place on Isabella's shoulder. "Your faith and love does not go unnoticed. Just look around you," she gestured about the stone-carved library, decked with statues and tapestries dating back to the days of the Roman Empire. "I have no fear that you will find comfort in this most Holiest of God's Houses."
And with that, Yumiko stood, making a tiny cross about her chest before heading back towards the stairs she had just climbed, leaving Isabella with her musings and still nagging problems.
'Well,' she thought. 'That almost helped...'
She desperately wished for wine, but knew that it wouldn't do at all to be seen drinking in public. She had to keep up the facade after all.
Her eye inadvertently narrowed at that thought and her mind began to wander dark paths. Maxwell seemed fit to remind her at every opportunity how important it was for her to keep her involvement with the Iscariot institute a secret. As well as her true age. She always had to cough back humorless laughter whenever Yumiko referred to her as 'child', for in truth she was probably closer to the nun's age than anyone but Maxwell knew. To the outside world, Isabella was a harmless and academically challenged school-girl around the age of sixteen. In truth, she was close to twenty- one and should have graduated with high honors years ago. But who would suspect a sweet little school-girl, right? Who would guess that underneath the plaid skirt and bouncy ponytail was a tool of God that killed on command? Out of habit, Isabella toyed with the hidden sheath of throwing knives under the fabric of her left sleeve. Her instructor told her that she was getting better. In a few months she might even be good enough to use the knives in battle and not just as a security measure of defense.
Of course if she ever needed to use the knives in defense, her fabricated life would be thrown away by default. Trying to explain why she had those knives on her body with the knowledge to use them wouldn't go very far with the persona she was putting on right now.
Hell, she wasn't even sure if she would consider herself Catholic. She believed in God well enough, but the last time she checked, that wasn't enough to make a child of the Vatican. The Bible said many things, and in her free time and devotion to study, she'd read it plenty of times. Maybe it was just that God didn't stir a sense of fear in her that it seemed to place in all those surrounding her. And the true tragedy was that she wanted to believe so blindly like the others. She desperately wanted to be able to follow the ways of Catholicism without question or doubts. But Isabella has long ago quietly decided that she was a tool of blasphemy. Even as she eradicated the creatures of the undead that plagued the City, she was breaking one of the Lord's most sacred Commandments.
Thou Shalt Not Kill.
How could she ever hope to believe she deserved a place in the Immaculate and sinless realms of Heaven? How could anyone who killed in the name of Judas Iscariot, the supreme traitor who was believed by some to be residing in the jaws of Satan himself at this very moment...
At this point she had a headache, as she always did whenever she let herself think too much on the subject that was always gnawing in the back of her brain. But when she opened her mentally exhausted eyes, she saw yet another familiar face, one that made her relieved with the promises of events to clear her mind.
"Father Renaldo," she bowed her head slightly from her sitting position, raising up to her feet, folding her hands politely in front of her. The middle-aged man who stood before her was completely unremarkable, another trait that she almost envied. She couldn't exactly blend into a crowd with her rather un-Italian mane of wild red hair. But Renaldo... he was a perfect example of the ideal agent. She half-suspected that he too was a member of the Iscariot organization, but of course nothing official had ever been imparted to her. He was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, ugly nor handsome. He was average in every shape or form. Except, of course, his weapons skills. He was Enrico Maxwell's personal bodyguard as well as her instructor in the arts of self-defense and physical training. It was her only class that held so definite schedule; he would appear and she would follow him to a workroom where they would spend the next four or so hours working her on every weapon ever devised by man.
"Miss Forte," he returned the bow, gesturing with his chin for her to follow him as he headed down the stairs and out the doors of the library. He spoke as they walked, "I spoke briefly with Father Maxwell today and was informed that you have been granted some much deserved information," he paused to smile in acknowledgment of a passing group of young school-boys. "And as you've probably guessed, I am at least peripherally involved with Section XIII and have been aware of your membership as a fitting explanation for why a young lady like yourself should be versed in combat. Such assumptions are of course logical."
She nodded and waited for a response that didn't come. All she needed to know at the moment was that he was indeed involved and knew she was as well. And he was also correct that she'd guessed as much. At least he had some faith in her mental capacity, which was a little astounding all things considered. But if he spoke of her to Maxwell... Ah well. It was all speculation, after all.
"In addition to your two year anniversary with Iscariot, today also marks the beginning of a new approach to your training. For the past two years I have tried you out on every type of offensive or defensive weapon under the sun, and while you've taken to most of them fairly well, you don't really seem to have a passion for any of them."
They moved down halls and staircases at a brisk walk until the unimposing priest pushed open the doors that led to the sun-soaked grounds of Saint Peter's Square. The sunlight caught Isabella off guard, lifting her arm up to shield her eyes from the brightness. Beams of light reflected off every surface within view. 'The Light of God', she thought. After all these years, the pure white marble that made up the majority of the heart of the Vatican City never ceased to leave her with a sense of awe. The muscles in her legs burned with the pleasant exercise, quickening her pace to keep up with Father Renaldo. He guided her past the columns that surrounded the wide and open Square, into a secluded series of buildings few people ever stopped to notice. It was the Offices of the Swiss Guard; the elite law-keepers of Vatican City. The brightly-clad man on duty nodded in acknowledgement of Renaldo, eyeing Isabella with a bit of trepidation, but letting them past none-the-less.
"At this point in your training I'm open to suggestions. You've proven yourself level-headed enough to deduce your own strengths and weaknesses, and it would accomplish nothing to have you use a weapon that you are less than comfortable with." He paused once more in his speech to fling the doors the training salle open, flipping the lights on and slowly scrutinizing each of the racked weapons along the wall. "Guns are far too ordinary for you. Your agility yearns for something more... graceful. Which was why I had initially leaned towards the sword," she made a face at the memory of those days. Not only had she not taken to the sword -of any make or origin- but she had very nearly lobbed the Father's hand off in sparring. Though why he gave her live steel to practice with was beyond her...
He continued, oblivious to her musings. "And although the sword didn't suit you, you took fairly well to most of the other eastern blade weapons. The sai. The spear. The scimitars and shorter swords. The European boar-spear, even." He continued to walk along the wall, stopping for a moment at an array of bayonet-like knives with strange angled handles that he had never tried her on. He looked like he was about to say something but moved on instead towards more modern weaponry. She's often thought to herself that this was one of the most morbid rooms she'd ever seen: an entire wall of weapons faced off by an entire wall of black-glass mirrors. If only the fluorescent ceiling lights had been replaced with torches, then the room would have completed its torture-chamber motif. "The cross-bow," he continued, "was also something you did fairly well on. But seeing as you are obviously a lone wolf out in the field, this would do you very little good if forced to resort to close-range combat. And there lies the dilemma." He stopped his stroll, turning to face her fully with his hands spread wide. "As much as it goes against the grain, you seem to have a flare for masculine weapons of brute strength. Without any offense intended, you have proven to be a jack of all trades yet master of none; not particularly bad on any of these weapons, but probably not good enough to serve you well against anything truly difficult. Which brings us to the second problem."
Isabella fought against every muscle in her face to keep from rolling her eyes. This was the point in time in which he would remind her of how ridiculously easy an opponent the average "ghoul" was. Although one of these undead monsters never actually crossed the walls of the Vatican City, Isabella was often sent out into the streets of Rome, eradicating small groups of ghouls. Her most recent mission had been to destroy the vampire who'd been creating these ghouls for the past two years, which was a task she felt deserved a fair bit of praise and recognition. It certainly wasn't just anyone who could face down the nosferatu. For all of her training on the bladed weapons, she'd been prowling the streets with a modified handgun, which once again, had been serving her fairly well in her opinion. 'Know humility,' she told herself sternly. 'He means well.' Her thoughts flashed back four years ago to flashes of teeth and claws, harsh laughter and glowing yellow eyes. She shivered and knew he was right. Creatures prowled the night that she was not ready for.
"The second problem is that you're not getting the experience that you need here in Rome. Therefore... you're being sent on a new assignment in three days. I told Maxwell that you weren't ready, but he insists that your involvement is a vital part of the mission." Renaldo sighed, staring off into the distance at a point somewhere past Isabella's shoulder.
"Well..." Isabella spoke up for the first time since he'd greeted her at the library. "Whenever I go out on assignment, I stay in the school uniform. It's all about the element of surprise, right?" The priest nodded slowly and she went on with her slowly forming idea. "So what if we ran with that?" She proceeded to tell Father Renaldo about a strange and unorthodox weapon she'd been toying with the idea of. The most un-ladylike piece of machinery she could think of that combined the blade and the mechanical power she'd come to be smitten with. She was describing to the priest... a chainsaw. It took strength and control to wield such a tool. Its deadly pointed blades could even be tipped with silver to ensure the demise of the undead. As she went on, Renaldo's initial look of aghast slowly turned into a wry grin. He paused her descriptions only long enough to grab a pad of paper and pencil, sketching out the preliminary designs of a device Isabella would eventually name Penance.
"...and thus, I fear you will be sent back to London without much of a reprieve." Maxwell leaned back in his chair and eyed the imposing man before him up and down. According to rumor, the overly tall priest sitting before him was loved by children and animals alike, who received his love in return. Perhaps Enrico simply had a problem believing this because he was one of the few blessed individuals to see the paladin in the height of a killing-lust that would horrify even the most hardened of soldiers. Alexander Anderson's eyes took on an insane quality, equaled only in insanity by his incessant cackling that usually followed one of his Biblical speeches in English. Something about Anderson's thick Scottish accent when speaking in that infernal tongue always grated against Maxwell's nerves. Thankfully, the accent barely invaded the man's Italian.
"I figured as much," Anderson replied, holding a hand out in front of him and examining the writing on the back of his right glove. 'Jesus Christ is in Heaven', it read. "More troubles from the Hellsing succubus, I presume?"
Maxwell blanched at the mention of Integral. Hiding his snarl in a cough, he raised his eyes to meet the lazy gaze Anderson was giving him. "No. At least not yet. There are problems on the border of Scotland and the Northwest county of Britain, Northumberland."
Alexander arched a long blonde eyebrow at that. "The border? Then why, pray tell, am I going to London? I might as well deal with Scotland from right in this room."
Maxwell wasn't sure which was more disturbing; Anderson at his craziest or his most calm. "Take a look," he tossed a clipped stack of papers at the deceptively calm priest.
And look he did. Anderson leafed through the stack, noticing a pattern in recent FREAK attacks that spanned in an almost perfectly straight line from London to a small town near the Scotland border called Crookham. The attacks seemed to occur in a pattern. One in London, then another on the line to Crookham, closer and closer until one hit the town itself. Then another would happen in London and the pattern would repeat. Hellsing had been dealing with the individual attacks, but had done nothing to investigate what was an obvious trend.
Enrico watched as the other priest's eyes grew with interest. The paladin never could seem to turn down a mystery. It was something that the Iscariot director has always admired about his most valued agent. Inside that unruly blonde head, there was a mind working as sharp as the knives he wielded. "As you can see, an attack has just occurred a few days ago only fifty kilometers away from Crookham. Within a week, a ghoul outbreak will infest the town itself and then in another, London will be struck. The pattern has held thus far, and there is no obvious reason for it to break at this point."
"Say no more," Alexander Anderson muttered, stuffing the papers into his oversized grey coat that he always wore when sent out on a mission. "When do I leave?"
"Three days," the director responded. "And on your way, you'll be escorting someone to England. You'll meet them at the train station and accompany them to the safety of the hotel I've reserved for you before you start your assignment."
Anderson dismissed the chaperone part of his trip to London without a second thought. What truly occupied his mind was the thrill of the impending hunt. It had been far too long since he'd been given the privilege of tracking down and eliminating an undead creature worth his attentions. The Hellsing abomination that plagued his dreams was an infuriating stalemate that he'd grudgingly accepted as such. But this... This was a mission that sent his blood racing with anticipation.
"We are God's representatives. Earthly agents of Divine Punishment," Enrico stood while reciting Vatican Section XIII's sacred creed.
Anderson picked it up without missing a beat. "Our mission is to destroy the fools who would oppose Our God."
"Amen." Maxwell finished, making the sign of the cross in front of him.
"Amen." Anderson growled out, grinning from ear to ear before turning with a flurry of fabric and heading back out into the halls.
Deep in the thought to be forgotten corridors of the Offices of the Swiss Guard, Father Renaldo held an intensified blowtorch to the long, flat surface of a chainsaw blade. In beautiful English cursive, he scrawled out the words 'Jesus Christ is in Heaven'. When his pupil awoke, training would begin on this strange and fascinating new weapon. His thoughts wandered to the undead creatures of the night that Isabella would confront with the device he now finished off with the final 'n'.
"May God have mercy on their souls..."
END OF CHAPTER 1