Disclaimer: I still don't own Hellsing. Don't sue, because if you do,
you'll take away all the money I have to spend on it! ^.^ We don't want
that!!
A/N: thanks very much to all of you that have read and reviewed at this point, and a special thank you to Pokkie for pointing out my error! It has been fixed! Do enjoy and please review!
Chapter Two: Blood, Bones, and the Regenerator
Anderson, by some miraculous stroke of luck, did not have to wait long for his prey to make its turn into the alley. The Priest praised God for his good fortune, a slightly manic grin spreading over his countenance as he did so.
"This shouldn't take long," he whispered to himself.
It did not take Anderson much time before he too turned into the corridor. He took measure of the locale for a moment, stopping just inside the entrance.
The space was narrow, which was not of much surprise to Anderson, but the lack of room was accentuated by the filth and clutter strewn about the ground. There seemed quite the abundance of discarded newspaper, old beer bottles, and even a few hypodermic needles. It would not have shocked Anderson to see an old man defecating on himself just a few meters away, but, thankfully, Anderson had been spared that marvelous decorum. He placed his hand above the cross dangling from his neck.
The passage was nearly forty meters deep, and the buildings on either side both had entrances within a few steps of the Priest.
Anderson spat, taking careful note of the fact that his prey was nowhere to be found. He strode forward, searching for the scent of his prey that he had picked up earlier, frowning as he detected none of it. He wandered past the first of the doors, paying it little mind. At this time of night, Anderson reckoned, any decent business would have all of their entrances locked, and since there was no sign of a break in, his prey obviously had not fled within.
The second door, similarly, showed no signs of abuse. He continued beyond it.
The Knight of God stopped at the end of the alley, looking upward above the building for some clue as to where those he had pursued had gone. Morosely he decided they had not scaled the wall. He cursed himself, knowing they had lost him.
"Do not be so glum, Father," a distinctly Slavic voice called from behind him.
Anderson wheeled around, knocking his right elbow against the concrete wall of the adjacent building. Before him, proud and erect, was the taller of the two inhuman things he had followed. The other was nowhere to be seen. However, just as Anderson had thought, a pair of sharp teeth were apparent in the monster's mouth.
"You wonder where my companion has gone?" The thing snickered, arms folded across his chest. They were thick beneath the coat, muscular. From what Anderson could see beneath the coat, the whole body of the demon before him possessed an abnormal amount of sinew.
"Foul thing," came Anderson's reply, "I shall wipe you from the face of this earth."
"Ah, Catholic, I see. That does explain a lot." He unfolded his arms, letting them fall at his side. "Even without the cross dangling from your neck, or the overdone manner of your dress, or even that collar, I could see it on you."
Anderson opened his coat, allowing his Holy Seals to fly outward, laughing as they attached themselves to each of the building's walls. Within moments the entire alley was decorated with them. There would be no foul arts spoiling this fight.
The demon shrugged. "So the magician shows the first of his parlor tricks." He took a step forward, his movement somewhat hampered by the confined space. "Might I make an enquiry as to the lapdog's name?"
The Holy Knight stiffened at the all too familiar phrase. "How dare you insult the representative of God?"
"You sniffed us out, Almighty Poodle."
Anderson suppressed a smile. He most certainly had never been called that before. "God's will be done, you and your cohort will not see the next full moon."
"You won't find her," the vampire stiffened.
Anderson smiled, noting he had struck a nerve. "And where were you hiding?"
The demon relaxed slightly, and strode forward until he was beside the first of the doors. Smiling with superiority, he gripped the doorknob, turned it, and the door swung open.
Anderson had the sudden urge to swear.
**
"God dammit!" the former leader of Hellsing shouted. She was beginning to recollect how little there was to do when Alucard was gone. Boredom crept in upon her, her only recourse from it being the neatly arranged meal resting upon the table in the middle of the room.
She wanted a cigar.
They had taken those from her as well, along with her pride and dignity. She'd live longer, they said, confined as she was with no social interaction with any living being whatsoever, lacking that peculiar comfort the cigars seemed to provide. The hypocrisy startled her.
She stood and paced around her room for a little while, arms resting in front of her, bound by those contemptible cuffs. The guards outside only released her from that indignity early in the mornings when she was allowed to bathe. At all other times, she was doomed to suffer the ignominious fate of their pull.
A cigar would do her some good, she decided.
Still pacing, she looked over her room in what had become an all too familiar pattern: Floor, bed, ceiling, chair, table. All were present, she confirmed. The floor was the same green concrete as each of the walls, the same as the ceiling. It communicated the purpose of its design, namely confinement. The bed seemed exceptionally small and cramped enclosed in its corner. The chair, neatly pushed against the table, served to hide, to some extent, the wine bottle and meal laid upon the table's surface.
Everything within the room looked exactly as it did every day and every evening as well. There never were any discrepancies in its setting, never any new furniture or decorations. There was no place for work, and no tools for that purpose either. The only source of amusement Integra possessed was fixed behind her eyes, and at the moment there was ever so precious little on which to think.
She had been over everything a thousand times, and there existed no possible new takes on her situation. To try would, ultimately, be depressing. And the leader of Hellsing did not get depressed. She was too proud for that. She could become enraged and bitter, of course; she was prone to do that, but sulking? No, that was not her way. Well, not most of the time.
She yearned for the time of Hellsing's dominance, the time when she could easily send a hundred men out into the country and every one of them would come back alive, their prey dead and the evidence of their existence wiped away.
The Master pulled the chair back from the quaint dining table and sat. She sighed, whispering, "Alucard, you'd better come back with a cigar. . . "
**
It had taken three hours, but Seras Victoria had finally clambered down the tower. Her knees ached with every step, and her feet felt swollen within her boots. Whatever pride her blood now provided her was subverted by a whimper.
"Master," she whined, "why couldn't you tell me how to disappear already?"
She winced, expecting a reproach from her Master, but she soon realized that he was not apparently listening. She kicked at the ground, a slight melancholy coming over her. She did not have anyone to whom she could speak freely anymore, she realized. Helena had passed on months ago. Her Master did not listen, only finding time to prod her or reproach her, giving her tiny clues that she did not know how to use. He was possibly the most dislikable person imaginable, but still, she respected him. In fact, she probably respected Alucard more than any other living being.
She smiled, a tiny comfort invading her.
"I would remind you, Police Girl," the resonating voice of her Master echoed from behind her, "I am not a living being."
Seras stiffened, slowly turning herself around to face her master, her cheeks suddenly flashing red. He emerged from a shadow slowly. "Were you listening, Master?" she asked.
The vampire flashed her a smile. "I'm always listening."
Seras eye twitched slightly. "What brings you out here, Master?" Her voice betrayed a slight annoyance.
Alucard's smile faded. "Haven't you noticed, Police Girl?" He folded his arms. "Your sense has not developed as far as I had hoped."
Seras frowned, noting that her master had set to prodding again. She relaxed, breathing through her nose as her father had always taught her to do when-
There was a trace of something foul in the air. She looked at her master imploringly.
"The air betrays the presence of the dog," he uttered, his smile somewhat restored.
Seras flinched. "You mean Anderson?" Seras unconsciously felt along her neck, tracing her finger along the scar.
"Exactly, Police Girl."
"But. . . But you've beaten him before. . . So why do you seem so. . . so troubled?"
"He is not my chief concern."
Seras cocked her eyebrow, a trace of awe in her eyes.
Alucard turned from his student to face the clock tower. He sighed heavily, the slightest trace of anticipation discernable within. "So, Police Girl? Do you want to come along?" He held his hand back towards her. "Or should I go alone?"
**
Paladin Alexander Anderson, the regenerator, man of god, felt as though he might collapse, his body mangled and broken. He clutched at his blessed blades, clenching his teeth as pain flooded his arms. He raised them again, standing to his full height, crossing his weapons across his chest.
The monster walked toward him casually, not quite six meters away. All along his arms, now exposed as his coat had been cast aside, were bleeding cuts and stab wounds. His chest betrayed a few of these as well. His legs had not escaped either, and his dark khaki pants were soaked through with blood. However, the demon still wore a smile across his lips.
"Again," he began, "the dog bares its teeth." The vampire cracked his knuckles.
Anderson reflected over the fight as it had progressed in his mind. The Knight had certainly not been terribly outmatched at the onset, but conversely, his advantage had been minimal. The seals had turned out to be an utter waste, as it had become apparent that the vampire did not need to fight with dark magic.
No, this one was built on pure speed and muscle.
Anderson had sliced through the hide of the demon quite a few times in the course of the fight, but it had displayed a talent for ignoring pain that Anderson had only ever seen in one other being.
But this one did not fight as Hellsing's pet abomination.
This demon, this vampire, did not use any man-made weapon. He did not use any weapon at all, rather parrying Anderson's thrusts with his own flesh, most often that of its hands. Despite all of Anderson's efforts, the monster's wrists and palms were not cut at all. The especially augmented fingers on each hand were clean. They might as well have been made of stainless steel. They were offensive in addition to being defensive, however.
At every opening this vampire had ripped at Anderson, and at this point the blood began spurting out in thick blotches from his wounds. There were two deep trenches of cuts in Anderson's abdomen, and his left leg had been maimed to an extent, limiting his mobility.
Anderson laughed to himself. There would be time for his wounds to heal later. A divine gift had guaranteed that. God, however, would make no such assurance to that which was standing before him, now only two meters away.
"Before long now, Monster, the sun will rise and burn you into ash." Anderson closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer.
"The sun? What harm might that do to me?"
Anderson flinched. He opened his eyes slowly, querying the demon with them. He wondered for a moment if the vampire was playing a game.
"Do you honestly think me a vampire?" The demon chuckled for a moment. "You are mistaken, Father."
"Lying Bastard," Anderson spat, his temper flaring, "you are nothing more than a demon, and as a demon you will die with the light of day."
"I am no demon, Father."
Anderson gripped the hilts of his Holy Blades, crouching low so that he might use the muscle of his legs in order to spring forward. He still held his weapons crossed across his chest, slightly further away than he had previously. He smiled. "What are you, then?"
Anderson lunged at the vampire, extending himself forward with a deftness and speed that he alone knew upon the earth, that his God had granted him. The distance was minimal now, and the blades formerly pulled behind Anderson's torso pushed themselves ahead nearly by instinct. They were flying at their target, possessed by a bloodlust that can barely be understood, barely can be imagined. They needed to kill. They required that blood run free along their surfaces. And they were closing in upon their target, all the strength Anderson had left within him directed into their course.
As they propelled to centimeters from the demon's neck, both converging upon it, the demon raised his hands to each, the speed of its movement incomprehensible.
The demon's hands gripped the tips of the blades, stopping them just against the flesh of his neck. Two tiny droplets of blood ran down where the blessed swords had halted. The demon began to push the blades back from his neck, both of the combatant's arms quivering with their efforts.
A full eight centimeters from the demon's neck, the tools of death stopped being pushed backwards. Anderson and the demon before him had been locked in a stalemate. Both of them gritted their teeth, sweating. Either might collapse.
Anderson smiled, straining through the pain in his torso. "You didn't answer my question, demon."
The vampire blinked, and grinned. "I suppose I did not, Father."
Anderson scowled. "Well?"
He smiled, jaws clenched. "I, Father," the demon said through its teeth, "am a Dampeal."
Anderson blinked twice, losing his concentration but for a moment, and his blades failed him. He staggered backwards, the dampeal pushing him freely. The pair scraped against the sides of the adjacent buildings. The dampeal gave him three blows, two in the cavernous wounds he had received earlier, and one just below the Paladin's heart. The Knight slumped to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth.
The dampeal turned from Anderson, lifting his trench coat from the earth and draping it over his shoulders. "Go with God," he chuckled, and he walked out into the street.
**
Alucard and Seras found the mass of blood that was Anderson not fifteen minutes later. His regenerative powers had by now begun to heal his massive wounds, and the priest had apparently began to pray, kneeling in the middle of the alley.
Alucard was the first to interrupt the Paladin. Tapping him lightly on the shoulder, he spoke slowly. "Catholic," he began, "surprised to see us?"
The Paladin opened his eyes. "You're late, Demon."
Alucard grinned.
Anderson made no movement, sitting still, an almost mortified look plastered upon the normally manic face. Seras found the sight slightly unnerving.
"He's gone, as you can see," the Priest said finally.
Seras blinked several times in succession. "What. . . what did this to you?" She stared down at the pool of blood, and bit her palm. It looked somewhat. . . tasty.
The Paladin looked at her blankly. "A devil."
Alucard folded his arms across his chest. "You're defenseless, utterly pathetic. That devil of yours did quite a number on you."
"Bastard," Anderson muttered.
"I wonder why he even left you alive."
Anderson was motionless, and he mumbled something close to "I don't know". He sighed. "Your wench wants to feed."
Alucard frowned.
"If I am to die tonight, it is God that has wished it."
Alucard kneeled upon one knee, his arm draped across the other. "You've disgraced Iscariot on this night. I wouldn't take that from you for the world." He stood again, turning to Seras. "Police girl, it will be dawn soon."
She nodded. She stepped next to Alucard, placing her hand upon his shoulder as he had told her to do before. "Ready when you are," she forced a smile.
Alucard chuckled. "Until we meet again," he spoke proudly, and both he and Seras disappeared into shadow.
"Until next time, magician." The servant of God shut his eyes again, and began another prayer.
Next chapter: Sunlight Does Not Burn
We meet the two wanderers in earnest for the first time, and Integra and Alucard have a nice little chat. Please Enjoy!
A/N: thanks very much to all of you that have read and reviewed at this point, and a special thank you to Pokkie for pointing out my error! It has been fixed! Do enjoy and please review!
Chapter Two: Blood, Bones, and the Regenerator
Anderson, by some miraculous stroke of luck, did not have to wait long for his prey to make its turn into the alley. The Priest praised God for his good fortune, a slightly manic grin spreading over his countenance as he did so.
"This shouldn't take long," he whispered to himself.
It did not take Anderson much time before he too turned into the corridor. He took measure of the locale for a moment, stopping just inside the entrance.
The space was narrow, which was not of much surprise to Anderson, but the lack of room was accentuated by the filth and clutter strewn about the ground. There seemed quite the abundance of discarded newspaper, old beer bottles, and even a few hypodermic needles. It would not have shocked Anderson to see an old man defecating on himself just a few meters away, but, thankfully, Anderson had been spared that marvelous decorum. He placed his hand above the cross dangling from his neck.
The passage was nearly forty meters deep, and the buildings on either side both had entrances within a few steps of the Priest.
Anderson spat, taking careful note of the fact that his prey was nowhere to be found. He strode forward, searching for the scent of his prey that he had picked up earlier, frowning as he detected none of it. He wandered past the first of the doors, paying it little mind. At this time of night, Anderson reckoned, any decent business would have all of their entrances locked, and since there was no sign of a break in, his prey obviously had not fled within.
The second door, similarly, showed no signs of abuse. He continued beyond it.
The Knight of God stopped at the end of the alley, looking upward above the building for some clue as to where those he had pursued had gone. Morosely he decided they had not scaled the wall. He cursed himself, knowing they had lost him.
"Do not be so glum, Father," a distinctly Slavic voice called from behind him.
Anderson wheeled around, knocking his right elbow against the concrete wall of the adjacent building. Before him, proud and erect, was the taller of the two inhuman things he had followed. The other was nowhere to be seen. However, just as Anderson had thought, a pair of sharp teeth were apparent in the monster's mouth.
"You wonder where my companion has gone?" The thing snickered, arms folded across his chest. They were thick beneath the coat, muscular. From what Anderson could see beneath the coat, the whole body of the demon before him possessed an abnormal amount of sinew.
"Foul thing," came Anderson's reply, "I shall wipe you from the face of this earth."
"Ah, Catholic, I see. That does explain a lot." He unfolded his arms, letting them fall at his side. "Even without the cross dangling from your neck, or the overdone manner of your dress, or even that collar, I could see it on you."
Anderson opened his coat, allowing his Holy Seals to fly outward, laughing as they attached themselves to each of the building's walls. Within moments the entire alley was decorated with them. There would be no foul arts spoiling this fight.
The demon shrugged. "So the magician shows the first of his parlor tricks." He took a step forward, his movement somewhat hampered by the confined space. "Might I make an enquiry as to the lapdog's name?"
The Holy Knight stiffened at the all too familiar phrase. "How dare you insult the representative of God?"
"You sniffed us out, Almighty Poodle."
Anderson suppressed a smile. He most certainly had never been called that before. "God's will be done, you and your cohort will not see the next full moon."
"You won't find her," the vampire stiffened.
Anderson smiled, noting he had struck a nerve. "And where were you hiding?"
The demon relaxed slightly, and strode forward until he was beside the first of the doors. Smiling with superiority, he gripped the doorknob, turned it, and the door swung open.
Anderson had the sudden urge to swear.
**
"God dammit!" the former leader of Hellsing shouted. She was beginning to recollect how little there was to do when Alucard was gone. Boredom crept in upon her, her only recourse from it being the neatly arranged meal resting upon the table in the middle of the room.
She wanted a cigar.
They had taken those from her as well, along with her pride and dignity. She'd live longer, they said, confined as she was with no social interaction with any living being whatsoever, lacking that peculiar comfort the cigars seemed to provide. The hypocrisy startled her.
She stood and paced around her room for a little while, arms resting in front of her, bound by those contemptible cuffs. The guards outside only released her from that indignity early in the mornings when she was allowed to bathe. At all other times, she was doomed to suffer the ignominious fate of their pull.
A cigar would do her some good, she decided.
Still pacing, she looked over her room in what had become an all too familiar pattern: Floor, bed, ceiling, chair, table. All were present, she confirmed. The floor was the same green concrete as each of the walls, the same as the ceiling. It communicated the purpose of its design, namely confinement. The bed seemed exceptionally small and cramped enclosed in its corner. The chair, neatly pushed against the table, served to hide, to some extent, the wine bottle and meal laid upon the table's surface.
Everything within the room looked exactly as it did every day and every evening as well. There never were any discrepancies in its setting, never any new furniture or decorations. There was no place for work, and no tools for that purpose either. The only source of amusement Integra possessed was fixed behind her eyes, and at the moment there was ever so precious little on which to think.
She had been over everything a thousand times, and there existed no possible new takes on her situation. To try would, ultimately, be depressing. And the leader of Hellsing did not get depressed. She was too proud for that. She could become enraged and bitter, of course; she was prone to do that, but sulking? No, that was not her way. Well, not most of the time.
She yearned for the time of Hellsing's dominance, the time when she could easily send a hundred men out into the country and every one of them would come back alive, their prey dead and the evidence of their existence wiped away.
The Master pulled the chair back from the quaint dining table and sat. She sighed, whispering, "Alucard, you'd better come back with a cigar. . . "
**
It had taken three hours, but Seras Victoria had finally clambered down the tower. Her knees ached with every step, and her feet felt swollen within her boots. Whatever pride her blood now provided her was subverted by a whimper.
"Master," she whined, "why couldn't you tell me how to disappear already?"
She winced, expecting a reproach from her Master, but she soon realized that he was not apparently listening. She kicked at the ground, a slight melancholy coming over her. She did not have anyone to whom she could speak freely anymore, she realized. Helena had passed on months ago. Her Master did not listen, only finding time to prod her or reproach her, giving her tiny clues that she did not know how to use. He was possibly the most dislikable person imaginable, but still, she respected him. In fact, she probably respected Alucard more than any other living being.
She smiled, a tiny comfort invading her.
"I would remind you, Police Girl," the resonating voice of her Master echoed from behind her, "I am not a living being."
Seras stiffened, slowly turning herself around to face her master, her cheeks suddenly flashing red. He emerged from a shadow slowly. "Were you listening, Master?" she asked.
The vampire flashed her a smile. "I'm always listening."
Seras eye twitched slightly. "What brings you out here, Master?" Her voice betrayed a slight annoyance.
Alucard's smile faded. "Haven't you noticed, Police Girl?" He folded his arms. "Your sense has not developed as far as I had hoped."
Seras frowned, noting that her master had set to prodding again. She relaxed, breathing through her nose as her father had always taught her to do when-
There was a trace of something foul in the air. She looked at her master imploringly.
"The air betrays the presence of the dog," he uttered, his smile somewhat restored.
Seras flinched. "You mean Anderson?" Seras unconsciously felt along her neck, tracing her finger along the scar.
"Exactly, Police Girl."
"But. . . But you've beaten him before. . . So why do you seem so. . . so troubled?"
"He is not my chief concern."
Seras cocked her eyebrow, a trace of awe in her eyes.
Alucard turned from his student to face the clock tower. He sighed heavily, the slightest trace of anticipation discernable within. "So, Police Girl? Do you want to come along?" He held his hand back towards her. "Or should I go alone?"
**
Paladin Alexander Anderson, the regenerator, man of god, felt as though he might collapse, his body mangled and broken. He clutched at his blessed blades, clenching his teeth as pain flooded his arms. He raised them again, standing to his full height, crossing his weapons across his chest.
The monster walked toward him casually, not quite six meters away. All along his arms, now exposed as his coat had been cast aside, were bleeding cuts and stab wounds. His chest betrayed a few of these as well. His legs had not escaped either, and his dark khaki pants were soaked through with blood. However, the demon still wore a smile across his lips.
"Again," he began, "the dog bares its teeth." The vampire cracked his knuckles.
Anderson reflected over the fight as it had progressed in his mind. The Knight had certainly not been terribly outmatched at the onset, but conversely, his advantage had been minimal. The seals had turned out to be an utter waste, as it had become apparent that the vampire did not need to fight with dark magic.
No, this one was built on pure speed and muscle.
Anderson had sliced through the hide of the demon quite a few times in the course of the fight, but it had displayed a talent for ignoring pain that Anderson had only ever seen in one other being.
But this one did not fight as Hellsing's pet abomination.
This demon, this vampire, did not use any man-made weapon. He did not use any weapon at all, rather parrying Anderson's thrusts with his own flesh, most often that of its hands. Despite all of Anderson's efforts, the monster's wrists and palms were not cut at all. The especially augmented fingers on each hand were clean. They might as well have been made of stainless steel. They were offensive in addition to being defensive, however.
At every opening this vampire had ripped at Anderson, and at this point the blood began spurting out in thick blotches from his wounds. There were two deep trenches of cuts in Anderson's abdomen, and his left leg had been maimed to an extent, limiting his mobility.
Anderson laughed to himself. There would be time for his wounds to heal later. A divine gift had guaranteed that. God, however, would make no such assurance to that which was standing before him, now only two meters away.
"Before long now, Monster, the sun will rise and burn you into ash." Anderson closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer.
"The sun? What harm might that do to me?"
Anderson flinched. He opened his eyes slowly, querying the demon with them. He wondered for a moment if the vampire was playing a game.
"Do you honestly think me a vampire?" The demon chuckled for a moment. "You are mistaken, Father."
"Lying Bastard," Anderson spat, his temper flaring, "you are nothing more than a demon, and as a demon you will die with the light of day."
"I am no demon, Father."
Anderson gripped the hilts of his Holy Blades, crouching low so that he might use the muscle of his legs in order to spring forward. He still held his weapons crossed across his chest, slightly further away than he had previously. He smiled. "What are you, then?"
Anderson lunged at the vampire, extending himself forward with a deftness and speed that he alone knew upon the earth, that his God had granted him. The distance was minimal now, and the blades formerly pulled behind Anderson's torso pushed themselves ahead nearly by instinct. They were flying at their target, possessed by a bloodlust that can barely be understood, barely can be imagined. They needed to kill. They required that blood run free along their surfaces. And they were closing in upon their target, all the strength Anderson had left within him directed into their course.
As they propelled to centimeters from the demon's neck, both converging upon it, the demon raised his hands to each, the speed of its movement incomprehensible.
The demon's hands gripped the tips of the blades, stopping them just against the flesh of his neck. Two tiny droplets of blood ran down where the blessed swords had halted. The demon began to push the blades back from his neck, both of the combatant's arms quivering with their efforts.
A full eight centimeters from the demon's neck, the tools of death stopped being pushed backwards. Anderson and the demon before him had been locked in a stalemate. Both of them gritted their teeth, sweating. Either might collapse.
Anderson smiled, straining through the pain in his torso. "You didn't answer my question, demon."
The vampire blinked, and grinned. "I suppose I did not, Father."
Anderson scowled. "Well?"
He smiled, jaws clenched. "I, Father," the demon said through its teeth, "am a Dampeal."
Anderson blinked twice, losing his concentration but for a moment, and his blades failed him. He staggered backwards, the dampeal pushing him freely. The pair scraped against the sides of the adjacent buildings. The dampeal gave him three blows, two in the cavernous wounds he had received earlier, and one just below the Paladin's heart. The Knight slumped to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth.
The dampeal turned from Anderson, lifting his trench coat from the earth and draping it over his shoulders. "Go with God," he chuckled, and he walked out into the street.
**
Alucard and Seras found the mass of blood that was Anderson not fifteen minutes later. His regenerative powers had by now begun to heal his massive wounds, and the priest had apparently began to pray, kneeling in the middle of the alley.
Alucard was the first to interrupt the Paladin. Tapping him lightly on the shoulder, he spoke slowly. "Catholic," he began, "surprised to see us?"
The Paladin opened his eyes. "You're late, Demon."
Alucard grinned.
Anderson made no movement, sitting still, an almost mortified look plastered upon the normally manic face. Seras found the sight slightly unnerving.
"He's gone, as you can see," the Priest said finally.
Seras blinked several times in succession. "What. . . what did this to you?" She stared down at the pool of blood, and bit her palm. It looked somewhat. . . tasty.
The Paladin looked at her blankly. "A devil."
Alucard folded his arms across his chest. "You're defenseless, utterly pathetic. That devil of yours did quite a number on you."
"Bastard," Anderson muttered.
"I wonder why he even left you alive."
Anderson was motionless, and he mumbled something close to "I don't know". He sighed. "Your wench wants to feed."
Alucard frowned.
"If I am to die tonight, it is God that has wished it."
Alucard kneeled upon one knee, his arm draped across the other. "You've disgraced Iscariot on this night. I wouldn't take that from you for the world." He stood again, turning to Seras. "Police girl, it will be dawn soon."
She nodded. She stepped next to Alucard, placing her hand upon his shoulder as he had told her to do before. "Ready when you are," she forced a smile.
Alucard chuckled. "Until we meet again," he spoke proudly, and both he and Seras disappeared into shadow.
"Until next time, magician." The servant of God shut his eyes again, and began another prayer.
Next chapter: Sunlight Does Not Burn
We meet the two wanderers in earnest for the first time, and Integra and Alucard have a nice little chat. Please Enjoy!