Disclaimer: Hellsing is Kohta Hirano's wonderful product, not mine, as always.

A/N: My apologies for the rather extreme hiatus. I offer no excuse, but I hope that you shall enjoy the continuation of this story. Please review!

Chapter Five: Shattered Dream

Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing could not force herself to suppress the smile that now played along the corners of her lips. Before her reclining figure stood the form of the Angel of Death, Walter C. Dornez, a man without equal among men. She stood, folding her hands in front of her, silently regarding the aging Hellsing servant.

After a moment, Integra broke this self-imposed silence. "You have a message for me, Walter?"

"I do, Sir Integra," Hellsing's retainer replied. "Regarding your release from your current, undeserved detention."

Integra's countenance drifted from its normal cool, calculating calm to slight surprise. She stayed silent, allowing her thoughts to drift for a moment, then spoke. "Walter, how did this come about?"

"The Round Table has been the site of much confusion as of late, Sir Integra. Several of its members have felt it their responsibility to assume the duties that had been the birthright of Hellsing. The SAS is in shambles. Suffice it to say that, at present, the future is quite uncertain."

"Then why have I been released, Walter?"

"I suspect that the full story will best wait for more comfortable surroundings, Sir Integra," he turned his attention to the door. "If you would be so kind, sir" he began, motioning for the guard standing beside the door to enter, "as to remove Sir Integra's bindings?"

The young man did as he had been commanded, removing the white leather cuffs from Integra's hands and returning to his post.

Walter smiled. "A car is waiting for us outside. Please follow me," he said, bowing before her. "We have much to discuss."

"We do, Walter."

Grinning, the young Master of Hellsing exited the mortar-brick cell, her retainer following close behind.
"Do you know what a Dampeal is, Alexander?" Father Enrico Maxwell inquired of his ace agent. The brooding form of Iscariot's Head sat at his desk, leaning back, arms folded, his expression one of concealed anger.

The Paladin stood at attention before Maxwell, a coy grin developing upon his face. "A half breed, sir," he muttered. "The mongrel, unholy child of a human and a monster."

"And how are these creatures born, do you suppose?"

Anderson scoffed at the all-too obvious question. "Through the sin of their parents, a union of the flesh, selfish, disgusting."

Enrico Maxwell shook his head disdainfully. "Not quite, my friend." He stood slowly, tracing his hand along the contours of his desk.

The Holy Knight's grin disappeared, struck down by this unexpected response. "How then, Father Maxwell, do these monstrosities come to desecrate the earth?"

Maxwell sighed. "Experiment, Anderson. Trial and error." Noting that his ace seemingly did not comprehend the answer, Maxwell continued. "Surely you are not surprised? Experiment has been the refuge of heretics for longer than either of us have lived. Even Hellsing's pet vampire is the product of a century's worth of genetic tampering."

"Aye, that he is."

"You yourself have been altered, blessed with regenerative abilities beyond any mortal being." Maxwell grinned. "Though this alteration is but the Gift of God for one of his most dedicated servants."

Anderson nodded approvingly. However, his concerns had yet to meet full amelioration. "What do you know of the Dampeal that I fought in England?"

"I know quite a bit, Anderson. It's part of my duty as the leader of Iscariot." Maxwell picked up a file from atop his desk, opening it casually. He perused the contents momentarily before letting his eyes drift to meet those of Anderson. "Where would you like me to start?"

Anderson suppressed a growl. There were times when the childishness of his superior became an annoyance. "The beginning, sir." He folded his arms. "I want to know all that I can about this filth."

"For starters," Maxwell began, "you are familiar with the Cold War, I suspect? Between the Americans and the now defunct Soviet Union?"

Anderson nodded, a slight tremor of irritation running through him.

"Good. Then I do not need to explain the subtle nuances of the Containment Policy, of the point and counterpoint game played by the opposing sides? It really is a fascinating history-"

"-I am familiar with the concept," Anderson interrupted.

"Excellent. Now, I'm sure that you would fully understand the desires, of both sides, of any power really, to create increasingly powerful engines of destruction? Good. It was that desire that fueled the nuclear arms-race, the space race, the moon landings; it was that powerful, competitive desire that even spurred the development of more, shall we say, underhanded and inhuman weapons programs. Their installations littered the landscape of Europe." Maxwell set the file folder down upon his desk, inviting Anderson to gaze upon it. "This is an aerial photo of such a facility, taken in the summer of 1972, in Lucenec, Slovakia, a few miles north of the Hungarian border. This is the facility where the dampeal you encountered was engineered."

Anderson stared blankly at the photo for a moment. It appeared as though it were a bunker, surrounded by no fence, the terrain as unremarkable as could be; a very sparse arrangement of trees surrounded it on all sides. No roads led to the building, and no entrance was apparent.

Maxwell moved the photo aside, replacing it with another. "This photo is of the same location, taken in the winter of 1976. You'll notice that the locale has changed, since the bunker is no longer visible."

"It was removed?"

"Theoretically it was part of an Arms Reduction Treaty agreed upon by the Americans and Soviets during the Nixon Administration, but the reality is that it would have been shut down anyway."

"Why?"

"Because, for the most part," Maxwell sighed, "the research done at that facility proved entirely useless."
Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing scowled as her retainer informed her of the ceaseless altercations between the members of the Round Table. It had become apparent, in the course of Walter's briefing, that nearly all of the twelve organization's leaders were engaged in pointless squabble, their objectives the expansion of their own associations. Integra's displeasure resonated throughout the confines of the Rolls Royce.

"Sir Penwood, especially," Walter continued, "has been against your release. It would seem as though he would rather the SAS take control of Hellsing's duties, though many of their soldiers were killed in the last freak attack. He is certainly your most active detractor."

Integra shrugged. "Sir Penwood always has been in vehement opposition of the Hellsing Organization. This strife that he wishes now to perpetrate is no different than that which he has offered before."

Walter shook his head. "I wish it were so, Sir Integra. But it would seem as though he has mustered some support amongst the other Round Table Members."

"That would be the reason for my exceedingly lengthy imprisonment, I assume." Integra's scowl deepened.

"Exactly. It was only recently, however," Walter grinned, for the first time in his narration, "that Sir Irons had decided to press his views concerning this issue."

"And his position, Walter?"

"He believes that Sir Penwood only desires more influence than what already he possesses, and that the Missions of the Round Table are negatively affected by the situation." Walter chuckled softly. "Which, I suspect, is exactly what you yourself have been thinking during this entire discussion."

"And it was Sir Irons that has granted my release?"

"It was."

"And what of the Hellsing Organization, Walter?"

Walter sighed. "Tomorrow the Twelve will convene to decide its fate. You will, of course, be expected to testify before them."

"Very well, Walter." She smiled warmly at him. "It's good to see you again."

Walter nodded. "We'll be home soon, Sir Integra."

The Rolls Royce rolled down the parkway, its occupants silent, the daylight all too clear through its tinted windows.
"A failure, you say?" Alexander Anderson laughed heartily. "What do you call that thing that I fought then?"

Maxwell sighed, carefully choosing his words. "The dampeal with which you fought, Alexander," his brows narrowed, "was a rarity."

"There were two of those 'rarities', Sir." Anderson frowned.

"Yes, there were." Maxwell returned to his seat, and gracefully lowered himself into the chair. "But the other, as you know, was a weakling. What you cannot guess, however, is why this is so."

Anderson raised an eyebrow at Iscariot's Director. "Go on."

"The second Dampeal," Maxwell brightened, "was dying."

"How's that?"

Maxwell's voice grew cheerful. "You see, Alexander, the research done at the Lucenec facility proved useless because of the very nature of their experimentation. The Heathens found that, as they attempted to cross the human and vampiric genetic material, it nearly always broke down at the cellular level." He laughed suddenly. "What they did not surmise was that this was due to the vampiric cells themselves!" Maxwell continued gleefully. "An Undead's cells, as you know, are dependant upon the continual ingestion of living cells. When mixed with human cells, the genetic material of the Undead merely continued this process."

Anderson chuckled. "The vile experiments cannibalized themselves, did they?"

"Precisely. No matter how far they came with their experiments, the experiments ripped themselves apart. The dead tissue devoured the living." Maxwell shook his head. "The weaker dampeal was undoubtedly undergoing the same process."

"And the other? The one I fought?"

"I suspect that the same will eventually happen to him, but it seems that he has thus far avoided it."

Anderson smiled. "It is because he feeds upon human flesh."

Maxwell nodded. "That would make sense. After all, if he were to give the Undead DNA within the sustenance it required, there would be no reason for it to turn inward and devour the human side of him."

"It explains more than just that."

Maxwell glanced upward at his ace inquiringly. "Oh?"

"It explains the Dampeal's formidable strength." Anderson spoke softly, satisfied at his deduction. "The Dampeal gains strength with every human that he kills. He is like any other vampire in this way."

Maxwell smirked, nodding. "Which is why he should be destroyed."

"Aye," Anderson agreed. And, he surmised, it was of course his duty to do just that. "I have another question concerning this Dampeal, Sir."

Maxwell smiled warmly at his ace. "What would that be?"

"What was he doing in England?"

Iscariot's head returned to his file-folder. "Immediately after the Lucenec site was removed, we suspect that whatever few successes that had been developed, including the two Dampeals that you encountered, were moved to Hungary. They were then quartered in a small village east of the capital, where they were eventually forgotten by the Soviet government. When the Soviet Union fell, of course, we regained our dominion in those nations formally under its influence. Which, naturally, means that we were able to extinguish the demon threats that had developed. This includes our poor Dampeal's home village."

"But they escaped."

"Regrettably, yes. And they made their way to England, hoping that from there they could escape to the United States. After that, they would potentially be free from our or anyone's reach." Maxwell slumped. "However, it would seem as though Hellsing's pets have prevented this escape."

Anderson cringed at the thought. He did not wish to think that the pet abomination of Hellsing had succeeded where he had failed. "It should not be so," he thought. "That demon Alucard has no right to do what is the God- given duty of Iscariot."

Maxwell smiled coyly. "I have another assignment for you, Alexander."

Anderson beamed. "Of course, Father Maxwell."
Night slowly returned to the Hellsing Manor, the sunlight disappearing. The house appeared in the dark as though it were a fortress. It had, of course, been rebuilt, its numerous injuries mended. It once again stood proudly against the backdrop of the black sky.

Alucard grinned, savoring the familiar sight. Within the house his master, the indomitable Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing, waited anxiously for his return. Alucard's grin widened at the thought. Her concern was, of course, unwarranted, and Alucard would find their discourse this evening quite pleasurable for this fact alone.

Alucard casually strolled through the iron gates meant to bar the entrance of peasants and fools. Similarly he melted through the very walls of the Hellsing Estate itself, and, quite suddenly, he disappeared inside the expansive mansion.

It was as though his feet had never touched the estate's grounds.
Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing waited, exhausted, for Alucard's return. It had been nearly forty-one hours since last she had slept; yet she staunchly refused to drift off into slumber.

Her ears pricked as she heard the slight shudder of the walls which were the normal result of the vampire's appearance. "Hello, Alucard," she said coolly.

"Good evening to you, Miss Hellsing," the vampire cooed. Alucard tipped his hat to her. He stood, motionless, awaiting her response.

"Well, Alucard?" Integra asked suddenly. "What of your mission?"

Alucard grinned. "It was not very kind of you, Master, to leave your cell without notice." He folded his arms, pretending to sulk.

"You knew I had moved the instant that it was done, Alucard. There's no way you could not have."

Alucard chuckled. "And there's no way that you could not have known that I had survived my encounter, yet still you awaited my return with trepidation." He looked at her, the superiority of his stare evident even through his sunglasses. "You were worried about me."

"Tell me what happened, Alucard."

"Existence is a confounding thing, Master. At every turn, humans develop new attachments, new worries and concerns that drive them. It is as though the thrill of life were not enough to satisfy their hungers. Of course, the taste of life is enough to satisfy me." He paused. "What of you, Master?"

"We're not talking about that, Alucard."

"I have heard all too many excuses and confessions in these centuries I have enjoyed. I have listened to the groans of the dying, lamentations for these attachments and worries. It never changes." Alucard shook his head. "I took the dampeal's attachment, took from him the thing he most cherished."

"But you didn't kill him, I take it?"

Alucard nodded. "Humans have an annoying predisposition to shrivel and die without that for which they care. I now wish to see if the same is true of this creature."

"What are you hoping will happen, Alucard?" Integra noiselessly exhaled another puff of smoke.

Alucard turned from her, striding slowly to her father's portrait. "You did not break with your father's death." For respect of both Integra and her father, Alucard avoided exiting through the portrait, instead stepping aside, and passing through the wall.

Within her mind, Integra could only here the departing words of her servant: "It is a trait I saw in him as well."

Glancing at the portrait of her father, Integra extinguished her cigar, and nodded to sleep at her desk.

Next Chapter: Restoration of Glory

The Round Table convenes, Kolya returns to the narrative (Seras too! Huzzah!) and Father Anderson is sent on his 'mission'.