Alucard didn't bother to parry - just swerved to avoid a wide flat cut. Anderson turned on his heels and made another swing; his blessed blade sliced the air with a whispering sound, making the disturbed layers of fog swirl and dance. The vampire dodged the sword in another quick pirouette and made a short side step. Some ancient habitual automatics made him throw his hand forward at its full length. The point of the trophy blade reached the right wrist of its former owner and nosferatu's nostrils flared, feeling the smell of fresh blood. An injury of this kind would've made a common swordsfighter lose speed and aim in a matter of minutes. The regenerator growled, but at the next moment he bared his teeth in a grin again and leapt forward in another fierce onslaught. Alucard raised his blade and used that trick old Vesemir had taught him so long ago. "It's not that hard, my prince. Imagine I'm your enemy... What the hell is this stance? Are you going to fight or to dance around the Maypole?!... Yes, this will do. Now pretend you make a simple parry... Right, my boy, and now use the momentum and hook my sword with yours and force downward... Now turn your wrist like this and swing! See?" Alucard saw. He stepped back and watched a diagonal hole across priest's garbs, with ripped flesh gleaming in its depth... A hole in the defense lines...
...A breach. Turks were all over the place, swarming like insects. The valley was flooded with turbulent waters of two armies, pressing against each other. The vanguard of his troops was crumpling, broken into small knots of resistance... Suddenly he found himself amidst a yelling avalanche of Ottoman cavalry. Having dispatched some of the most enthusiastic opponents with scythe-like movements of his long blade, he tried to wheel his mount and shoulder a way towards the nearest cross-laden banner. Not much success. He was in constant motion, cutting, thrusting and parrying, but the banner of his troops wasn't closer... It seemed even farther. Something big came rushing to him from behind and he twisted in the saddle, preparing to strike cross-body, but instantly reconsidered.
"Just about time, old man!" - he shouted instead, beheading another enemy. Vesemir plunged forward in a flanking assault. His sword turned into a shimmering filigree of death, cleaning the space around them.
"Join the main forces, my prince! Hurry and stop them!"
"They retreat?"
"They fucking stampede! Ever since somebody yelled about you being killed - it's like a fire in a whorehouse back there! - spat the old knight, - Hurry! I'll follow!"
Vesemir leaned forward to strike, succeeded, but suddenly swayed in the saddle and heavily fell on the ground with a dagger in his neck...
...Iscariot's left hand jerked forward, sending a whole flock of daggers into the air. Alucard snapped out of his flashback, whirled his blade to block them and made a somersault back to avoid the next batch of blessed steel whistling in the air already. Having landed softly on a roof edge of a two storey building right above their duel grounds, he shook his head and looked at his own hand, still clenching Anderson's blessed blade. What had gotten into him? When this thing had been flying past him, he had snatched it and put it in use suddenly and without any thinking. Damn. The memories he had buried so deep - they kept coming tonight, bright and vivid. He tilted his head, listening. The sound of the car engine was subsiding in the distance, finally hauling his fledgling away to safety. Alucard crookedly grinned and cut the link, eradicating the tiny beacon of policewoman's consciousness in his mind. His grin transmuted into a brief irritated grimace, as he pulled a stray dagger out of his shoulder, weighed it on his left palm and flung it aside. There came a soft clank and the blade stuck three inches deep in the head of a stone cupid, decorating the corner of the roof. Blind eyes of the lobotomized statue gazed at the world with mute reproach. The vampire snorted and touched his stinging shoulder. Yes. The priest was fast... Magnificently fast. Actually, under other circumstances he would have applauded Anderson's performance. The speed of Holy Paladin's reactions was definitely unhuman, along with many other features. Still, their mad dance in the deserted street made him expose one doubtlessly human feature... Alucard listened keenly and was rewarded with a sound of heavy panting from the milky sea of fog. Heh. The nosferatu made the pupils of his eyes widen to the max to see through the wall of vapor and caught a heart-warming sight of the Iscariot, standing in the middle of the street, breathing heavily and looking around with frustrated air.
"Have you fled already, monster? - bellowed Anderson suddenly, - You coward! Come out and fight!"
The vampire kept silence, looking at his counterpart from mist and shadows, a sarcastic smirk slowly creeping on his face.
"Don't have your lousy guns with you tonight? Scared to fight with a proper weapon, you dog breath? Hah! Guns for a show, knives - for a pro!"
"Bah. I swear there's a village idiot missing somewhere..." - murmured Alucard. He bent his knees and softly jumped down from the roof.
"Pssst, dodo. - having landed a few yards away from his adversary, Alucard waved him with a blade. - Over here."
Anderson barked a gleeful bit of laughter and leapt forward, brandishing his blades. In the mid-jump he was stopped short with a round from the Jackal. The force of the impact made his body fold and hit the pavement.
Alucard lingered with a smoking gun in his hand and watched his enemy to muster himself from the ground.
"Nothing very flashy, but guns do the job."
Lights were turning on in the residential buildings all along the street. It was quite an unusual time for inhabitants of this respectable neighborhood to get out of their warm beds, but they were full awake. And very, very unnerved, to say the least. Gunfire in the street was bad enough, but fairly understandable. Shit happens, especially in a big city. But the other sounds, coming from outside... Something extremely strange was going on out there.
"...I'll punish thee with everlasting destruction! Thou will perish, for nothing can stop these blades, filled with shining greatness of the Blessing!"
"So, sooner or later the truth always shows up. You think that knives are a good idea just because they are big and fucking shiny, eh?"
Furious roar. Laughter. Clanks. Two gunshots. Police got five more sputtering phone calls from the showdown vicinity.
"You couldn't hit a house if you were shooting at it from the inside, bloodsucker! Hee-hee-hee!"
Somewhere under the damp blanket of fog a brow of the best operative of Hellsing organisation since 1898 twitched at this statement. Anderson and himself were circling around each other, keeping the distance between them at perhaps six or seven yards. The priest was cackling, but his eyes darted, calculating and wary, looking for an opening. Suddenly the green eyes narrowed. Oh well. Sometimes Anderson's facial expressions were even more transparent than policewoman's, and that was really something. The Iscariot leaped forward and lunged, his bayonet-like blade pointed right at the vampire's throat. However, at the same moment Alucard fired a round and the chest of the priest bloomed into a nightmarish rose. The priest swayed and almost fell, then regained his balance and slowly slumped into a kneeling position. Propping himself with one hand, he coughed blood and looked up at the vampire.
"That was brave. - observed the nosferatu, tilting his head and meeting Anderson's stare. - But, unfortunately, much more idiotic than absolutely necessary."
The crimson-stained lips of the Holy Paladin twisted in a crooked smirk.
Loud shuffling emerged from under his battered coat. Alucard recognized this noise at once, cursed and sprang back. A stream of pages with spell seals rushed out into the air. Spinning wildly, they formed something like ribbons, which darted forward at blinding speed. The vampire shot a round at the paper, but the next moment it wrapped around his arm and yanked it upward. Anderson laughed mockingly.
Alucard gritted his teeth. The second ribbon was closing rapidly, threatening to immobilize him. He slashed at it with the blade, still clenched in his palm. The measure seemed to be effective, so he freed his other hand from flimsies' grip. He blocked the advance of the spelled paper with a windmill of blessed steel, at the same moment being peripherally aware of movement at the background, evidence that the priest had regenerated his wound to the point of standing up. Anderson's movements were still stiff and awkward, but he picked his holy bayonets from the pavement and turned to Alucard. The vampire tried to shift his feet into a more comfortable stance, but something held them. He was ankle-deep in swarming bits and pieces of cut spell seals, nailing him to the spot and creeping up his feet.
"Exsurgat Deus et dissipentur inimici eius..."
Alucard cast a glance at the Jackal. All six rounds spent, the slide locked back on an empty clip.
"... et fugiant qui oderunt eum a facie eius."
The spell assault kept going, not leaving him a moment to reload the gun. The priest was striding forward, holding his blades clasped as a crucifix in front of his chest. The hideous wound on it shrunk to a small patch of skinless flesh.
"Sicut deficit fumus deficiant sicut fluit cera a facie ignis..."
Alucard thumbed the clip-release button on the Jackal, never stopping the constant screening motion with the blade. Step One. The dry magazine clattered on the pavement. Anderson was about fifteen yards away, serious and absorbed. Alucard's mind reached out, bending the laws of physics and bringing them to submission to his will. Step Two. A coat flap on his chest started twitching, as if a small bird got caught under the fabric.
"...Sic pereant peccatores a facie Dei!" - thundered the Holy Paladin and the razor-sharp crucifix fell apart, turning into two blades. Anderson swung them with his full force. In a second he would cleanse the face of Earth of this abomination... Right here. Right now...
"Amen!!!"
A full ammo clip finally found its way out of Alucard's inner pocket, leaped up and dove into the supply chamber of the black handgun. Step Three. He used his teeth to complete the final touch in the Jackal's reloading. The business end of the black handgun faced approaching Anderson. The priest roared and flung one of his blades.
Feeling a fiery thump in his side, Alucard pulled the trigger.
Bang! The explosive bullet knocked the Iscariot backward as though from a hard punch. Split-second later Alucard readjusted the shooting angle after recoil and fired again. The second slug caught the Holy Paladin under the chin and exploded the back of his head. A pink billow hovered over Anderson as a halo, not hurrying to get mixed with the fog. I wish Monet could have seen it... - came a sudden crazy thought, - Effet de brouillard, huh... You could've painted this right, Claude..
Shit. What's this, a night of recollections? He shouldn't have been exposed to the power of that damned plague pit so closely and so long. Sometimes its power seemed to play strange tricks with his mind... Alucard concentrated on the current state of affairs and leveled his weapon at the priest, but his adversary didn't ever twitch or move since he had slumped backward and down. Time was reluctantly slowing down to normal. Whatever force was holding the spell papers in the air seemed to disappear and they spiraled down, dancing their last waltz with gravity. They covered the still body on the pavement, two or three fell into the dark widening pool under Anderson's head. Their color immediately turned maple-red.
"Autumn has come..." - murmured Alucard lyrically and turned round at the sounds of rapid footfalls.
Maxwell was running to him, with an elderly man a few yards behind. What was his name? Ah yes, Buffonard. Having noticed the Hellsing trash-cleaner, this Walter's counterpart in many ways of the Iscariots organization slowed down and reached for something in his pajamas pocket. This peculiar 'something' was pulling his pajamas jacket down with two healthy pounds of steel.
Maxwell ran a few more yards and switched his gears into slower pace too. He furiously drilled the vampire with his eyes and craned his neck to get a better look at the scene. The sight of Anderson's body made him twist his lips in a painful grimace.
"What has happened here?" – croaked he.
"And what does it looks like to you? - the vampire raised his brows. - First Communion celebration?"
Iscariots' chief rewarded Alucard with a cremating glare and made a step forward. Buffonard's hand locked on his elbow.
"Please, calm down, Your Grace. We don't have time to start arguments, do we?"
Enrico closed his eyes, obviously swallowing some words itching the tip of his tongue. Finally he looked at the nosferatu again.
"Will you allow us to come closer and check Brother Alexander's state?" - he said. It looked like the words were being pulled out of his mouth with dental pliers.
Alucard smiled serenely and nodded.
"Be my guest."
Stepping aside from their way, he switched his attention to the blade in his side at last. Wow, it stuck deep. No wonder, Anderson had thrown it from the minimal distance... He got a better grip on the handle, all slippery with blood, and pulled. Holy crap! The thing got wedged into bone and wouldn't come out. Rocking it from side to side and preparing himself to the unpleasant side-effects of pulling a piece of blessed metal out of his rib, Alucard turned to watch the activities of the Iscariots. The priests were trying to turn their companion, a little at time, as subtly and carefully as they could. When they finally succeeded, the weak light of the remote streetlamp fell on the aftermath of the recent clash.
"Sancta Maria!" - whispered Buffonard. Enrico just drew a sharp intake of breath through his teeth. Curious, Alucard finally wrenched the blade free and moved closer. He surveyed the damage and whistled.
"His mighty cranium looks like the North Pole would have... after a collision with an asteroid. Pretty apocalyptic picture, eh?"
"Has your Master whacked you over the head with a pan too many times or your sense of humor is just genetically so sharp?" - hissed Maxwell poisonously, swiveling to the vampire. The unholy creature only presented him with a nasty grin.
"Now, now. No need to throw a tantrum and push your luck once again, Maxwell."
Alucard walked closer and stopped over the prostrate form of the Holy Paladin. His vigilant gaze didn't miss the faint but steady movement of the priest's chest. Miraculously, the man was still alive. Maxwell and Buffonard motioned forward, as if trying to shield their helpless colleague from the advancing nosferatu, but Alucard shouldered them aside and stooped to his former opponent.
"Well... Shall we call it a day, Judas Priest? You are obviously in no shape to continue. I can kill you right now... And you can't even raise your finger to flip me a farewell bird."
Generally, Alucard didn't expect a response. However, the eyeballs of the priest rolled slightly under the closed eyelids. Was he conscious already? Thrilled, the vampire furrowed his brow and repeated:
"Do you hear that, Anderson? You've lost again. It's inevitable. Good bye, Anderson."
All of a sudden the eyes of the Iscariots' best operative snapped open. He slowly sat up, supported by caring hands of his commanders, and planted a glassy unfocused gaze into Alucard's face.
"My name is... Neo." - he said. The next moment he almost fell face down, because the priests got distracted with an exchange of shocked stares and forgot to hold him upright.
"Eh. - remarked Alucard, looking at the throbbing crater on the top of Anderson's head, - Uh." For a moment he wondered if policewoman's eloquence - or rather lack of it - was contagious. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but continue in the same elaborate style.
"Whoops." - he observed.
Author's note: OK, here we go. No Seras in this chapter, sorry. I entertained myself with Weird Al vs. Weird Al fight sequence for a change. Guess, I'll write a few comments for some parts of the text. Most likely you know these things but I prefer to clear up possible misunderstandings. Here we go:
1. Dracula (a.k.a. Alucard backwards) was a prince of Valachia (Transylvania was a province of Valachia) and fought in many battles with Turks, who tried to gain control over his country and add its territory to their growing Ottoman empire. He lost his parents and elder brother rather early and was raised and taught into knighthood by an old noble. I don't know his name, so I just chose this name 'Vesemir' and got over it.
2. I've taken the date 1898 as a possible start point of Alucard's career in Hellsing from Dracula the movie. I don't remember if Hirano-sensei ever mentioned the exact date in the manga, but I believe there was some matching line with 'about a century ago' in it. Don't remember and too lazy to check.
3. Le Parlement, Effet de Brouillard a.k.a. Parliament, Effect of Fog is one of the most famous pictures by Claude Monet, French Impressionist. It was painted in 1904. I consider it as the most brilliant image of foggy weather in the history of Arts. I like fog, I like this picture, I like this artist, so I kind of bestowed this fondness upon one of my favorite characters. I don't know if it can be considered an acute fit of Mary Sue' ism or whatever this hideous disease is called. ;
4. 'Two healthy pounds of steel' would be a gun of a normal size (not Alucard's pocket artillery).