A/N: I've had somebody email me about what the deal with the black cat was and why the mercenary refered to religion as the religion of spiders. For those of you who didn't catch it, the cat was Kuroneko-sama and the Merc leader was Millions Knives. And to those of you who are going to say that the dogfight took to little time, most large scale dogfights take place in the space of a few mintues, with most of the kills taking place in the first sixty seconds.
Norman's speech is mostly taken from a book I was reading earlier today...it seemed to fit the whole philosophy angle, so I paraphrased it a bit.
I don't own jack...sadly....
Battlefield in Africa, World War I. The 181st Infantry battalion. The old service revolver cracked once, then clicked on an empty cylinder. He cracked the breech and knocked the empty shells out, reloading. He continued moving back, drag man for the last team out from the German advance. They hadn't reached his location yet, and those few German soldiers he had run across hadn't survived. He came across a hunched form wearing a British uniform. He knelt and was shocked to see the face of Norman, one of his closest friends in the group. He was deathly pale, a large spot of blood coating his abdomen. He looked up with eyes glazed in pain but still as bright as the day they had met.
"Norman," he said, gripping the man by the shoulders. "Can you walk?"
The dry wheeze of a laugh sickened his heart. "I doubt it, mate. Get out of here."
"I'm not leaving you again," he said, then froze. Again?
Indeed, for this was the ghosts of an earlier memory that he was reliving in his mind, no matter how real it seemed. The wheezing of Norman brought his attention back to the situation at hand. "Just leave me here, James. Go, if they come by here, I'll give a good accounting. Go!" He gave Hunter a weak shove.
"You'll die, Norman. I can get you out of here, to a medic."
"Everyone dies, James. It's only a question of where and how," he started coughing, blood on his lips.
James pulled several shells from his pockets and pressed them into his dying friend's hands. He knew that he wouldn't convince his friend otherwise. "Honor be with you, and angels sing you to your rest."
"Get going, you poet."
Hunter looked up, seeing the advancing German troops and took off, staying low. He heard the sharp crack of a British pistol firing several times, followed by the low snap of a German rifle. He kept running, feeling like he had betrayed his friend. "Norman," he whispered. Unbidden, a conversation they had about the nature of justice, death, and evil came back to his mind. Hunter had remarked on how it seemed evil that so many young men had died on both sides because someone decided that they wanted to take over the world. Norman and smiled and spoke words that rang true.
"Everyone dies. It is the final and only Justice that finds all it seeks. Evil exists; it is intelligence in the service of entropy. If the side of a mountain slides down to kill a town or village, this is not evil, for evil requires intent. Should a man cause this landslide; then there is evil and requires Justice as a consequence so that civilization can exist. It shows that there are consequences for violating the basic tenants of Life. There is no greater good then Justice, and only if law serves Justice is it good law. It is correctly said that law exists not for the just, but for the unjust; for the just carry the law in their hearts and do not need to call it from afar."
As he ran, he kept thinking that justice seemed so often to abandon those who truly deserved it.
Integra watched as two guards talked idly by the door. They were lax, their rifles up against the wall behind them as they threw playing cards down in some game or another. The sidearms were both as good as kilometers away from their hands as slouched as they were in the rickety wooden chairs.
But the two might as well have been a thousand for all the good it did her. They were in the middle of the hall leading to the door. A hall that was perfectly straight with no places for her to hide while moving up to them. They would see her in an instant and be armed the heartbeat after that.
She eased back into the alcove she had sequestered herself, no longer caring about the grime on her suit and the cobwebs in her hair. Escape was her primary thought now. She was so close, she knew that if she could get to that door, she could get away.
So close, she thought. She shut her eyes, and it hit her. She had climbed two flights of stairs, and she had yet to see a Writ since leaving her cell. She shouted as loud as she could in her mind.
ALUCARD!
At that moment, there was a scrabbling sound at the table, and she peeked out. One of the guards was backing away towards her quickly, hand at his side for his pistol but forgetting about the snap down, hauling the pistol up but not freeing it from the holster. As he took another few steps, Integra saw what had frightened this man to the point of unthinking flight.
His partner was hanging in the air, held aloft by a white gloved hand. Beyond that hand were two red eyes, blazing with fury. The form eased out of the shadows some more, revealing a gaping maw of needle sharp teeth. The upheld guard was suddenly in two pieces, both of them hitting the walls with a wet ppplopp and sliding to the ground. Alucard began to advance towards the retreating guard when he bumped into Integra from behind, turning slowly to see what it was he hit, as though he was afraid to look.
All he saw was her fist shooting out and catching him square in the jaw. He went down like a sack of bricks. She appropriated his pistol and ammunition.
"You're late," she said to Alucard as though it was a tea engagement, not her rescue.
He shrugged. "Traffic has been horrendous." He reached out and fingered her hair, the cobwebs in her tresses. "The new look is most becoming."
She slapped his hand away, and then stepped forward, scanning the hall. No one coming, good. She turned back. "Get us out of here," she said. "I have no wish to remain the guest of this madman any longer." Alucard took her by the arm and started walking towards a wall, only to bump up against it. He slid his hand across it, a puzzled look on his face. He frowned. "The sun is rising," he looked at her. "We're going to have to do this the old fashioned way, I guess."
Before she could ask what he meant, he had kicked the door in, both guns pulled out. He strode through the hallway, guns held out, scanning the empty hall with his eyes. Integra followed him, the captured Mauser pistol held firmly in her hand. They reached the opposite end and pulled open the door, seeing a long corridor with a pair of lifts at the end.
"I don't like this," growled Integra. "Where are the guards?"
Alucard merely laughed. "We won't be using the lifts, Master."
She looked at him in surprise. "Then what will we be using, with your powers fading? Or is your mind going along with your powers?"
He tucked his pistols away, and theatrically cocked a wrist, a finger extended straight up.
At an air vent.
She looked at him. "I'm not fourteen anymore."
"It's the only place that they wouldn't look for you at the start. And it would undoubtedly give you time to rest and time for us to wait for sundown." He looked at her, eyebrow raised. "Or is it that you don't want to get dirty with whatever filth that happens to be in the shafts?"
She glared, but gestured for him to pull the shaft open. He pulled the grate off, then boosted her in. She hooked her hands on the lip of the horizontal duct and pulled herself in, just as she had those years ago. She heard the grate being placed back in its seating and was about to call out to him when a fog seeped in and coalesced into her servant. The duct was large enough for them to move through it side by side. They moved a short ways away from the access point, reaching a large junction point large enough for them to sit straight up against the wall.
Integra leaned her back against the wall of the duct. The fatigue of the last day or so was catching up with her. She ached from lack of sleep and her stomach rumbled with hunger. She should have grabbed something from that tray her guard had brought, but she didn't want to give anyone the chance of catching her before she had made good her escape.
Alucard looked at her, the cobwebs in her hair and the grime on her clothes. He reflected that he must have looked much the same when he approached her in the dungeon. A strange feeling burbled up inside of him like air released from a spring. It was more than the loyalty that he held for her, as his master, or the respect that he had for her as a warrior.
It spread a slight warmth through his insides, a warmth he had not felt since a woman long ago in Walachia, when he had still been human.
He shook his head, dismissing the idea. She was his master and a Hellsing besides. They could be friends, but the idea he was entertaining would surely get him thrown back in that cell where he had rotted for twenty years.
But it would be so nice, after so long, he thought.
One thing that he would never admit, not to Integra, not to Walter, and not even to himself at times, was that there were fierce emotions at play in his heart.
Which was not to say that they would not have anyway. Vampires had the same capacity for emotion as humans. It was just that he didn't want to admit this one even to himself.
He was beginning to feel the press of loneliness.
It was one of the reasons that immortality was seen as a curse. To watch friends grow old and die, and their children, and their grandchildren. It was a nightmare that they could not wake from. And in the end, those that still had hearts insulated themselves against feeling that pain, acting aloof and slightly insane as he did or locking themselves away as Helena had done. But the reason was the same. It kept people at bay.
They had no wish to be hurt, a hurt that would not fade with time as physical wounds. Pain that due to the increased clarity and capacity for recall of their minds would echo for their enitre lives. And after a while, they could even convince themselves that they no longer cared.
But it was just that: a lie to themselves.
Perhaps that was why he had turned the Police Girl. True, he had seen the fire and the iron will that would be a boon to the Hellsing Organization, but above that, she would be a comrade that wouldn't fade through the years.
Meanwhile, Integra felt sleep dragging at her eyelids, pulling her head. She found herself leaning on Alucard's shoulder, her head resting comfortably on its slope. She started drifting when she realized what she was doing. She sat up, apologizing.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have intruded."
He snapped out of his reverie, realizing what she had said. He smiled, one of the few genuine smiles that he gave. "It's alright. You are exhausted. If it would help you sleep, then lean against me."
She leaned against him, and he slid his arm around her shoulders to make it more comfortable for both of them. She settled in against his chest, warm despite his undead body. She felt safe, as she had back on that day when she had shot her uncle, his arms wrapping around her as she cried, seeking solace from the only person available. She draped an arm around his waist and felt his arm settle across her body. "Alucard," she began.
"Shh, sleep. You need your rest."
She tilted her head up, looking at his face. His eyes were distant, his mind elsewhere. "Alucard, I..." she trailed off. He looked down, bringing his face nose to nose with hers.
"Yes?" His breath held a metallic tang. The iron in the blood he drinks, she thought.
"Thank you for coming," she said, her voice quiet.
He smiled, another genuine smile. "As my Master called, so I came. The employment prospects for a fifteen hundred year old vampire aren't good."
She smiled, but was unable to move her face from where it was, so close to his. She could smell him, the strange mustiness, like that of old books or a jacket hung in a closet for years, a hint of gunpowder. Power, and loyalty, and safety. She didn't know how, but she could smell those in him.
He looked at her, seeing at once the face of the young teenager that had released him, the face of the older teen that had asked him to escort her to a formal dance, and the face that was now looking at him. All the polite bickering they had through the years flashed between them, the taunting he had offered and the cold responses she had hurled back. He felt his face dip a bit closer, his nose brushing against hers.
Her thoughts were also on the taunts and the tricks he had played on her. Just her, for her father's journals had never mentioned such insubordination, nor did anyone else in the mansion except Seras Victoria. Why just me?
She felt his nose against hers, and looked into his eyes, seeing the deep crimson that filled the orbs completely. No, not completely. There are still traces of brown in them.
She leaned forward, and kissed him, her eyes falling shut as she did so.
Seras phased back into being, releasing her hold on Buffy. The woman stumbled, doubled over. "I think I'm going to be sick," she said.
"Sorry about that," Seras offered. She had forgotten some humans were disoriented by traveling through shadows. She turned back to the two vampires she had brought first. "How does it look?" she asked.
Spike turned to her. "There are three guards, one patrolling at ten minute intervals and two at the gate. Armed with rifles, sabers, and pistols. Nothing major."
Angel crouched down next to them. "No cameras, not that it would register our presence anyway, but there could be other countermeasures."
She nodded, and Spike spoke again. "So, let me get this straight, love. You want us," he said, flicking his thumb back and forth between him and Angel. "To go down and draw the attentions of those three and whatever other guards - who are trained to kill our kind, mind you - there are so that you can go and talk to some souped-up vampire hunter-killer and bring him back out, at which point we'll all go merrily on our ways, is that right?"
She nodded, knowing how stupid it sounded. But the man inside that compound was the only link they had to this whole thing thus far. She had to talk to him. "That about sums it up," she said.
"Well, then, what are we waiting for?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "Not the first time we've gone toe to toe with slayers, is it Angel?"
He smiled ruefully. "No, though those times the prospects were a bit more enjoyable," he said, glancing at Buffy, who would be watching Seras' back while she did the scout work. She reached out and shoved the dark haired man. "Suck up," she said.
Spike pursed his lips in a smirk. "I have to agree with him, lamb. The slayers we faced, you included, were much more of a joy to look at. Even throwing Faith into the mix, it was a delight each time we faced off with one."
Seras decided that there was a lot she didn't know, but as the third guard rounded the corner away from them, she nodded towards the small compound. "Time to go, people." She pulled out her Socom and flicked the safety off.
Spike and Angel both smiled, their faces altering, eyebrows disappearing as their foreheads ridged over. Their eyes went yellow and fangs grew. They looked more like predators than men. She shivered at the look. The two men hopped the low hedge and headed up to the compound, faces low, hands in pockets. Seras and Buffy followed close behind. As they neared the gate, the two guards stepped up, one saying "Excuse me, you can't be here."
Angel replied. "I'm sorry, we just wanted to ask for directions." He still kept his face down.
The guard frowned. "Directions for what?"
Angel brought his fanged visage up to meet the guards eyes. "On the fastest way into your heart. Would it be straight through the chest, or is it truly through the stomach?"
The guards stumbled back as both vampires leapt forward, punching and kicking. Seras ran up to the door and kicked it in. Two men inside jumped from their tables, surprised she knocked one back with a blow, and she saw Buffy holding her own with the other. As both of their opponents slid to the floor, they were already down the hall, eyes and ears alert for any sign of guards. They came up to a door, and Seras slid it open. Inside was a small medical ward. She and Buffy slid in, closing the door behind them.
There was only one bed occupied, it's patient a large man. He had his arms crossed over his chest as though holding something precious to his chest. Seras stepped up and looked at him. His arms were muscled and unscarred, but they weren't as dark as the skin of his chest, as though they were younger. She put the Socom to the temple of the man and said some rather simple words.
"Get up, Anderson. We need your help."
Amon and Robin sat by the couch Hunter rested on. They had been watching him for well over seven hours now. Walter had gone to administer the hunting orders for the parties in the field. There was no change in the Dhampir hunter's condition. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse, with him mumbling words that made no sense to them.
Walter returned. "Has Alucard not returned yet?"
Amon shook his head. "No, nor has Seras." He looked down at the pages he written while talking to the Watcher, Giles. "I hope they get back soon though. This is very bad news and I don't like the way it is shaping up."
Robin turned to him after laying the redampened towel on her charge's forehead. "What is the Devil's Hand?" she asked.
"According to this, it allows a person to draw the life essence of anyone and absorb their powers, like a leach drawing blood. So far, any attempts at calling this power have resulted in the deaths of those performing the rituals. However,"
Walter spoke up. "All of those people had been mortal."
"Yes. It's speculated that if a vampire were to undergo the ritual, he might well survive, since he is technically dead already." He looked down at the pages of notes. "According to this, the blood of a noble born warrior and the blood of a willing sacrifice must be poured onto a seal drawn in consecrated dust as the moon passes through the house of Mars. Which," he said, looking up. "Is in five days now."
"Noble blood," mused Robin. "That's why they took Sir Integra. But what about the willing sacrifice?"
Walter paled. "That's why they did it so brazenly. They wanted to rile Alucard up, get him in a frothing rage."
Amon looked at him. "Why do that? I'm sure that there are other ways to get a willing sacrifice that doesn't involve possible suicide."
"No, don't you see?" he said. "Alucard will do anything on behalf of this organization, and has placed his life in dangerous situations time and again. To save Sir Integra, he would sacrifice his life if required. They intended to use them both in the ritual."
He looked out at the waning night. "And now both of them are there, in the grip of that monster."
Integra delighted at the feel of his lips. Like his body, they were surprisingly warm. He just sat there for a moment, then eased into the kiss. His arm held her close and she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. They sat like that, locked in that embrace for time indeterminate, and then she pulled back, just enough to look in his eyes. They had both shifted slightly, pulling closer together.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking down. "I..."
He placed his hand under her chin and brought her face around to his again. She thought he was going to say something but he instead placed his lips on hers again. She reveled in it, the taste of his lips, of his breath. His hand slid across her face and threaded into her hair, cradling her head in his large palm gently. She had seen him crack skulls like eggs with his hands, but she felt no danger, only a warm safety, and a feeling of belonging.
She closed her eyes again, breathing in his scent. Some small part of her screamed at this, that she had no right consorting with a vampire like this, but the majority of her sang as she returned the kiss. Her blood raced in her ears, her heart beating against her chest. His lips moved away from her lips, across her cheek to her neck and she gave a groan of displeasure at the breaking of contact. There was a slight pain at her neck, and she pulled back, only to see him bite his own wrist, bringing blood to the surface. He held his wrist out. "Mix your blood with mine," he said, no longer in the taunting, singsong way he had through the years. "It will give you strength, more endurance for a short while. The effects of mixing this small amount would be temporary only." His eyes held an earnestness that she had never seen before.
Moved by some force she couldn't explain, she moved his wrist up to the small punctures on her neck, and felt their blood mingle. She felt a surge of strength flow through her, and her senses grew as well. The smells, sounds, and sights were more evident, as was the slight motions of the tendons in Alucard's arm. She felt the blood at her neck flowing, could sense the change in her. He took his arm away, licking the wound and then her neck. They healed over, sealing. She looked at him, knowing now why he walked with that confident step. He had this feeling all the time.
He leaned back against the wall of the duct. He pulled her in to his side, cradling her in his arms. "Sleep, Integra. You need your rest. You will heal and regain your strength faster now." She nodded, resting her head against his chest.
He caught himself stroking her hair and forced himself to stop. "No," she murmured, sleepily. "I don't mind." She was thinking of Hiromi, who would stroke her hair just as he had been.
Just as her mother had, in what few memories she had of her.
He smiled down at her. "As you wish,"
Later, as she lay sleeping in his arms, he considered his options. When the sun set, he could get her out and home. But what of the bastard that had done this? He had to be dealt with.
But it was Hunter's father. He could smell the familiar scent in the halls. It wasn't his place to deal with the monster, as much as he would like to. This was a battle destined for the half-breed, and only one of them would walk away from it. He could keep others from interfering, but ultimately, the fight would be between Hunter and his Sire. Destiny and Nature would allow no other pairing. It was the law of his world.
A part of his mind told him to stop analyzing everything and just enjoy this feeling, of the sleeping Master of Hellsing cradled in his arms.
He was struck by the contrast. She was so strong and so powerful when awake, equally comfortable on the shooting range or at the head of a briefing table. She brooked no defiance from those in her command or those opposing her. She had seemed an unstoppable force, much like himself.
Yet at this moment, her face was like that of the young girl that had released him, so innocent, the cares of the world wiped from her face. She had a slight smile on her face, a contented look as she shifted in his arms.
He would kill anyone who dared to harm this woman. He wondered at the strength of his conviction. Surely, anyone who dared harm his Master deserved what fate they called down on them, but he had never felt this strongly about it with any of the previous members he had served. It brought that feeling back up.
Love. Love fueled by the respect that she had earned through her actions as the leader of Hellsing. Love fueled by the bond that they had shared, more than the one that had linked him with her father. Love fueled by the admiration of her spirit, the indomitable will that she carried.
He was still stroking her hair, though she could not feel it. Something about it eased the small spot of pain in the back of his heart. A part that he had thought had died long ago. The part that had felt the need to be wanted, to be respected like any other person.
His humanity.
"Damn it," he said. He so enjoyed being a monster. This would complicate things.
The man's eyes shot open and took in the view of the red orbs that were narrowed at him. He sat up slowly, watching her back away to keep him from grabbing the weapon.
"What d'ye want, wretched beast?" he growled. He was still weak from having to regrow his arms. He didn't think he would be up for a long fight, even against the whelp. But something in her had changed, become tempered. He knew that this was not the easiest place to walk into, but she had done so.
"We've got to stop that vampire from invoking whatever it is he's going to bring up." She looked at him. "We worked together to deal with that group of Nazi's in South America. Can you handle working with us one more time?"
He snorted. "I barely tolerated that time," he said. "Clean up yer own mess, she-devil."
She narrowed her eyes even more. She shot him four times point blank. He flew off the gurney, slamming into the wall. Buffy spun at the sound.
Anderson stood, the bullet wounds healing over. Buffy shook her head. "Those things," she said, pointing at the gun. "Never helpful."
Seras strode up to the regenerator and slammed her fist in his face, driving him against the wall. As he recovered, she gripped him by the throat and snarled at him, her fangs bared.
"Look, you misguided son of a bitch," she snapped. "I can never forgive you for killing Captain Gareth, for the soldiers that I trained that you murdered. I will never forgive you for stabbing me that night in the hospital. But I will work with you if it means that no more of my friends have to die. I'm tired of loosing people I care about in this damned war." Her mind flashed back on them: Fargason, Gareth, Pickman.
Pip.
"Ye brazen urk!" His voice cut off as she clamped down on his throat.
"I'm not finished," she said, her voice sliding down into icy tones. "I don't like you and you don't like me. That's dandy. But we have a common enemy in this, and he's trying to bring something into this world that will be a hundred times worse than any vampire. And you can be damned sure that if he succeeds it will be impossible to stop him then."
She was mad, madder than she had been in memory. Her Master taken prisoner, men she had trained killed by this bastard as a diversion, and Hunter, whom she felt something for, lying in a coma. All because of some vampire that had manipulated them, all because he wanted more power. She was tired of it all. She brought the Socom up and put it right over his left eye.
"Now I am not above blowing your skull apart a few times to get you to cooperate, but I'd rather not waste the bullets." She shoved him against the wall, his head ringing on the metal sheets. She stepped back, the dark material of her tunic and jeans making her blend into the shadows somewhat.
Anderson fought against the lightheadedness and pain in the back of his head. For the first time since he had seen her here, he had actually wondered if he had pushed things too far. He wasn't at full strength, and this she-vampire seemed perfectly willing to rip him to shreds. She wasn't the weak, pitiful thing he had stabbed those few years ago.
And he had to admit that she had a point. That bastard, Erik Valar, had made a fool of him, and he wanted to get back at him. It seemed that this would be the fastest way to do so.
Seras had started to squeeze the trigger on her pistol again when he looked up and said, in a voice so quiet that she almost didn't hear him. "Alright,"
She lowered her pistol. "You'll work with us, not against us?"
He looked at her, squinting over the rim of his glasses. "I'm not working with you. It just happens that we have the same target and will be going against him at the same time." He knew that Maxwell would have his hide if he thought that he was working with Hellsing. Maxwell knew exactly how to harm him in a way that would leave scars.
Seras thought it over for a while, then nodded. Her eyes didn't soften though. "How do I contact you to let you know when we move in?"
He stood, towering over her and was mildly surprised when she didn't flinch or back down. "I'll be at the bluffs overlooking the Red Sea for three days. I go there often after regenerating to pray and purify myself. Ye'll find me there," he flicked his hand at her, a dismissal. "Now go."
She looked at him. She hated having to bring him into this, but she knew that they would need whatever aid that he would bring, just as he had against Das Millennium three years ago.
"Don't think that I'll forget Gareth, Marsten, Reeks, Orlando, Gates, Niles, Nicks, or the others you've killed," she said, stepping up and shoving her pistol against his jaw. "When this is over, I won't hold any compunction about shooting you or trying to kill you."
"Nor I," he said coldly. "Ye."
"As touching as this is," Buffy interrupted. "But I think we need to get going before the party of four becomes a party of two and the ladies are stuck with the bill."
Seras glared at Anderson for a few moments more, then walked away, her back to the priest. She knew that at any moment he could conjure one of those blades and strike her down, but she was determined to show some trust.
Plus, if he threw it, she was mad enough to dodge it and rip him apart bare handed. And revel in his screams as she did it.
It seems that the monster in her was growing. Now to insure that she didn't become a monster.
"Let's get Angel and Spike and get the hell out of here," she said, shoving her Socom into its pocket and pulling out the Gravedigger. She stepped out of the building and shot the blade of a sword that was sailing in towards Spike's neck, shattering the weapon. She fired four more times, similarly disarming the other men. "Time to go, gentlemen," she said. Angel and Spike headed up the hill with Buffy as she brought up the rear, her pistol trained on the men.
As she took them one at a time back to LA, she had to wonder at this new level of discipline she had showed. Maybe she was coming into her full inheritance as one of Alucard's fledglings.
She stepped out of the shadows, her hand clamped on Buffy's arm and looked around. It was the boardroom where she had drafted the three people.
"Ooorrfff," said Buffy, falling to her knees by a trashcan.
"I told you not to get the nachos at the game, pet." said Spike as she vomited into the small container. "They're never done enough."
Erik Valar stood calmly as the men reported their findings. Integra Hellsing had slipped from her cell, and two guards had been found dead so far, one in the cell, the other at the door leading to the exit lifts. The guard that had survived reported seeing a massive monster rip into his partner. That could only be Alucard.
He trembled in rage at the incompetence of these fools. He had four days until the ritual had to be started, and five until it had to be completed if he was to bring the Devil's Hand into his body. He would not let these bumbling idiots foul up his plans. He reached out and grabbed the man that was apologizing and twisted his head around 180 degrees and then wrenched it off, letting his body drop to the stone floors.
"Find them!" he yelled at the remaining underlings. As they scrabbled out of the room, he shouted out again. "And clean this up, he's getting blood all over the stonework!"
He could have lapped up the blood, but it smelled tainted. He did have standards, after all.
He stalked up to his throne and sat there, contemplating the head in his hands. "Alas, poor Yorick," he said to himself. "I knew him, Horatio." He hurled the head down to the body on the floor and stared into space.
For this, Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing would die a most painful death, while Alucard looked on.
He would not be made a fool in his own domain.
Peking, China, 1901. He sat in a simple pair of togs and had a Cheongsam on over it. He sat in a room filled with incense. A small Chinese man sat across from him, mirroring his lotus position. "How do I achieve peace in my heart?" he asked in Chinese.
The man smiled a gentle smile, a picked up the small teacup beside him and drank from it. "Anger is the fire in one's mind that burns away all of one's virtuous deeds. It must, therefore," he turned his brown eyes on Hunter. "Be entirely surrendered. You must give up your anger, your hate, your rage."
Hunter looked down at his lap in acknowledgement. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, seeing that Master Kim had stood and strode over to him. "And in time, you must give up your guilt, your shame, and your self doubt. Only then," he said, striding away. "Will you be at peace with yourself."
Hunter sat there, contemplating what he had been told. It was sensible, by the teachings that he had learned at the temple. But Master Kim had no knowledge of the deeds he had done in the past, the deeds that he had witnessed, the people he had failed to help.
Maybe that was the lesson, the message. That he can't help everyone, that he should accept that he couldn't save all the people he set out to help. It was a bitter pill, to be sure, but as he meditated over it, it seemed to soothe some of his doubts.
He was then standing in a large room, dug out of some subterranean cavern. Alucard and Integra were chained to the walls, both insensate. There were sounds of fighting, and he saw Seras, Amon, and Walter battling against a series of men and ghouls. Robin stood at a large arch, keeping reinforcements at bay with a wall of flame. The mad paladin was in the center of the room, facing a man in a dark suit, his long hair tied back with a braided black cord. Suddenly, the priest crumpled, and the man grabbed him by the back of the head and flung him away. Hunter's eyes locked with that of the man, and though he had never seen him before, he knew who it was.
"Father," he said calmly.
"Hello, Robin. It's been a long time."
"I no longer go by that name. Robin Valar died with his sister that night in England."
His father shrugged. "A shame, then. He had such potential for greatness."
"For evil, you mean."
"What is evil, son?" They circled warily. "A perceived wrongdoing against a person or people. A misguided idea of the proper way to behave, a human concept. We," he said, waving his hand back and forth, indicating him and Hunter. "We are above such concepts. We bow to no one."
"You're wrong, Father."
"Oh, would you care to enlighten me, young one?"
"I may bow to no one," he said, stepping close to his father. He felt his fangs growing, his eyes shifting, nails growing. "But I give my service to a cause that you will never understand."
Erik Valar sneered. "And what would that be? Truth? Justice? Some concept you learned hiding in the Orient?"
"No," he said, sliding into an attack stance. "Life, and the defense of it. For every life I defend, I am enriched in some way. I am more of a man than you, with all your centuries could hope to be."
He struck, fists blurring, striking the man that could only lightly be called his father.
His fist struck, the blow jarring up his arm.
And waking.
Robin had just dipped the towel in the washbasin and was just touching it to Hunter's forehead when his eyes snapped open and he sat up like a man waking from a nightmare. He looked around and took in his surroundings. His eyes narrowed.
"Where are Seras and Alucard?" he asked.
Amon slid forward. "Alucard went to get Integra a few hours ago. We think he may have gotten captured or trapped by the sun. Seras left to find out what she could on the Devil's Hand and to get some help."
Walter held out a large glass of water which Hunter downed greedily. "Walter, get my bag, please."
He took his bag from the butler and rummaged through it for a second. Robin tried to push him back into the couch but he resisted. He pulled out a pendant on a chain. It was three interlocked ovals, a triquertra. It had been his sister's. He hadn't worn it since leaving Norman in the trenches. If anything, the hallucinations had shown him that life followed a set of rules all it's own. It reminded him of why he fought this fight.
Seras phased back into the room. "I got us some backup," she began, then saw Hunter sitting up, staring at the pendant. "James," she said, rushing forward and hugging him. "When did he wake up?" she asked.
"Just now," Robin said, sliding the basin and towel out of the way so that Seras could settle comfortably on the couch.
"What's that?" Seras asked, looking at the pendant.
"It was my sisters. I took it when I left. I've never been without it, though at times I haven't felt worthy of wearing it. It symbolizes the trinity of things. Birth, Life, and Death. Father, Son, Holy Ghost. Life, Death, and Ressurection. What have you." He slipped it around his neck, standing. He looked at the people assembled.
"It's begun," he said.
He stood on the roof of the Hellsing manor later that morning. His jacket flapped slightly in the breeze as he crouched down on one of the parapet-like outcroppings. He gazed out at the Thames and reflected back on the dreams.
"Father," he said. "I'm coming to get what's mine."
As the sun rose, he stepped down and phased back into the manor. He looked for Seras Victoria, hoping to catch her before she turned in for the day. She sat on the edge of her bed, pulling off her boots. She looked up as he walked in. "You asked to see me?" he said.
"Will you really have to fight your father?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.
He nodded. "It's the way of what I am."
"And if you win, you get the chance to be human again? Normal?"
"Yes."
"Will you do it?" she asked, her voice very quiet.
He looked around her room. She had put landscape paintings in the alcoves where windows had been. A large mirror stood in one corner, an oak chest of drawers next to an old couch. His eyes scanned the books on her shelf. He noted a volume of Frost on the second shelf.
"And I, I took the road less travelled by," he said quietly. "And that has made all the difference."
He turned back to her. "I don't know. I haven't been human for well nigh six hundred years now. I'm not sure how well I would take to it."
He had heard the quiet question in her question, sensed the trepidation with which she asked it. She had left off 'and leave us, leave me?"
He turned to her, and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his, looking in her eyes. "I can promise you this much. I am walking out of this alive and under my own power. Count on it."
Moved by some instinct, he pulled off his sister's pendant and set it in her lap. She looked at it in confusion.
"I won't leave that behind." he said. "You hold on to that, and I'll come back for it."
She ran her fingers along the interlaced lines of the Celtic symbol. She looked up to ask him a question.
He was already gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
She fell back on her bed, closing the lid. As she tried to drift off to sleep, she reflected on how things had changed since he had come into her life. Alucard and Integra had seemed more at ease, and she had doubts put to rest, allowing her to grow in her abilities.
As she dropped into dreams, she thought idly I hope he stays. He would keep things interesting around here. It's been dull since Pip died. And other things,
But she was asleep before she could ponder what those other things were.
A/N: Anyone really good at art? I got an urge to see some of these scenes drawn out but I can't do anything more than stick figures...