A/N: A lot of flashbacks and setup for the last four chapters. Hunter's past comes to the front and the groups begin to gather for the final confrontation.
Then
A voice woke him, a voice that shouldn't have been inside his private quarters.
"Wake up, Prefect Vasquez. We have things to discuss, you and I."
He sat up, his large bulk rippling as he looked about. He spotted the man sitting in the chair by his desk. He was dressed in a dark cloak that disguised all but his head. Brown hair framed a slender face with piercing grey-blue eyes. His body, while broad, was not overly large. He sat with his booted legs crossed, as though the Prefect were in his office, not the other way around.
"Who are you, and how did you get in past my guards?" the portly man demanded.
"I am not without my methods of eluding detection. And before you think about calling for your guards," his hand appeared from beneath his cloak, gripping a small crossbow, quarrel already fitted and drawn. "I assure you that you would be dead before your call was completed. As for my name, you would know me as the Asesino de los asesinos."
The man on the bed paled, and a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. "What are you doing here, assassin?"
"There is a small matter of the four men and women you had executed for heresy a fortnight ago. Their families contacted me."
"I am within my rights as the Prefect of this area to execute those who go against the Holy Doctrine as they did. They..."
"They stole food from the coffers of the church to feed their children!" exploded the cloaked man, rising. He wasn't tall, but the effect was intimidating. "Has your time in this house made you blind to the suffering of those less fortunate?"
"They went against a city edict, they knew their fate."
"As you should know yours. You are going to die tonight. By my hand."
"They say you are an honorable man, why would you kill me for this? Did they pay you well? Is your soul so cheaply bought?"
"My soul," the man started to laugh. "If I have a soul, it was damned the day I was born."
He leveled the crossbow. "This quarrel has been dipped in Triassis sap. I assume you know what that means."
Vasquez shook his head. He was a bureaucrat, not a soldier or assassin.
"It is a potent poison. As it works its way through your blood, you will start to find it difficult to breathe. You will die slowly, from asphyxiation. As those men and women did when you ordered them to hang." He raised the weapon a touch higher. "Have you any last words before I send you to Hell?"
"For the love of God, don't do this! If I am to burn in Hell for the deaths of those people, then you will surely burn with me, you have to see that. This is not right!"
"I never said it was right. This is justice for those that received none at your hands. As for Hell," he shrugged. "It'll be a long time before Beelzebub comes for me. It's been a century and then some already, so what's a little more? You will see him soon, however."
"For the love of God, please!"
"The love of God? If you had given any thought as to God's love prior to that day we would not be in this situation." He lofted something at the man. He looked down and saw two gold coins in his lap. He looked up, fear in his eyes.
"When the Raftman comes, use those to pay your way across the Styx. Goodbye, Prefect Vasquez." He fired, catching the man in the shoulder just above the heart. He turned, not bothering to watch as the poison started to take effect. He walked to the window and looked out, seeing the moon low in its orbit. He glanced back, seeing the shade of purple the man had started turning. He turned away again and phased out of the room.
He had little love for the Catholics after the Inquisition. After they had taken her from him.
Robin Valar headed for his next appointment.
Now
He rarely slept. It was a side effect of his dual nature. When he did, it tended to be dreamless, and of short duration. But when he did dream, they were vivid.
He stood in a field, his hand gripped within the hand of a young woman. He looked at her, her dark brown hair and dark skin tone were some of the very things that had drawn him to her. She was part Gypsy, if he wasn't mistaken. She had an air of light heartedness and joy that made it hard not to feel upbeat in her presence.
The sky turned dark, clouding over as lightning flashed. She was ripped from his grasp by men in voluminous red cloaks and skull caps. He recognized Pope Sixtus, Archdeacon Martinez, Bishop Faugno, and the first General Inquisitor, Thomas de Torquemada. He struggled to hold on, but was thrust backwards. He landed on a table.
He was tied down, all but his left forearm. There was a hissing sound, and looking up, he saw a large blade swinging from side to side, huge arcs that brought it lower with each traverse. He struggled against his bonds, but could not gain freedom. The blade hissed and swung lower, lower still, slicing into his doublet, then into the flesh of his chest, traveling back for another pass that would surely disembowel him. The blade glinted in the light as he gave a mighty effort to sit up and...
Wound up nearly throwing himself from the bed he had been given in the Hellsing manor. He was soaked in sweat, as were the sheets and the clothes he wore. The blanket was wrapped in his legs as though he had been running in his sleep. He felt hands on his shoulders, and dimly, the voice of Seras Victoria came to his ears.
"James! What is it?"
He looked around, trying to separate memory from what was in front of him. Walter was also in the room, his wizened face concerned. He scrubbed his hands across his face, feeling the slight growth of stubble that had grown over the day and evening since the ball. This was now, this was real, not the dream of that horrid time in the Inquisition. He remembered the feel of the iron blade slicing into his flesh, passing out from the pain, and waking later on a pile of bodies headed for a mass grave. He had slipped off the wagon and slid into the woods. He later received word that Miranda had also been sentenced to death by the Inquisition.
And then there had been that five year time where he had put his conscience aside to avenge her and those wronged by that horrid event.
Walter held out a glass of water, which he took and gulped it down, beads of water escaping from the sides of his mouth and trickling down the sides of his face. He swiped at the sweat that ran into his eyes, fighting against the stinging sensation.
He reached up and grabbed Seras' hand, squeezing it to reassure her that he was alright. But was he really? His heart was still racing from the sheer terror that he had felt, the echo of the fear he had felt back at the time. He looked up at his friends, the people that had come to mean so much to him, and thought of the others that he had around the world and in the past.
He felt the stab of guilt again as he thought about those five years, how far from the right he had traveled. He had come to grips with it, but he still hated the idea of the violence he had wrought across Europe. Nineteen deaths in all, out of spite and revenge.
Seras had come to grips with shooting the man she loved and telling him had helped with that healing.
But could he tell her what he had done and hope for similar healing?
"I'm ok, I just had a bad dream." He shooed the both of them back from him. "I'm ok, really."
Walter nodded and left. Bless the man, he knew enough that he could read between the lines. Seras sat on the bed, her eyes still betraying a bit of concern. He arched an eyebrow at her. "Yes?" he said, he normal voice and smirk already forming over his features.
"Do you have bad dreams often?" she asked.
"Not really. I usually don't dream. When I do, they get pretty graphic, and I've had things done to me and seen things done to others that just drawing from my memory would make a whole lot of horror movies." He tilted his head a bit towards her. "So what is with the concern?" he asked, sensing something deeper in play.
"It's just that, well," she looked down, her cheeks pinking slightly. "You kind of shouted Miranda mentally before you started speaking aloud." She looked at him, mirroring his look. "Who was Miranda?"
He ran his hand back through his matted hair. "Miranda was a woman in the Fifteenth century that had such fervor for life that it reinvigorated me. I had already been alive for around a hundred and nine years, and the grind was starting to wear on me, so it was something I needed more than anything. She was also completely aware of what I was and wasn't afraid. She was half Gypsy, and the Gypsies believed in all sorts of beings, that they were not good or evil based on their race, but their actions. The two years I spent with her tribe restored much of my faith in mankind and gave me a lot of my current outlook on life."
"So what happened that would make you have a bad dream about her?"
"Do you know what happened in the Fifteenth Century, Seras? The Inquisition. She was taken by the Inquisition, and in her time there they found out about me. They took me as well, and I was sentenced to the Pendulum. I 'died' on a blood stained table where hundreds of innocent men and women had been sliced to ribbons."
"After that, I went...feral, for a while. I had no home, no one that I trusted, I stayed away from most villages and towns except in the deep of night when I would go in and steal food and supplies. And...other things."
She looked at him. "Other things?"
"There is a period of five years that I'm not proud of, that I wish with a great passion had never happened. Though I've accepted that I can't change the past, my conscience still pokes me with that time occasionally."
"What did you do?"
He smiled grimly. So youthful, so innocent despite what's she's seen and done. "I killed people, Seras. I was an assassin. I preyed mostly on those that were in heavy support of the Inquisition and perpetuated its evil in their own domain." He closed his eyes. "While many would not see it as evil, it was not right either. I didn't kill them quickly or cleanly, but the same way they killed."
"How many people?" she asked, her voice quiet.
"Nineteen," he said. His voice was as quiet as hers. "Four were targets, fifteen were guards that merely got in the way. The guards I gave quick, painless deaths. But the other four," he sighed. "It should not have happened."
She reached out and rested her hand on his shoulder. "We all do things that we don't like. You've shown me that sometimes things happen and we have to deal with them."
She stood and threw the clothes he had sitting on the table at him. "I may not agree with what you did, but I understand why and I acknowledge that it was in your past. Far in the past," she amended. "So I can assume that the person that did those things in no longer with us. Am I right?"
He smirked. "In more ways then one, Police Girl. After I realized how wrong it was, and what Miranda would have thought, I left Europe. Spent six years in the Orient seeking peace. It wasn't the first trip I made, either. I made a few others through the years."
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Now if you would be so kind as to vacate so that I could shower and change, I would be much obliged."
She smirked. "It's not like you have something I haven't seen before," she commented.
"No, but I'm a bit shy."
"You know, they say the way to get over shyness is to get so involved in something that you forget to be shy," she said with a sly grin.
"Yeah, but I doubt that was what they had in mind. Besides, we aren't that close just yet."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh? Yet you say?"
"Well, far be it for me to deny that something could happen. You never know," he disappeared into the bathroom and cranked on the shower.
"Besides, we need to get ready for the briefing. We are going to start the assault soon. We don't want to be tired."
She giggled and nodded. "Alright, I'll let you go this time. I'll see you at the briefing." She started to leave.
"Seras," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Were you always like this, or is this just something I bring out?"
"Well, near the end I started getting like this with Pip. Why?"
"Because you don't seem to be the type to blatantly suggest such things, at least from what I first gathered about you." He looked at her as he grinned. "Good to see you are coming out of that shell."
She smiled, one that would do the Mona Lisa proud. "I suppose," she said as she left.
Hunter shook his head. "Vampire women," he said as he stripped and climbed into the shower.
I heard that, you.
Stay out of my brain, Police Girl. It isn't polite.
He could almost see her smile as she pulled from his mind.
"I'm going with you," she said again.
Integra Hellsing stood in the office, Alucard before her in his somber grey suit, the eye on his tie standing out against the blandness of his attire. He looked at her like she had just said something so absurd that it was not to be believed.
"I don't think so," he said. "He's already tried to capture you for this ritual. Having you go with us would be inviting him to capture you again, and furthermore..."
"Furthermore, I am your Master and your commanding officer, so my word takes precedence over anything you say. You are overruled on this one, Alucard."
"I beg you to rethink this one, Master," he said in a soft voice. The look in his eyes was that of a man at the bedside of a sick loved one. "I've already told you how I feel about the possibility of loosing you."
She softened her gaze. "I understand that, and I assure you that you won't be loosing me." She walked to the small wardrobe in the office, pulling it open and drawing the saber from within, buckling the belt it hung from about her waist and slinging the long greatcoat over her shoulders. "I have a personal score on this one, not just the business of Hellsing. I might not be able to kill him, but I can cause as much havoc as I can in his operation while Hunter sends him to Hell." She looked at him, her glasses slipping down her nose a bit, forelocks of her long hair falling forward to frame her face as she gave a slight smile.
A/N: Think the picture on the title page/frontpiece of Dead Zone 1
"Besides, I can't let you guys have all the fun, now can I? Sometimes the commander needs to lead from the front."
Alucard sighed. She made a good point. "Of course, my Master."
She looked at him. "I know that look," she said with a slight hint of laughter.
"What look?"
"That look, the 'I-don't-agree-but-I'll-say-anything-to-avoid-an-argument-I'll-probably-loose' look."
"I object to the 'Probably loose' part, you know."
She smiled. "You would. And you would loose, you know."
"How do you know?"
"I'm a woman," she said as she kissed him on the cheek.
"We tend to win these arguments."
And she left for the briefing room, leaving him standing in her office with a bemused look on his face.
"As near as I can tell, it's about an hour due west of the outermost of the Falklands," Hunter said, pointing a laser pen at the projection screen. It showed a tiny spec in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, something barely worth the ink used to print it.
"Not very large," Seras said.
"It's around sixty kilometers long and forty wide and covered with a few decent sized mountains. It isn't exactly Trafalgar Square." He clicked the button on the computer, advancing to the next slide, showing a topographical map. He traced a circle around the center one of a quintet, four on the outside and one in the center. "I expect he'll have dug out from under this one, since it'll mean we'll have to get over the others to get to it, and give him places to set up lookouts."
"So how do you plan to get us there?" Integra asked. She had a shoulder-holster for an old Walther PPK slung across her body. He didn't like the idea of her going anymore than Alucard did, but he knew better than to argue. "It's a bit far to take a ship, and if we want to have any sort of protection for those of us that need to hide from the sun we would need some sort of mobile base."
He smiled. "Not really," he said. He clicked to the next slide. "There is a small bit of rock about a kilometer or so from its northern shore that is mostly honeycombed caves. That should provide us with plenty of cover from the sun and a place to base the attack."
He clicked to the next slide and brought up several pictures. He pointed at the first one. "Outside of Erik Valar, we need to watch out for these men." He indicated the first man. He had a slightly upturned nose and a haughty look, pale blonde hair cut in an almost crew cut. He had the look of one stepped on so many times he wasn't against stepping on those he could.
"Millions Knives, a mercenary leader that heads a group of people called the Gung-Ho Guns. Age unknown, nationality unknown, virtually the only thing that is known about him is the fact that twenty years ago he single-handedly wiped out a small exploratory expedition on the edge of the Sahara, simply because he could. The only tie between him and the group killed was that the leader was a woman named Rem Saverem, who appears in his file as some sort of mentor."
He paused for a second. "His brother, Vash, is currently hunting for him as well. Before we leave, I'll see if I can track him down and get him to liaise with us."
He indicated the next man, the dark blue hair on his head almost as striking as the golden eyes set in his face and the sadistic look on his face. "Legato Bluesummers, the second in command. Not much is known about him outside of the fact that he is around thirty-eight and a mild telepath. He has been known to use his ability to take over peoples' minds and use them for various purposes. Those of us here, however," he smirked. "We aren't vulnerable to such tactics."
Hunter highlighted the third man, a mountain of muscle and foul temper. "Monev the Gale will be difficult just because of his sheer size and his propensity for using a modified minigun as his primary weapon of choice. But, like the old saying goes, the bigger they are,"
"The harder they fall," finished Walter.
Hunter nodded. "Exactly." He indicated the last man, his dark hair pulled in a topknot and dressed in a kimono. "Rai-Dei the Blade is one still adhered to the ancient art of the samurai. He will be the most difficult since he will not only prefer a frontal conflict, but has survived hundreds of such conflicts to date. He will be a tough nut to crack, so I think we'll leave him to our resident nut-cracker."
Alucard smiled. "I like a challenge. How hard will it be?"
"Hard to tell. Most of those that witness his skills don't survive. And those that see him aren't the targets."
"What do you mean?" asked Seras.
"First rule of assassins, Seras." He looked at her, his eyes belying the memories that he held in his mind. "Never worry about the one you see coming."
He shut the projector down and leaned against the table. "Sir Integra, I believe you have further orders for this mission?"
She stood, setting her gloved hands on the table. "There are three parts to this mission. The first, one Alucard will no doubt enjoy, is Search and Destroy. Standard elimination of FREAKS and ghouls."
"I do so love those words," Alucard murmured, a dreamy expression on his face.
"The second," she said as though he hadn't spoken. "Is the elimination of Valar. This one is James' solely. The rest of us are to keep the mercs and Midians from interfering." She looked at the Dhampir. "Will you be able to take him?"
The rust-coloured hair shook as he shrugged in that almost puppet-like way, as though he had to think about raising his shoulders individually for the movement. "There are rules in play about the confrontations of a Dhampir and his Sire, but unless he's been fighting non-stop for the last couple of centuries like I have, it should be a fairly even contest."
"The third is the total destruction of the base and anything that might exist that would allow anyone to summon the Devil's Hand in the future." She looked at Seras, Amon, and Robin. "That will be your primary job, but it is to be carried out last, after the fighting is over, understood?"
She got nods from each of them. "Walter," she said quietly.
The aging man stood, no sign of stiffness or diminished capacity in him. He was approaching seventy, but still looked to be fifty. He looked at each of the members congregated in turn. "I will, of course, supply you with the equipment you will need for this endeavor and serve as the mission coordinator from the base." He looked at Amon and Robin. "What will you be requiring in the way of weapons?" he asked.
Amon gave an indifferent shrug. "Just something with a bit of a punch. I don't want them still coming after me before they turn to dust. Nothing like his gun, though." he said, cocking a thumb towards Hunter.
"Understood," Walter said. "And you, Miss Sena?"
The candles on the table lit with a bright flash. "I'm good, Walter. No need for additional weapons."
Walter nodded and looked around to the Dhampir. "Just those special rounds I showed you on my first day here, along with my special little toys. And a few of those Magnesium-Phosphorus flares."
"Alucard?"
"Just spare clips and the control arts released to level one."
"I'm sure you can handle that last one on your own, Alucard." Integra looked at him with a slight smile. "Same for me, Walter. PPK and the Remington."
"Miss Seras? Will you be taking the Halconnen?"
"Yes, but Incendiary rounds only. And double the usual clips for my pistols. I don't want to run out like I did in that vision."
"I'll get on your orders straight away," he said as though they had requested sandwiches and tea and left. Integra stood again.
"Any questions?" She looked around the table. "Dismissed until 0445. We will meet in the motor pool and disembark from there."
They left, Robin and Amon together, Seras jogging slightly to catch up with Hunter. Alucard went up to her and looked at her as he put his hands on her hips. "Are you sure I can't talk you out of going?" he asked, looking into her eyes.
She looped her arms up around his neck, tilting her head back. "Yes."
"Integra, I know you are a fine warrior and a brilliant leader, but this is still going to be a dangerous..."
"Alucard, find something better to do with you lips," she said, inclining her head invitingly. "Now, please."
"Well, since you ordered nicely," he said, kissing her.
Then
He hurried and threw an arm over the shoulder of the man stumbling somewhat down the dark street of Helsinki. He made sure that his cloak kept his front covered. "Just keep walking, Merchant Olsen. I have a dagger at your side and at the first sign of treachery it shall be in your side. Do you understand, nod your head."
The man nodded, the warm fuzz of the ale he had drunk suddenly gone.
"You and I are going to take a little side trip and discuss some things you have been party to, and you won't like the way it goes. Just turn into this alley here, that's a good boy."
The man was shoved up against the dirty wall of a building, his bright merchant's clothes becoming soiled with the refuse that had been tossed out that day. "What do you want?" he said, more upset than afraid. "Money, goods? There are easier ways to get them than this."
The man said two words that made him freeze inside. "Isabella Martinez."
"So, she sent you," he said, trying to make his voice sound as outraged as it had been a moment ago. "I thought she was dead."
"You raped her, and then planted evidence that she was a heretic, condemning her to the non-existent mercies of the Inquisition. Her friends would wish you dead so that she can rest in peace."
"And you took the job, assassin? How much are they paying you, because I will give you three times that to leave me be, to forget that you ever found me. I can make you a wealthy man."
"I am not being paid outside of supplies for the trip here. I have a deeper call than money. And if I wished to become wealthy, I would have to do no more than set a sum away in a bank and allow the interest accrue. I have many years ahead of me in my life, and I could become wealthy on ten shillings."
"Deeper call than money? What could that be?"
"Revenge."
"You there, what's going on?" a voice called from the mouth of the alley.
The cloaked man turned and saw three policemen coming down the way, the short truncheons they carried still hanging from the lanyards about their wrists.
He looked at the fat merchant and spun, his heel kicking the man across the face, knocking him to the ground. In the same motion, he grabbed the wrist of the closest policeman, twisting him around so that his arm was across his own windpipe, cutting off his air and pulled the small club from his wrist, lashing it across the second's face. The man's head spun, a wet popping sound as his neck broke. He fell to the ground, dead before his brain registered his pain. The third man had backed up, truncheon in hand, other hand scrabbling for the whistle that would summon more people to his aid.
He smiled grimly. He released the first mans wrist, planting his foot solidly in the small of his back and shoved, sending him head first into his comrades gullet, knocking the wind from him. The first man stumbled, trying to get his bearings while the third gulped greedily at the air, trying to stay on his feet.
He stepped forward as the first man stood, pulling a small knife and lunging. He sidestepped the thrust, the club catching the man in his stomach. He doubled over, air rushing from him in a great gust. The cloaked man spun, bringing the cudgel into his legs just below the knees, knocking him from his feet. Before he had fallen more than a few inches, becoming more horizontal than vertical, the assassin kicked him in the side, sending him into the wall. The sound of bones breaking and skin splitting filled the alley.
It had taken less than two seconds. He advanced on the third policeman, who still had not regained his breath. He flicked the truncheon out, trying to connect with this cloaked juggernaut that had just killed both of his comrades. A gloved hand reached up and grabbed the club as it swung, gripping it in an iron fist. A soft creaking sound started to fill the man's ears, and his weapon splintered in the grip of his attacker. He just stood there as the bits of his ruined baton fell to the ground. He looked up at the man, and nearly passed out.
The gloved hand flicked out and grabbed him by his uniform front, pulling him closer. He saw the cold, dead eyes, an inhuman grey-blue. He also saw the long eyeteeth, gleaming as he grinned.
"You're a feisty one," said the man, his voice cold, like the voice of the Devil.
Olsen regained his senses and looked to the front of the alley to see the policeman standing there, his arms hanging limply. And holding him up was his attacker, whose mouth...
Was fastened to his neck, blood dripping from the poor policeman's body. He shoved the body away, the man collapsing in a heap, weakly moving to protect his wounds.
The man closed his eyes, a look of rapture crossing his face as he licked the blood from his lips. "That was rather good." He looked at the man he had just drunk from. "I'll attend to you in a moment. Can't have witnesses."
Olsen was already stumbling down the alley, mumbling the whole time. "Vampire," he said, glancing behind to see if he was being followed. "A vampire. Oh God, save me."
"God can't help you know," a voice said from in front of him. He turned and ran headlong into the cloaked man, who gripped him by the throat and raised him a good thirty centimeters above the ground.
A sliver glint showed in the dim light of the moon. A long blade made its appearance, a jagged edge of sharp serrations up both sides of the blade. The merchant started to sob. "Please, no," he said as a warm sensation spread from his waist.
"Did you hear that from Isabella before you raped her? From her family that wept while she was thrown into the fires while still alive? Or is it that you have no wish to die at this point?"
"Yes, that's it," the blubbering man said. "Please, let me go, I'll make amends, I'll..."
"I can't do that," the cloaked form said. "You see, I promised her family and friends that you would die by my hands. I have a reputation to think of. I can't let something like a crying, pants-wetting man put me off from my job. It isn't personal, just business. I'm sure you understand."
"You'll forgive me if I take it personally," the merchant said, reality setting in. He knew nothing would free him from this creatures grasp, save his life.
"Of course. I'll make it fast, if you prefer," he said, placing the tip of the knife over Olsen's heart.
Olsen never had a chance to reply as the blade plunged in through his lungs, ripping and tearing. He lay gasping, drowning in his own blood as the cloaked form stalked off.
At the head of the alley, the third policeman had managed to climb to his hands and knees. "A pity," said Robin Valar as he stepped down hard, snapping the man's spine. "I rather liked your spirit."
He looked up and down the street. No witnesses. Good. He moved towards the docks that berthed the ship he would ship back to the mainland on.
Now
"You did WHAT?!?!?" Hunter fairly screamed.
"I asked Anderson to help us on this mission. He has a score to settle as well. He was a great asset in South America, and..."
"And he personally enjoyed hacking me to pieces, and as soon as he gets the chance to slip free of whatever word he gave he'll do it again, then move on to you and the rest of our team. No, forget it. Leave him."
"I gave my word, James. If I go back on it now, he'll do the same and sabotage our efforts somehow." She put a hand on his arm. "He'll behave as long as the mission exists. And we'll keep an eye out for treachery. It's easy to spot with him." She stepped back. "In either case, I have to go get him now anyway."
"Get who?" came the saccharine voice.
"Your fledgling invited our good friend the priest on our little jaunt." Hunter said, showing his scorn about the idea.
"Did she now?" Alucard asked, eyebrow rising. "It might be fun, then."
"You approve of it?" the half-breed asked incredulously.
"Of course. The best ally is the one you have to keep an eye on. It keeps your instincts sharp. Plus," he smiled, showing needle pointed teeth. "That dog is always an amusing guest at our parties."
Hunter sighed. "Seras, when you're there, remember the second rule of self-defense: shoot first and don't ask questions."
She nodded and phased out.
"What is the first rule?" asked Alucard.
Hunter started walking to the room he had been assigned. "Be somewhere else when the shooting starts," he said with one of his loose shouldered shrugs.
Integra stood in the motor pool, checking the barrel of the Remington pump-action she held in her hands. It had been made to her specifications, firing a round the equivalent of an eight gauge shell, a silver slug packed into the cartridge with a nine round magazine. No signs of corrosion, good. It had been a while since she had fired this gun, and was glad that it hadn't come to harm through lack of use. She had the magazine loaded and a shell in the chamber. She slung it over her shoulder and checked the two pistols she carried.
The old Walther brought back memories. It was the same gun that her uncle Richard had used to try and kill her, and had subsequently killed him as she put the round between his eyes. No need to check it beyond making sure it was secure in the holster and she had a few spare clips on her belt along with her saber.
The Beretta M93R was a bit touchy. She double-checked the machine pistol's slide and recoil spring, making sure that there would be no jams as it spewed out its three round bursts. She was intimately familiar with both of these pistols, spending an hour each day with both of them at the firing range. She tucked it into its cross-drawn holster and looked around, hearing the tread of a quiet footstep.
Alucard stood behind her, eyeing her as one would look at a sculpture of exquisite beauty. "I do believe," he said as he moved closer. "That seeing you armed as such is one of the most endearing qualities you possess."
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Because I am capable of kicking your ass?" she asked sweetly, flicking her hair back over her shoulder.
"Of kicking somebody's ass, yes." He chuckled. "I doubt even you would be able to kick mine."
"I bet she could do it if she wanted to," Hunter's voice said as he came into the room, carrying his satchel. He was dressed in a simple jumpsuit, the somewhat baggy article of clothing festooned with pockets, some of which bulged. He carried his two pistols tied low on his thighs, where his hands naturally rode. He had an old Colt 1911 tucked under his left arm, two clips for it on the other side of the shoulder sling. He had a long pack slung over one shoulder. "And you'd probably let her, too."
"What have you got there, Thanatos?" purred the vampire.
"Just a little gift for father dearest," he said, setting the pack down. There was a clink like metal on metal.
"And that?" asked Integra, pointing at his right holster. There was a cylindrical object tucked in a pocket on the outside.
He pulled it free and flicked his wrist, the rod extending to a full length of just under a meter, a rounded ball at the end. "Just a good ole non-lethal weapon. I've found that this asp has been useful when I don't really need to shoot someone." He collapsed the baton and slipped it back into the pocket on his holster. He looked around. "Seras isn't back yet, I see," he commented.
Alucard shook his head. "Not quite yet. She," he broke off as he felt a booted foot hit him in the posterior. He looked behind him at Integra. She smiled sweetly and looked at him simply.
"Told you," she said simply. He gave her a mock snarl and turned back to Hunter.
"Hey, I told you she could," he said, raising his hands palms forward. "Not my fault you didn't keep an eye on her."
Walter, Robin, and Amon entered as well. Walter, dressed in a similar jumpsuit as Hunter's, wheeled a small cart that bore communications gear and the Halconnen cannon. Robin and Amon were attired in their typical gear; him in a simple shirt, vest, and pants, an overcoat draped across his shoulders; she in the high collared dress and jacket, her gloved hands tucked in her pockets. She already had her glasses on.
"Looks like the group is almost all here," said the vampire. "Now we just wait on the Police Girl."
"I guess I'll use this bit of downtime to see if I can get a hold of Vash and his group," Hunter said. "I'll meet you guys at the island, if I'm not back in time to jump with you." He phased from the area.
"Just where is your fledgling, Alucard?" asked Integra.
"You can't be serious!" Seras said as she looked at the two women that accompanied the tall priest. One, tall and slender with short blonde hair looked on with almost empty eyes over the rim of her round glasses. Her long jacket fluttered open, revealing two Desert Eagle pistols. The other, shorter and dressed in a traditional nun's habit, had a katana slung over one shoulder and nervously adjusted the glasses on her nose. Her dark eyes blinked as she looked on nervously. Her black hair fluttered in the air.
"They come with me, whelp." Anderson looked at her over the rims of his glasses. "I won't be the only one representing our organization."
"Plus, Maxwell vould have his hide if he thought that it was him going off on his own. This vay, this truce vill not be exposed." The tall woman pushed her sunglasses a bit higher up on her nose. "Right, Yumiko?"
"Right, Heinkel," the short nun said in a quiet voice. She was still playing with her glasses, almost afraid that they would fall off.
"So, ven do ve leave, demon-spawn?"
Anderson laughed that deep cackle that chilled Seras to the bone.
She sighed deeply. This deal was getting worse and worse by the minute.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Hunter shouted, raising both his hands and his voice over the roar of the machine gun. Never pop in on a heavily armed group of bounty hunters without warning, you idiot, he thought ruefully. As soon as he had materialized, the priest had spun, popping a tab on the belt that crisscrossed around the cloth-covered cross he had behind his shoulder. The cloth had fallen off, and he had found himself staring down the barrel of a .50 caliber machine gun. He had barely ducked behind the stone wall of the building he was next to before the 12.74mm rounds ripped into the ground and area he had been standing on.
"Hold it, Nick," came a woman's voice. "Is that you, Mr. Hunter?"
The name came to him after a moment. "Yes, it is, Millie." He was glad that the tall woman was faster on her mental feet than the priest was with his weapon. How does he hold that thing? He looked at the holes the rounds had gouged. M2 .50 caliber guns are usually vehicle mounted.
"I won't shoot." The preacher didn't sound embarrassed at firing as much as for missing. "Just don't appear out of nowhere. We've already had to take out a few of Knive's group."
Hunter eased around the corner. "Speaking of whom," he said, eyeing the large weapon in the man's hands. Was that a grenade launcher at the short arm of the cross? "I've run across him in conjunction to an investigation of an unrelated matter. I was wondering if you'd care to tag along to collect him."
The blonde haired man pushed the yellow sunglasses up on his nose, the coloured lenses obscuring his eyes. Hunter saw that there were some bits of black at the base of his hair now, along with some longer streaks of black interspersed within the locks. Odd.
"Where is he?" came the voice, quiet and firm.
Then
The tall man walked calmly down the aisle of the church, hands tucked behind his back. They had dealt with twenty heretics today. Most had confessed their sins and had been forgiven, and sent to God.
There was a quiet whisper of cloth on wood, and he paused, turning to look behind him. Nothing. Odd. He turned back around and found himself staring into a set of grey-blue eyes that refused to reflect the candlelight that illuminated the hall.
"Who are you?" came the quiet response. He was startled, naturally, but not frightened. What could man do to him, with God as his protector?
"Bishop Faugno?" he said in a soft voice.
"Yes, what can I do for you, my child?"
"I wish to confess my sins. Do you have the time?"
"Of course, son. When was your last confession?"
"Almost a week ago," he said, as though embarrassed to admit that.
"And what was the crime at the time?"
"Taking the Lord's name in vain."
"I assume you did your penitence?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
He nodded. "What is it you wish to confess to this evening?"
"I killed a man in Portugal. His name was Victor Martin, the Don of a small township."
The bishop was shocked at the admission of murder, and had begun speaking before the name caught up with him. "Why would you kill a man, it goes against..." He paled. "Don Martin?" he whispered, remembering the conversation they had had. About the whispers of a silent assassin stalking and killing members of European community that had been outspoken in their support of the Inquisition, to the point of carrying it along in their own home sectors. He turned and looked at the man...
But he was no longer there.
He felt the sweat starting to break out on his back and face, felt the sting as it dripped in his eyes, tasted the salt as it dripped into his mouth. He looked around, even up at the rafters high above him. The stories told that this man was like a demon, capable of great damage and horrible acts. The merchant and policemen that they had found in Helsinki had only proved to further that rumour. He wondered how many of the Don's private bodyguards had died in his defense.
"Eight," purred a voice from behind him.
He spun, thrusting the crucifix he wore out at the form of the man before him. "Back, spawn of Satan!" he shouted.
The man laughed, then reached out and gripped the crucifix as well. "Silly superstitions will be of no use here, Bishop Faugno. I assure you, no harm will come to you while you stand in God's House. On my honor."
The man relaxed only slightly. "How do I know to trust you?" he asked.
A raised eyebrow. "I swear to you on my honor and the soul of my sister that no harm will befall you while you stand in this building, Your Grace."
"Why have you come, O Evil One?"
"Such a grand title, but one I hardly deserve. Those men that I killed were deserving of their fates. They committed sins just as horrid as I, if not more so."
"How can you speak against those people? They were..."
"A rapist, a murderer of families stealing to feed their starving children, and a coveter." He cocked his head to the side. "What do your teachings say of such people?"
"That they have sinned against their souls and should beg forgiveness from..." he broke off. "You mean that, those people you killed, they..."
"Yes, Your Grace. But I have come to you for another reason."
"And what might that be?"
"Do you recall a young Gypsy woman named Miranda almost four years ago and her lover, a man by name of Robin Valar?"
"Yes, I headed the Inquisition that purified their souls. They were both buried with Christian burials..." He paled. "You're," he stuttered.
"Yes," came the soft voice. "You see, I didn't die in that pit. I died almost a hundred and thirteen years ago when attacked by a werewolf. That night in the pit was merely a psuedodeath."
The Bishop pulled the small dagger from his sleeve and drove it into the chest of the man standing before him. Forgive me, Lord, for doing this in Your House.
He needn't have asked for forgiveness. He watched in horror as the man pulled the dagger from his chest, the wound closing rather quickly.
"You see, Your Grace," said Robin Valar. "You cannot kill what is already dead. Normal weapons will have no effect on me." He dropped the dagger on the floor.
"So you will kill me now, I suppose." Faugno raised his head slightly.
"I gave my word that you would come to no harm while in this House, Bishop Faugno. I keep my word." He looked at him with those dead eyes. "However, you cannot stay here forever. You will face your Maker soon, and answer for your crimes." He turned and walked out the door.
The Bishop sank to his knees, praying. A local guard from the militia came by, making his rounds. Faugno pounced at once.
"You! Have you others with you?"
"Three, Your Grace. Do you wish an escort?"
"Yes, to my quarters." Surely with four guards this demon would not be able to take him.
As they walked, him at the center of the quartet of guards, he felt his fear ebbing away. Yes, he would survive, and see that this monster was hunted down. He knew of templars that were dedicated to the hunting of these foul monsters. Yes, he would contact the Pope and request that a member of the Iscariot organization be sent to assist in his defense.
Then he heard the first crunch of breaking bones.
And his dreams crumbled.
Robin Valar had taken the rearmost guard and bent him backwards, the man's neck and back breaking such that he could not have felt more than a moment of pain. The two side guards rushed at the man, drawing swords while the fourth grabbed the Bishops arm and started to pull him along.
Valar ducked the swing of one sword and grabbed the wrist that held it, blocking the slash from his comrade and then broke the wrist as he removed the sword from the hand. He drove the pommel into his gut and shoved him back. His foot lashed out, landing solidly in the other man's stomach, doubling him over. Soon his head was lying several feet away. He turned to the other guard as he rushed at him, arms out to grapple him. A stiff armed block caught him on the breastbone, snapping the ribcage. As the man's momentum carried him forward, His heart was crushed behind the cracked sternum. He dropped to the ground without another word.
Robin Valar turned, following the path of footprints in the soft soil. He had given his word that the Bishop would not come to harm while he was in God's House.
But he was no longer in the church, was he?
Now
"What are they doing here?" asked Integra as Seras returned, the three members of Iscariot in tow.
"I found Anderson and asked for his help while you were kidnapped and Hunter was incapacitated. He has a personal interest in this mission." She gestured at Heinkel and Yumiko. "They just sort of tagged along like baggage."
Alucard nodded at Anderson. "Dog,"
"Monster," replied the priest.
Robin and Amon looked at the two women. "Sister, why do you carry a sword?" asked the young woman. "I thought it was forbidden by those of the cloth to perpetuate violence."
"Ah, child, so little you know of my friend Yumiko." The tall woman clapped her friend on the shoulder. "She has a split personality. As long as she keeps her glasses on, ve are all safe. But should they come of, then the beasts that ve stand across from vill be attacked by Yumi. Yumi," she said, staring at the witch over the rim of her glasses. "Is not a nun. Is she, my friend?"
"No," muttered the tiny Japanese woman, in a voice that almost sounded regretful.
"So, vere are ve going on this fine evening?"
Integra pulled her pistol and pointed it at the Austrian. "You are returning to the Vatican with your friends. I will not permit you to accompany this mission." Alucard drew the Jackal to back up her point while Seras got out of the way in a hurry.
Heinkel pulled her pistols while Anderson brought forth some of his blades. Yumiko wandered to the back, hand pulling at her glasses but not removing them.
Hunter returned with the four bounty hunters. He looked at the group with weapons drawn.
"I take it you all have met before," Wolfwood said, lighting a cigarette.
Drum Fill
I never really feel quite right and I don't know why
All I know is that something's wrong
Everytime I look at you you seem so alive.
Tell me how do you do it?
Walk me through it,
I'm following everyfootstep
Maybe on your own you take a cautious step
Do you want to give it up?
But all I want is for you to SHINE
Shine down on me
Shine on this life that's burning out.
I say a lot of things sometimes that don't come out right
And I act like I don't know why
I guess the reaction is all I was looking for, yeah
You looked through me,
You really knew me,
Like no one has ever looked before
Baby on your own you take a cautious step
Do you want to give it up?
But all I want is for you to SHINE
Shine down on me,
Shine this life that's burning out.
I know, I know, girl you got something
SHINE (shine it on to me)
Shine down on me (I wanna feel it)
Shine on this life that's burning out
Instrumental break
Baby on your own you take a cautious step
Do you wanna give it up?
But all I want is for you to SHINE
Shine down on me (just show me something)
Shine on this life that's burning out (you give me something that I never
know)
SHINE (it gonna kill me if you give something away)
Shine down on me(I wanna know what's going in on your mind)
Shine on this life that's burning out
Don't you know I want you to SHINE
Shine down on me
Shine on this life that's burning out
Preview
Seras: In the next Chapter of 'There but for the Grace,' we will...
Halconnen fairy: Dance to Abba and the Bee Gees while eating popcorn and pretzels.
Seras: Oh, for the love of...Somebody get him out of here!
Halconnen fairy: Wait!
Seras: Now, in the next chapter, we arrive at the base and...
Heinkel: So, it is ve now, is it? Vhen did ve become part of your group, eh, vhelp?
Yumiko: Um, I'm, I'm n-not sure we should bother her right now, Heinkel.
Heinkel: Oh? Vhat is she going to do, yell at us? Tell us to leave vhile flapping her arms? I vould cut her down before she could even pull a veapon.
Vash: Actually, ladies, no need for violence. I was thinking that we could go and find a nice quiet place to get a drink.
Meryl: Vash...
Vash: Oh, heh, hey, Insurance Girl....
Seras: Oh, great God! Can't I do a preview without something going wrong?
Chapter 12: Breathe and Fade
A/N: Well, just four left. I will welcome suggestions from fellow authors if they have any.