Author's Notes: Change of rating due to graphic violence. Again, I thank Lyanna Kanne for her editing skills.
Durga
Chapter Seven
- The Tower
Thirst.
Years had passed and he still hadn't adapted to the blood cravings of vampires. The crimson liquid, even if unnecessary as nourishment on certain occasions, was yearned by his species as badly as oxygen was by the humans who needed it to live.
It was almost impossible to hide the stench of their mouth, no matter how much one brushed his fangs. There was no way to attract birds with such a bad breath.
But the fledgling didn't care for any of those issues in that precise moment. Bent inside the fridge, his eyes scrutinized the content in his quest for a blood package. Real blood, not that synthetic shite his Master forced him to ingest. Peter might dislike the habit but at least he had a choice between two evils.
"Ahem." He heard Alan clearing out his throat behind him. "I take it that you are searching for this, Bernard." Peter turned around, gaze fixed on the transfusion bag that the steward was holding. His mouth watered slightly.
"I'm not allowed to give this to you," Alan commented, brows furrowed in a serious expression. "Captain Victoria left me instructions to only feed you synthetic supplies." The old man winked and tossed it. "Let's keep this between you and me."
Peter grinned sheepishly, catching the thrown bag. He tore apart the plastic with his teeth and started sipping from it as if it were a Capri Sun. "Come again? What should we keep a secret?" he inquired with feigned innocence.
Alan smiled at the young vampire. "Good boy. I heard Sir Elspeth put you in charge of the Mansion's defense."
"I don't know why. Lieutenant MacLagan is my superior…" Peter replied, worried about his outcome in said task. Master Seras had left the Organization hours ago, and there was now not a trace of her. Elspeth had done the same. The knight had had a different look in her eyes, in his opinion - more anxious, almost predatory.
"A vote of confidence, lad."
"More like the last chance to set things right."
"Tsk. Perhaps, you should have more faith in your achievements."
"Crashing the new vehicles? Going pyromaniac in a pharmacy?"
The butler was speechless. Peter spotted the corner of his upper lip curling up as if he was containing the urge to laugh.
As usual, I'm the organization's clown. Go me, he mused, miserably. Hunting evil vampires and protecting the country sounded peachy and heroic but it was a lot more complicated than one originally thought.
Peter finished to drink his blood then threw the empty package towards the trash bin. The bag hit the edge and fell outside, on the floor. Could he do something right for a bloody change?!
"I shall clean that up, Bernard. You go with Lt. MacLagan… I've detected suspicious movements on the perimeter."
"Thanks, Alan."
Stretching his arms, Peter left the kitchen, walking through the corridor towards the headquarters located behind the house. The militaries supplies were mostly there, as well as all the intelligence-related facilities. He found Stuart inside, concentrated on the high tech machines that monitored the area.
"Anything interesting?" Peter asked, leaning to hover on the Lieutenant's shoulder.
"It's too quiet."
"That's a bad sign, now?"
"There aren't even animals around, Peter," Stuart replied darkly.
Peter hiked both brows in surprise, sharing his preoccupation. Animals sensed danger first and fled to safety. The very same air was getting warmer. He wasn't affected by temperature changes but indeed felt them. "Prepare the men, Stuart. Something is coming."
"There's no indication of gunpowder, laser or any weapon, Peter. Nor are there vehicle signals according to the radar."
"I don't give a shite about that! Think about it. None of our latest foes were carrying the latest model of ammunition, were they?" Peter remarked. They were all primal beasts, fighting with claws and their might.
"I hope you are right, Bernard," MacLagan commented, rising to call out the soldiers to be ready in case of an attack.
"So do I."
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The troops stood on all the borders that encompassed the Hellsing Organization, waiting for something of whose identity they weren't sure yet. But regardless of this, they wouldn't leave their posts. There was an unspoken anticipation between them as if they were aware something might happen but not of when or where.
It wasn't long until they saw it, a group of phosphorescent undead, flying in their direction, offering a horrific show. Their skin was thin, almost transparent, bones glowing from beneath it. Sharp teeth hungered for meat, and anyone's flesh would do. Peter could note their eyes were shifting every time they bated an eyelash. Were they suicidal to strike so directly? The fledgling nodded towards MacLagan.
"Fire at will!" Stuart shouted, gesturing forward the coming crowd.
The soldiers pulled up the triggers; once the discharging rays of concentrated ultraviolet light went off, the rest hit them with silver blessed bullets. The soldiers who weren't wearing visors on their eyes, found a few difficulties with taking aim correctly due to the emitted light of the flying corpses that blinded their visual.
Most of the Obayifo fell, trapped on the rain of bullets and intense, murdering light. When they died, they gave a shriek so loud that had the Hellsing operatives grow deft. Ears bleeding, they released their weapons to shield themselves from the piercing cry.
"Pick up your weapons, idiots!" Peter ordered, cursing his sensitive undead senses. This was hell. His men were falling around him. He couldn't allow that. In fit of rage, half berserker, he flipped out the bars, charging against the Ashanti vampires. With smashing strength, he jumped on the remaining group, forcing them to land.
The Obayifo cursed in their native tongue before lounging to Peter. He ducked with ease, as their style of fighting was primitive, containing no self-defense movements at all and relying on their advantage of both age and number. Wisely, they circled Peter, starting an assault on each side. The fledgling growled when three of the African vampires slashed his back, but kept his focus on the one before him. Grabbing his rival's hand, stopping the strike to his heart, he grinned as he broke the wrist. He spun around to toss him to his partners in crime, throwing them to the ground. He took this opportunity to latch and finish them off, tearing them apart limb by limb. As the final screams died in the night, Peter could listen to his men, dazzled and deaf calling out for his help.
"Peter!"
That voice… Stuart! Peter turned around to see a band of owls pecking the Lieutenant mercilessly. He hesitated. They moved too fast, and if he fired at them, he could hit MacLagan.
The Lieutenant attempted to get them out of his head, but he was deaf, brain still burning by the Obayifo's howls. "God damn. He-" An owl snagged his tongue out, tearing it from the base. His pupils dilated at the action, and immediately two birds were over his eyes, pulling them out of their sockets. He fell to his kneels, losing blood fast from his injured cavities, curling to appease the torture. The animals shifted into beautiful women, black of hair and donning green robe. The Langsuir laughed while eating the prized organs.
Meanwhile, small creatures assaulted the rest of the soldiers on that front. The group of Pelesit sneaked while the troops were suffering from partial deafness, burrowing holes in their skin with their razor-tail. They chirped when the job was done, giving the signal to their companions, the Polong. The latter had human appearance, though only an inch in size; they leaped on the operatives, entering their bodies through the openings. Soon, the victims started to rant insanely about cats, running aimlessly towards the forest.
It was madness. Peter froze without knowing what to do. Who to help? Where to go first? The yelps coming from other fronts indicated that their defenses had been destroyed effectively.
Don't act brashly, he told himself, gnashing his teeth as the canine elongated inside his mouth. Bugger that! Peter rushed to Stuart's fallen body, to the laughing women. Yowling, he punched one, fist breaking her spine. The other two backed off, shifting to owls and flying away.
"Oh no you won't, bitches!" he took his friend's rifle and shot them, blowing up heads and wings.
A strong tug from behind made him lose his balance - flying heads of women were keeping him on the ground, snapping viciously at his members, tearing his skin apart. His form was covered by them, and they were snacking on every bit of his body as their hanging intestines moistened his flesh, making it easier fpr the gastric juices to ingest them.
Peter snarled. Mustering his strength, he rose from the deadly mass of hungry mouths on him. Berserker, the fledgling cracked his knuckles before clawing his way out, crushing the heads together before heading towards the mansion. The vampire had to drag his right leg, as the muscle of his femur was gone, munched by the penanggalans. His left shoulder and part of his abdomen were in a similar condition. He stumbled, renewing his path by crawling towards the gateway.
Master! Peter called out, desperate under the circumstances.
'I'm coming!' Was her reply. 'Hold them, Peter! Don't mess up this time!'
It was easier to say that than to actually do it. But even if untalented, Peter was stubborn. He had been entrusted with this and would try to do his best to the last.
He needed blood to achieve that. It was a twisted turn of luck: the inside of the Mansion reeked of the substance. Several members of the personnel were on the ground, neck twisted in impossible positions, craniums cut in a half, brains spilled over the expensive carpets.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut. It was a horrible display. The hall of the Hellsing Manor had a mattress of corpses. He couldn't explain how they had managed to get inside so fast. Not wasting more time, the fledgling leaned to lick the blood, swallowing great quantities. His life-force returned, slowly healing him. Better now, there was more that he noted. Smoke. The building had been set on fire.
"Anyone alive?!" Peter searched, concentrating on the expansion of his senses. There were fading heartbeats in the kitchen. Increasing his speed to arrive faster, the fledgling set his way to the source of the weak pulse. He was welcomed by another gory sight.
The chefs and several maids had had their skulls opened and now hairy vampires were eating their flesh and blood. Some others were dancing around the cadavers with intestines around their heads in the shape of turbans.
"Fuckin' beasts!" Peter cried out, hauling towards them. He proceeded to tear them into shreds, fingernails turning into claws. Once more, control was lost to him – completely so, until there was finally no single Brahmaparush in one piece.
"T-that would be e-enough, lad," a trembling voice caught his attention.
Collecting himself, Peter glanced to Alan. The steward was sitting on the floor, supported by the kitchen table. Beside him, two of the Indian vampires lay dead with a knife each shoved through their guts.
"S-so good of S-Sir Hellsing to have silver kitchen items," he gave a painful laugh.
"Alan!" Peter quickly moved to watch him. "You OK?"
The old man nodded. "They fractured my legs. But it's not lethal… If I'd been younger… They wouldn't have taken me off guard."
"They surprised everyone. We weren't prepared for an attack of this scale," Peter replied, frowning. There was no way to detect vampires if they weren't using technology. A mortal disability of their machines.
"You must escape."
"Stop kiddin' me, Alan. Listen, the house is burnin'!"
"B-by now," Alan winced, straightening his position,"the fire control system is taking care of that. Most of the staff are being evacuated through the emergency exits, Sergeant Brown and several men are escorting them."
"Oh. Good." Peter was relieved that at least not everyone had perished.
"They are searching for something," Alan scourged inside his pocket, pulling out a small vial. It was black with Sanskrit inscriptions and a silver moon on the middle. "Do you know what this is?"
"What?" Peter blinked, suddenly understanding. "Soma."
Alan nodded, offering him the bottle. "You must hide it. Keep it safe. Elspeth gave it to me before she departed, just in case someone would violate the place where she kept it. Quite clever on her part."
"But… I never do anything well," Peter protested. Nonetheless he took the Soma, sliding it his inside pocket.
"Go," Alan gestured towards the window. It led to a side of the Mansion, far from the main assault. "Run away from here."
Peter stood. "Good luck." Leaping, he shattered the glass with his body, starting down his escape route. Fireflies were blocking his way. The insects were everywhere, like a plague of light.
Damned bugs, he thought swapping some with his hands. A familiar sound made him pause. On the sky, Seras was planning, flying closer to the Mansion. He grinned to his oncoming Master.
"Master!" Peter beamed, without paying attention to the retreating fireflies.
'Behind you!' Seras warned, but it was too late.
Peter only managed to half turn when a spear made of sharp bones severed his body in two, all the way down from his head to his pelvis. He was stunned in place, a geyser of blood dripped on the grass. Both hunks collapsed, already losing their solid state and turning into a dark liquid.
Forgive me, Master. I screwed up 'til the end.