Hellsing: The Order/The Beginning

Rating: T

Chapter 5: Igitur qui desiderat pacem praeparet bellum

Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, don't claim to, only doing this for fun.

Father Bervaldi drew his body back as the arrow sliced through the air where he had been only moments before. Twisting again to the space the arrow had sliced through a second wooden projectile pierced the space he had been seconds before. With a grunt he thrust himself against a tree and pushed away from it as two more arrows pierced the bark.

With a sneer he brought one holy blade down upon the head of a native follower of Quetzaquotal. Blood spurted outwards, but he was already on the move, the falling body of the native pierced by his companion's latest arrow. Bervaldi lifted his blessed blade instinctively, and the stone head of an arrow deflected away from him, passing within a centimeter of his face.

Disgusted Bervaldi dove into the underbrush, lightly aware of a stinging sensation as an arrow skimmed across his right thigh. Nearing the target he rose, slashing his blade down through the horse string bow, breaking it. His right arm shot out and caught the native below the jaw, sending him onto a rock with a satisfying crunch of bone, followed by the unmistakable rattle of death.

This made over fifty natives he had slain since his arrival in mainland Méjico. One also had to take into account the seven demon possessed merchants and the highwayman of course to receive an accurate summation. Whoever had said "Therefore, he who desires peace, let him prepare for war" was not far off.

Father Andrew Bervaldi desired peace for the innocent Roman Catholics worldwide, a hope of peace that they might live untroubled lives without having to fear the hordes of the Undead and the minions of Satan. However, the only way to do so was to be on this constant war footing, as his Order had been created for. Blasphemously he compared it to the greater eternal struggle between the Lord and Satan.

He walked a good distance before finding a spring of water. He sheathed his blades and began to drink of it, bathing his wound in its delightfully cold wetness. He was reaching for another handful when the warning came.

"Let only he who is pure of heart and intent, with the faith of a child, drink of this holy water, blessed by the Lord," the voice announced from everywhere, yet nowhere, "For as Adam and Eve partook of the forbidden fruit and gained the knowledge of true and evil, so shall he who drinks of this place partake the fruit of immortality."

"Who are you voice," demanded Andrew Bervaldi, eager to soothe his thirst.

"I Am," replied the voice, "and I Am that which soothes the thirst of the soul."

Andrew Bervaldi buckled at the knees, "I am unworthy, for I Am Not."

"Rise," said the voice, "and decide; immortality upon this world to uphold my will, or the inevitable death of this assignment."

"If I choose immortality," asked Bervaldi, "When will I enter the Kingdom of Heaven?"

"When one of pure faith and heart slays you," came the cryptic reply. It continued, "Your Order has taken up arms in My name. They are already damned without repentance."

"But my Lord, we-"

"Silence. Decide. Do not argue with your Lord," came the commands, like thunder rolling across the tropical evening.

Carefully, Father Andrew Bervaldi stooped, and gathered water within a hand. Then, still gazing about he drank, and in so doing became an earthly immortal, blight upon the grand design of God's tapestry. He looked about once more and declared, "I am your servant oh God. I shall cleanse this land Méjico of the heathens, of the demons, and of the blasphemers."

"Including Thyself," asked a voice, different than the one before, "Even when He offers it, earthly immortality is a blasphemy against God."

"Show yourself demon," demanded the Priest, unsheathing his blessed blades from his simple brown robes.

"Why," asked the demon, "When you have not yet shown your true self to any, including you?"

"What do you mean," demanded Bervaldi, his glances about now becoming frantic with the knowledge if he was caught off guard he would surely be disarmed and in a great deal of pain even though the Lord had said he was immortal now.

"Silly Nephilim," the demon chuckled, "do you not even realize your true nature?"

"Stop with your lies demon and show yourself," demanded Father Bervaldi, his voice a distinct barking of a man on the verge of losing control, "I will not believe that I am one of the byproducts of Fallen Angel and Human Flesh that were destroyed in the Great Flood!"

"You believe that angels do no continue to fall," asked the Demon, "You truly are pitiful. Do you really believe your father died in a skirmish with Protestants? What reason do you have for your natural healing abilities, your strength and unparalleled fighting skill that are of instinctual level?"

"Silence demon, come and face me," demanded Bervaldi, still waving the blessed blades around, "I have had enough of your lies."

"No little boy," laughed the demon, "I wish you to come to me, to my temple. That is, if my followers do not slay you first."

With that a hail of arrows and musket fire erupted from the thicket at the edge of the pool of water.