Order 28: Dark Tidings
Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing.
Integra felt a small droplet of terror. An alliance. That could be the end of both Hellsing and Britain if Havoc agreed.
Havoc smiled slyly. "Why should I ally with you Shivaren? Give me a good reason, because I cannot see one. I mean, you don't seem to have thought this out very much. I am superior to you in every way-"
Shivaren charged towards Havoc with his claws unleashed. Havoc sidestepped gracefully and used his coat to cover Shivaren's face, effectively blinding him. After this Havoc brought his fists together and hammered Shivaren's back with a force that knocked him down like a sack of bricks, or would have if Shivaren had been there. All that Havoc hit was his own coat and Shivaren dived down viciously digging his claws into Havoc's back. At the same time this happened, a chain shot out of Havoc's wrist bloodying the right side of Shivaren's face. If one were to look at either of their faces they would have seen psychotic grins.
As all of this transpired, the Round Table Conference watched in awe. For it was a fight of undeniably high caliber. If either Shivaren or Havoc decided to use their true powers, however, the Round Table would be like cats caught on a railroad track; helpless and dead.
Corvine had never really cared much for Mortalcio's Temples and never paid attention to its surroundings. R, however, did. It was a place of strange beauty. The divine chamber was made out of a crystal witch glowed like the moon. Mortalcio, the guardian of the maiden of the moon maiden, Lunath. The foolish cult actually believed that now. R, who had once gone by another named and knew better, stood casually. He was a man of average height, with brown hair and glasses that hid his eyes from other's sights. He wore a tan overcoat and white shirt with ruffles at the chest. Casually, he took a cigarette out of the box he had in his pocket lit it and watched the scene before him. The man dressed in black had punched out Corvine with utter ease. Now he had turned his furry onto the worshippers.
"Where is he?" he asked. They quivered in the thrall of his presence.
"We do not have to tell you anything!" said one of the men furiously. It just so happened to be the same man who had spoken to Corvine earlier.
The man in the black suit turned on them furiously. If one were to look it consisted of a black leather coat (upon the back of which was engraved a cross that had a serpent slithering over it), black shirt, black pants, black shoes, and gray gloves. One would also have noticed that he had long brown hair, witch aided in hiding his face. His right arm was wrapped up with white cloth. Upon his back there was a shotgun, and hidden at his sides were two enormous handguns. The man gripped the throat of the one who had spoken and, with a tone of voice that sounded like ice that had smoldering rage just beneath it, said, "Where…is…he?"
The man now had a look of panic and desperation on his face and stuttered out, "I-i-in L-L-London. He's in London," he gulped at this point. "He's in London, England."
The man dressed in black released him at this point. "Well, then, I guess its time I go and join him."
As the man left, R stepped in his way. "You know that killing him won't solve anything don't you?"
To this the man replied, "I don't care."
Before the man could leave, R said, "Shalsk. At least let me accompany you out of here. It'll take us months even now, and it may take us years if we don't work together, at least for the time being."
"You want to exit in London as well. Why?"
R replied, "I have business there. Call it a family reunion if you will. Either way, we're both going on the same route. So, why don't we try to get out of here faster by pooling our talents?"
With that, Shalsk and R left the Divine Chamber of Mortacio Temples together. A stranger pair of allies you could almost never find. Different in almost every way and yet bound by the machinations of fate into a spiteful partnership.
Blood in ran down the body of the girl Jack had just killed. After two weeks of torture she had ended up begging him for death. He gave it to, one week later. Shivaren's proposal had enticed him and now he readied himself to pull of the first part of their deal.
Shivaren and Havoc stared each other down. For two seconds, witch seemed like an eternity, they did nothing. Shivaren felt the blood slide across his face. The wound Havoc had given him wasn't a serious one in that it would not kill him. It still burned away at his nerves, of course. However, all Shivaren did was smile in that strange chilling way that only he seemed to be able pull off. Everybody who met Shivaren knew he was a sadist. Few realized, however, that he had masochist's threshold for pain. The blood was creeping slowly onto his lips, while managing to obscure his vision. The wound itself had been right over his eye, for Shivaren was no fool and knew he could not dodge it. Instead he had moved to avoid a fatal wound, saving himself.
A savage lust for battle pulsated through him, filling the very core of his being. Images of horrifying massacres ran wildly throughout his mind, consuming his consciousness. He was beyond himself now, unable to control the impulses now gripping him. Shivaren moved so fast now that even a vampire's eye would not see him.
Thankfully, Havoc had learned never to trust his eyes and instead had developed a sort of sixth sense which gave a better understanding of his opponent's movements. Instead of seeing what his opponent did, he felt it. It was a very useful ability and had given him the edge in numerous encounters and all out wars. However, even this sense had its limits and a foe as erratic and impulsive as Shivaren made it very difficult to utilize. The longer this battle lasted, the more likely it would be that Shivaren would win. Every second spent in battle heightened his senses and amplified his reflexes and strength. Of course, if Havoc weren't restricted the way he was, than it would have been no contest.
Shivaren was now moving with speed that was increasing ten-fold with each passing second. Havoc, however, was the more serene of the two, moving with grace and confidence. In terms of fights this one was pretty evenly matched. Havoc was like water facing an intense flame and he would have the advantage for a while. However, even the coldest water can be overcome by a strong enough flame. So, Havoc had to finish the fight quickly. Otherwise, he would find himself torn to shreds by Shivaren's claws. Havoc cunningly sidestepped Shivaren's latest assault and connected with a wicked roundhouse kick into Shivaren's midsection. The move instantly broke a few of Shivaren's ribs and might have killed him, if he were human. However, Havoc felt the claws of Shivaren pierce through his chest at the same moment he connected. Havoc attempted to use his chains to pierce Shivaren's heart and sever his head at the same time, but felt his body start to go numb.
Havoc was smart and knew what was happening. Shivaren had injected some sort of negative compound into his system. Something that was overriding his regeneration.
Damn them, he thought. Damn Millennium.
"This chemical was developed specifically to take you down Havoc. My guess is that it will take full effect and kill you in a matter of seconds."
Havoc knew that he needed to do something, but if he made an attack Shivaren would parry it away. Havoc knew that it was hopeless and that he would die. A smile crept over his face as the darkness closed in on him.
"A cold, dark wanderer does arrive, bringing forth the scythe," was all R could hear Shalsk whisper as they arrived on the streets of London. R knew what Shalsk wanted. That was why they had decided to part paths here, or so they both thought.
A cold psychotic laugh pierced the room where Shivaren had just beaten Havoc. With cocky smile he threw Havoc out of the window, knowing that there was no use in making sure he was dead. That chemical had been designed to destroy him as surely as a silver stake through the heart would have and there was no way it would fail. With a joyful stride he teleported back to the Castle of Torment. Sure, he could have killed his enemy with absolute ease right there and then. But what was the fun in that?
Author's Note:What do you think of this chapter. It took me forever to get this chapter done. So please give me some feedback.