Hellsing: Red Plague

by Robin F. Shirewood

Dark Feelings, evil omens, People are dying by the thousands from an illness that defies science. A plague that some say, marks the return of The First Vampire. Now, the only hope for humanity is Britan's Hellsing Agency, the Vatican's Iscariot, and A Rog

1. Ruins of Nod

Hellsing: Red Plague.

Author's Note: I AM BACK PEOPLES! Yes, I know this isn't Diablo, but rest assured that the completion of the First Act of Diablo IS in the works...If you are curious where I have been, please be sure to check out Diablo- Epic Behind the game on Tuesday October 4th when I make my official comeback.
Until then, I offer a humble new story that I hope will garner just as much love. I now present this token offering before Diablo... I present Hellsing: Red Plague.

Chapter One: Ruins of Nod

: March 9th:
: Egypt- 50 kilometers west of Cairo:

: 5:32 AM:

"Did we lose it?" One of the vampires asked in Arabic.

The small jeep shuttered as it rolled over yet another sand dune, shaking the four vampires and the unconscious hostage inside as the vehicle jerked yet again to keep traction in the treacherous, shifting desert sands.

Sarcus, the driver and eldest of this pathetic group, panted as he checked the rear view, his hyper-keen senses still less than trustworthy after what the group had just been though.

Sarcus looked around at the other three, each of whom was nursing either their pierced bodies or their vastly damaged egos.

"Yes." Sarcus replied in his own, somewhat limited, grasp of the language. It was an effort to calm himself as much as the weakling novices in the passenger and back seats. In truth, however, Sarcus couldn't be sure if they were any safer now than they had been an hour ago, when the four survivors had piled into this one jeep with their human captive and set off over the dunes in an all out retreat.

As an elder French vampire, the one hundred and twenty year old Sarcus had been less than thrilled to have been sent out on what SHOULD have been a milk run with nine new-born (and thus inferior) Egyptian Fledglings. Many were only months old and were just beginning to understand the great new powers offered to them by the night and the blood of men.

Still, it should have been a simple task to raid a nearby nomadic village for both food and a single needed "Innocent Sacrifice' for the boss's larger plans. They were just humans after all.

But as the experienced Sarcus had just learned the hard way, NOTHING about this raid had been simple.

Never in his experience did six vampires, not even weak fledglings, all die against one mortal opponent.

Against a master vampire, a Nosferatu, like his boss, certainly…. But NEVER against a human.

"What THE FUCK WAS THAT?" One of the lesser vampires (whose name Sarcus hadn't bothered to remember) spat out in a broken form of French, still wincing from the burns that the fledgling could not yet heal on his own.

"The hell if I know…" Sarcus replied in his own language, possibly throwing off the others who were not yet fluent in his more noble language.

"Never before have I seen a man move like that." The other vampiric fledgling in the passenger seat added. While not injured in the unexpected fray, this firebrand of an Egyptian had not been eager to leave the fight and would have stayed of his own accord had he any choice in the matter.

'Would have stayed…" Sarcus though, '…And would have died.'

"Neither have I…." The eldest of the present vampires admitted. "I have heard rumors and myths of Puppet-Warriors called "Regenerators" used by The Vatican to hunt Demons and Vampires…."

"But…" one of the lower fledgling's in the back seat stammered, "We are Far from Catholic territories… The Vatican has no power….no Interest here…"

"Is that what that was?" The fledgling sitting next to Sarcus in the front seat asked, "A Regenerator?"

"No." Sarcus admitted to himself.

Regenerators (However many there might be in the world) were well known, even if they were considered myths by most since few vampires who faced them lived to tell the tale. The regenerator was the only human weapon powerful enough to stand any chance against a regular vampire. However, they were few and far in-between.

What they had just faced however did not seem to have the berserker qualities or healing abilities that the Vatican-Controlled Regenerator supposedly did.

But what was it then?

Humans didn't vanish into thin air only to reappear nearby….

Humans didn't stand directly in automatic machine gun fire and not take a single hit…

Humans didn't kill Vampires.

Absently, Sarcus looked down at the GPS screen built into the Jeep's Dashboard.
They were less than an hour away from the Ruins that their master, a greater French vampire named Antoine, had discovered and set up at her new base of operations. They were nearly safe back under the watchful gaze of their master.

Sarcus knew that they were cutting it close however.

Too close….

The last thing that Sarcus wanted to face after the disastrous night he had was the morning sun.

:6:21am:

:Ancient, half-buried ruins:

Sarcus and his remaining vampires arrived at the ruins, having only moments to spare before the ravaging desert sun rose over the eastern dunes of the Sahara. Less than a minute after the four had half dragged, half carried their pitiful catch into the shadows of the dank tomb they had uncovered several nights before, the jeep and sands all around the tomb was bathed in the deadly light.

Sarcus cursed the damnable sun that he had turned away from more than a century ago. If it were not for this pathetic weakness, his kind would have brought domination over this miserable planet long ago, never allowing the obsessive forces of the Vatican to develop enemies as formidable as the Regenerators.

Shaking his head, the elder vampire merely sighed, realizing that such retrospect was useless. Like his lesser brethren, Sarcus moved deeper into the long forgotten tombs.

Had he only stayed a few moments longer, the vampire's keen senses might have heard the faint clicking of a buckle coming undone and saw the shadow drop from the undercarriage of the jeep.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Quit your pathetic stammering and make sense ,Sarcus." The Nosferatu Antonie, a rather beautiful and busty dark haired woman who was a hundred times Sarcus' superior, bade her most powerful lieutenant, her fingers absently stroking the curved dagger that she kept with her at all times. "Panic simply does not suit you."

"For…forgive me, my mistress." Sarcus shook visibly. In his previous fear of being caught by the sunlight, the vampire had not given any real thought of what he could tell his mistress of this monumental failure. He had hoped that the bound and gagged 'innocent' that he had brought would take the mistress' mind off of any more obvious questions such as "Where were the others?" Unfortunately, he had been mistaken.

"Where are the others?" Antonie repeated, her sweet voice, Sarcus understood, held a trace amount of venom. The greater vampiress had many qualities: She was a seducer, a powerful warrior, and an accomplished thinker.

But patience and understanding were not among her virtues.

"Dead, my mistress." Sarcus tried to say as calmly and unemotionally as possible.

He didn't care that the ridiculously weak fledglings had died, of course, but he also didn't care for the fact that they had been considered HIS responsibility.

"Oh, really?" Antonie raised one eyebrow in a way that made part of Sarcus want to crawl into a deep dark hole. Unfortunately, he found the other part of himself turned on by the danger that the Mistress's stare entailed.

"And HOW, pray tell, did THAT happen?" The greater vampire asked incredulously, "Did you begin fighting each other over the best pieces of meat in that spit of a village? Or did all six of the fools trip and fall on wooden stakes that happened to be poking up out of the desert sand?"

"They were slain…" Sarcus explained shortly.

"Slain?" Antonie's eyebrow rose again, looking at her subservient with amusement. "Do these primitives even have pitchforks in this wasteland? What? Were you overwhelmed with the sheer number of the human herd?"
She snickered for a moment before her expression turned deathly serious.

"There were less than thirty dirty, half-starved, lower dreg humans in that so called tribe." Now the venom in the mistress's voice was thick enough to kill lesser men.

"If we were in France or England where vampiric lore was better known, THEN I might be able to believe that they came across fools wise enough to break out stakes and garlic to dispatch the lessers. But do you expect me to believe that six children of the night were killed by THESE ignorant Gypsy savages!"

"It was not so simple…" Sarcus managed to say, fighting to keep from shivering under his mistress's harsher tones. "It was…something else."

Antonie looked down at Sarcus inquisitively, allowing him to continue.

Two of the lesser vampires, who had been simple young porter boys only a month before when the powerful Mistress and her consort came to their country, walked about the still dusty and dark tomb, speaking frankly in their native tongue as they held their SMG's (sub-machine guns) close in the flickering torchlight.

"No food… not even blood to keep our strength up. Almost makes me wish that we had chosen to die like the others." One said, referring of course to the four porters who had refused the Mistresses unholy offer and died moments later with Allah's name on their lips.

"You could have stayed behind and let the Regenerator grant that request." The other (who had been sitting in the passenger seat of the jeep a while ago) offered, more than a bit annoyed at his companion's complaining.
Sure, he was upset about the lack of food and the power-granting blood that he had come to enjoy. But the way he saw it, it was a pittance for the strength and power that they had gained. He in particular would have taken up the mistress on her offer even if his death wasn't certain if he didn't.

So what if he could never see the sun again.
Daylight was over rated in any case.

"The master said that it was not a Regenerator…"

"Sarcus is NOT our master." The second vampire countered the first, turning about to realize that his companion was shaking rather badly, and his fine machine gun rattling slightly in his quivering hand.
"Are you 'afraid' of this… human?" He asked, his tone mocking the obviously shaken vampire.

"You were left in the jeep." The first countered. "You did not see did not see it move… did not see the others burn and fall…"

"If I had been there, I would not have run like a dog with tail between my legs." The arrogant vampire waved his hand dismissively. "Sarcus is both a coward and a fool. I would…."

The vampire stopped short as his ears (far more sensitive than they had EVER been in life) heard something strange.

A footstep against the worn, jagged stones.

Both vampires turned at once to the sound, lifting their weapons and taking aim down the corridor.

One held the devastating machine gun firmly, more than ready to let loose a barrage of unstoppable lead projectiles.

The other, however, could barely keep the weapon in his hand, shaking badly from the unexpected noise and unable to come to grip with what he had seen before.

If this was what he feared, the shaken vampire knew that he would not stop until he ran out of bullets. He would not give this 'human' a chance.

The tension held in the air for a moment. The more sturdy of the two mentally berating his cowardly comrade before he heard the sound again.
Another footstep echoed up the corridor.

Both vampires, neither knowing enough about their newfound prowess to see beyond what they knew in life, were surprised as the moving echoes grew closer and louder to their ears and a shadowy figure boldly strode into their line of sight.

The more fearful of the two did not hesitate for a moment.

Screaming out in surprise and raising his weapon in one hand, the vampire pulled back on the trigger with all his strength, easily snapping the piece of metal and jamming it in place. After less than a second, the other vampire fired as well, knowing that if this was Sarcus or their other former porter friend, that any damage would not be permanent.

Bullets rang out as the thunderous sounds of the two weapons rang all throughout the caverns. Soon, the bullets stopped when both clips ran empty. Both vampires, one grinning manically and the other shaking, stopped and lowered their weapons for a moment.

"You see?" The grinning undead remarked. "Just another human."

The grin faded quickly though as the two looked in the direction they had been firing.

Bullet-holes and debris from the broken, pitted walls lined the corridor for as far as the two could see. However their target was gone… Simply vanished.

"What the hell?" The grin faded quickly.
He may not have been human anymore…but he was certain that when men died…they left their bodies behind…covered in blood and riddled with holes.

"Allah…" The other shuttered, his weapon falling to the ground as he too realized that the figure had disappeared…
Just as it had back in the village.

So distracted and fearful was he by the missing corpse, the vampire hardly registered when a surprisingly soft, round object struck him in the back. Hearing the thud as the object fell unceremoniously to the ground, the quivering vampire turned about and looked down.

On the uneven stone floor of the underground ruin, the former porter from Cairo cried out loud in terror as he recognized the face under the blood matted hair and gaping look of fear.

Their last remaining brethren, who's duty had been to watch the entrance.

The cry drew the attention of the other vampire who, upon turning back and seeing the grossly severed head on the ruined floor, ejected his clip and quickly inserted another one from his belt.

Almost as soon as the metal clip clicked into place, another click came from behind, followed by a strange 'whooshing' sound that the steadier vampire could not identify until it was too late.

One last cry, begging Allah for forgiveness, escaped the frightened, reluctant vampire's suddenly blood soaked lips as he fell, quite dead, to the floor, a seemingly simple piece of sharpened wood protruding from the left side of his chest.

The last remaining vampire's eyes went wide at the spectacle as he saw smoke rising from the wound.
Now, fear suddenly filling the once arrogant vampire's mind, he took no chance, turning back in the direction from which the devastating bolt had come and opening a random, sweeping line of fire all down the corridor.

After a moment, the bullets ran out once again and the panting Egyptian vampire ejected the empty clip once again and started to retrieve a new one.

His arm never made it as a burst of light and flame engulfed his arm, knocking the exhausted weapon from his grasp and forcing the vampire to turn back around, facing away from the direction the wooden stake had come from.

Had he not been screaming due to the fact that his arm had caught fire, he might have gasped at the man with deep set, violet eyes and dark red hair pulled back into a pony tail standing not ten feet in front of him, hands aglow with an odd orange color. He was of a fair skin, most likely European… perhaps even an American, wearing a pair of simple brown, kaki like pants, a white shirt, and a long, concealing black overcoat.

The vampire panicked, his arms flailing around and spreading the flame up his immolating arm.

The man with the red hair and purple eyes stood back calmly as the vampire burned for a second, then, muttering under his breath, brought both hands up again. Orange-red lines formed around them, swirling faster and faster until curling, dancing balls of flame ignited into being, hovering only inches away from the human's white gloves.

In an instant, the man's hands shot forward several times, each motion launching a projectile of pure flame that struck and seemed to explode on the flailing vampire and engulf him with the fire.

After a few more moments, the screams stopped and the vampire's body fell to the floor, a charred blacked husk still alive but unable to move. His eyes, the only part of the vampire's immortal body that was still moving looked up to the red-haired man that now stood over him.

From under the dark overcoat came a weapon unlike anything the vampire had ever seen before. About the size of a Rocket Launcher that he had seen in an American movie once, and held like the much simpler shotgun, it was a fearsome sight to behold as the end was pointed down at the prone and paralyzed vampire's chest.

"Time to die…." Were the simple, but un-mistakable words, followed by a slight click, and a fearsome whoosh.

Then it was all black.

:40 seconds earlier:

"How many?"

Sarcus looked up inquisitively, not quite sure what his mistress was asking. He had recounted the entire fiasco at the tribal village

"How many were there? You say the attack came from all directions. That you could not pin down where these blessed stakes and bolts of fire came from. All I want to know is HOW MANY attacked you?"

Sarcus quivered in spite of himself, looking over to the squirming sacrifice, trying to take comfort in the fact that at least he had completed the task that he had been sent out for.

"I am uncertain…" Sarcus' voice carried little sincerity, a fact that Antonie picked up on immediately given a burst of intensity from her cold, soulless eyes.

"My best guess…" The male vampire stammered again, "Maybe…one…"

That opened the mistresses' eyes considerably.

"One?"

The interrogation ended suddenly as the sounds of screams and gunfire echoed in the distance. Surprised and confused, the two experienced vampires turned to the only entrance to this deep chamber while the automatic gunfire died for a moment, only to begin again, this time accompanies with further screams of terror. It was the unmistakable voice of one of the fledglings that Antonie had turned only a month ago when they had first come to this place and Antonie had begun her obsession with the vault-like tomb and old markings.

That obsession now seemed like a long forgotten memory as the burning orbs of his mistress's soulless eyes burned into him.

"You allowed yourself to be FOLLOWED!" Antonie hissed.

"Impossible…" Sarcus stuttered. "No vehicle could move so quietly over the dunes to keep track of us…."

"Get out of my sight, you worthless bag of flesh!" The vamperess commanded, turning away. "I will deal with this supposed threat that drove you away myself."

Sarcus (having no intention of reliving the massacre that would ensue either way) slinked away without another moment's though.

If his mistress won out, Sarcus would surely be punished for his ineptitude.
If this… Creature defeated the Nosferatu (an event that Sarcus could not dismiss as easily as Antonie) then he would be quite fortunate indeed if he could escape with his life.

The purple eyed, red haired Vampire Hunter pulled back and quickly reloaded his weapon with another "special" stake.
The entire exchange had taken about 30 seconds by his count.

More than 10 seconds longer that he had hoped. Now that those damn guns had fired, the entire Ruin likely knew that he was here.

The weaker fledglings were all out of the way and from what he had been able to tell, there had been no ghouls. Now, all he hoped he had were the two older, and more experienced vampires to worry about.

It struck him as strange for a moment that the 'master' who had sired these fledglings had been able to find so many older virgins to bring into her fold. He knew that it must have been a vampiress from the simple fact that all the fledglings he had encountered so far had been male.

It was so strange for a master to create so many free-willed undead and no ghouls.

Quietly, slipping his weapon back into his cloak and muttering under his breath, the Vampire Hunter moved down the unexplored corridor, hoping that these meager vampire's Masters had decided to go to sleep early.

"Oh… awake now are we?" Antonie cooed sweetly in French to her 'guest'.

The prisoner from the nomatic village, a young gypsy girl, was barely fourteen with long black hair tangled and encrusted with sand. She could only whimper and struggle against her gag and tight bindings.

Antonie couldn't hide a small smile when she noted the warm, tear filled eyes looking up at her, pleading silently for help.

So frightened.

So innocent.

So Perfect.

"Don't you worry little one," Antonie snickered in her sing-song voice, knowing full and well that the ignorant child couldn't understand a word of the more civilized language. "Your death may be slow and arduous… but rest assured that you are taking part in something that will shake the world, little dear."

No amount of sweet words or loving tone could sooth the child when Antonie grinned widely, her often used fangs gleaming in the torchlight that filled the room.

The fear in the little gypsy girl was obvious and complimented as the child pulled back, whimpering and thrashing back to get away from the evil, loathsome creature.

Antonie did not pursue the tasty looking morsel into its corner. She had all the time in the world as far as she was concerned. The child had no hope of escape, but there was no reason to let that on to the little mortal just yet. After all, Antonie did so enjoy the smell and energy generated by human fear.

"Just one minor matter to attend to, dear child…" Antonie stood to her full height, the full, dusty suit that she had brought with her adding to her aura of control.

The aura was only strengthened when she calmly walked over to the pile of cases and supplies in the opposite corner of the room and produced a devastating looking AK-47. "And then we can begin and fulfill both of our purposes."

"Indeed…" A strong, unfamiliar male voice echoed down the corridor and into the room, surprising the vampiress more than a bit.
Why had she not heard or smelt this fool coming?

"She can go back to her family…and you can become a puddle of blood in the forgotten ruin." The voice got stronger with every word and, as Antonie's senses could easily distinguish, he came ever closer.

"English?" Antonie mused out loud in her native French. Though she understood and could speak the language quite fluently, he refused to lower herself so. Amused and still somewhat perplexed by the fact that she had yet to pick up this mysterious intruder's scent, she held back for a moment longer. "A language I have not heard in quite sometime."

"Nor are you likely to again" The voice grew stronger and, for the first time, Antonie saw the mystery man as he strode boldly into the opening.

The vampiress was fully taken aback when she saw him. He was human; there was no doubt about that, a young and foolishly confident one at that judging by his bold, almost cocky posture. Even pitch black night, much less this flickering light, the nosferatu's 'Third Eye' was more than capable of making out every detail of the red haired man's sharp features and deep violet eyes. He seemed almost purposely disheveled as well, his clothing carelessly loose and wrinkled.

Under most circumstances, Antonie would have laughed out loud at the thought that THIS was a threat. However, she had known Sarcus for more than a hundred years and had NEVER seen him react so fearfully to anything until he had come back to her earlier that day.

Even more confusing was that her enhanced sense of smell still could not register the human that she could now see so plainly. At this distance, the vampiress could clearly hear his heart beat, easily distinguish his breathing pattern.

"And…You are?" Antonie held her weapons limply in one hand, hoping that her relaxed looking position would entice the human to charge or otherwise attack her.

The human was silent for a moment.

"I swear, human…if you say you are Justice or Death, I might just die laughing." Antonie chuckled, once more hoping to keep the mysterious human off balance.

"Death's Hand of Justice?" The human merely shrugged, his demeanor unthreatening and a slight, ridiculous smirk on his face as if he were honestly hoping that very thing would come to pass.

Antonie humored the human for a moment, bursting out in a seemingly good natured laugh.

She stopped abruptly; her facial expression going from mirthful smile to a maniacal grin as she bolted forward, faster than any human eye could dare hope to follow.

In less time than it took to blink, Antonie was less than six inches from the intruder's face.

Oh, how the nosferatu enjoyed seeing this one's angular face distort in shock and confusion. She savored it for less than half a second before bringing her weapon down on the fool's head with all of her dark given strength.

As the arm came down, Antonie lamented for a second that her machine gun would probably be destroyed by the sheer force and all messy from the human's brain matter, but oh well… she didn't care for guns anyways.

She preferred to crush her victims.

One could only imagine the experienced vampire's surprise when the weapon met with no resistance and she nearly tripped over herself as she overbalanced.

"Wha…?" For the first time in her three hundred years walking under the night sky, Antonie was truly confused.

The man had been here only half a second ago. No human could POSSIBLY move that fast.

But, somehow, at the last moment, he had disappeared completely.

Simply vanished….

"You know…." The still relaxed voice came from directly behind the vampire, who snapped aback around instantly, surprise apparent when she saw the dark violet orbs looking back at her, standing where she had been only a moment before. "You might want to think about therapy, because I'm picking up some anger issues. Also, is it the wrong time of the month? Normally you blood-suckers have more patience than that."

Antonie's eyes widened, twitching as she heard the thinly veiled insult. Her teeth and fangs now grinded together and she could feel the veins in her forehead pounding.

She would not suffer such treatment from any other vampire…much less an ignoble human cow!

Now, feeling that she understood this human's unique and unexplainable tactics, she rushed forward again, and was only inches away from him yet again. Now, she brought the butt of her weapon up again, pulling down suddenly as if she were going to smash the human's head again, but pulling the weapon around at the last second to aim back to the door. Randomly, the Nosferatu opened several burst of fire, feeling confident that the human would have disappeared and pulled back again to relative safety.

Bullets pitted and chipped away at the ancient stone walls, while the vampiress turned about, her free arm swinging in a solid arc to strike down the pathetic human if for some reason he remained in his current place.

Once more, shock and utter disbelief took hold of the vampiress' mind when she had turned half way and realized that neither her free swinging arm nor any of her bullets had hit the mark.

And as her eyes confirmed only milliseconds later, they did not hit the mark because the human was now standing to the side of her, facing the vampire while her weapon was still aimed at the door and her arm pulled down to her side.

And more importantly, the human's alien looking weapon was up, held firmly against his shoulder, and aimed directly at her chest.

Antonie managed only a slight gasp of surprise before she heard the click and felt a two foot long, burning projectile pierce her left breast, practically impaling the vampire. Her entire upper body felt as if it were immediately engulfed in flames. And it took almost another second for the vampiress to realize that she had, for the first time, been staked… by a blessed bolt, no less, probably a broken and remade bit of some holy relic.

Antonie stood amazed for a moment at how perfectly the human had predicted her moves… how simple and yet absolutely brilliant the strategy had been.

And mostly she stood in stark relief that the foolish human knew so little about her.

One of her chief surprises, one thing that had kept her alive again and again over the centuries of battling other vampires and dealing with less than valiant would-be vampire hunters had been her most unusual anatomy.

Most notably the fact that her heart was on the OTHER side of her chest.

The vampiress laughed out loud again, ignoring the blazing pain that burned though her upper body and chest. One thing that she had to admit, her respect for this unorthodox human was growing by the moment.
It was a feeling she did not wish to cultivate any further.
Not wasting a moment of her advantage as the red haired vampire hunter's eyes widened in surprise, Antonie brought her gun arm around again, pulling back the trigger with all abandon lost, emptying the clip at the confused and vulnerable human hunter.

But the flying metal, it would seem, was a poor choice.

With her movement slowed by the blessed stake, the human hunter had an extra moment before the bullets flew and, in response, raised his hand in an awkward, uncomfortable looking position, and began to mutter under his breath softly in a tongue that even the learned Antonie did not understand.

Shock was again Antonie's as the bullets began to go awry. Those that flew straight for the intended target suddenly launched of to the side, their trajectories bending AROUND the human to impact into the dry, almost powdery stone wall.

Every single one that even came near the muttering man twisted fully, purposely, out of its way to avoid him.

Now, pained and shaken up beyond anything that she had known in her long, striking existence, Antonie ceased her fire and heaved the useless gun at the human with all her might. Not surprisingly, the red haired human ducked down out of the way, his muttering stopped and the once awkwardly positioned hand slipped into the wrinkled black coat to pull out another almost two foot long stake from inside his concealing coat and loaded it into the strange weapon.

Antonie took this moment to gain her own advantage.
Learning from her past mistake, she did not try to rush the slippery human, nor did she simply move forward to engage in closer ranged combat. In truth, the vampiress was most cautious, not wanting to discover any more of this one's inhuman tricks if she could help it.
Anyone who was so well prepared must have had something else up his sleeve to neutralize the vampire's obvious advantage in hand to hand combat.

So instead of advancing, Antonie jumped backward, pulling out her blade, a curved foot and a half long dagger that she kept for her own amusement, and pulling up the gypsy girl from the village where Sarcus had met this inexplicable human several hours before.

Just as the human managed to raise his alien weapon towards the vampire again, Antonie brought the whimpering gypsy girl up to her feet, the blade pressed against her throat.

The two sets of eyes locked…. The vampire's blood red pools filled with pain and loathing; while the dark violet orbs of the human hunter wracked with a sudden indecision.

For a few, long moments, the only sound that could be heard was the whimpering of the gypsy girl as she tried of very hard to not move with the razor sharp blade pressing against her exposed neck.

"What…'ARE'… you?" Antonie forced each word out, the burning, blessed stake taking it's toll on as her own blood, almost boiling from the burning stake's touch, dribbled down the corner of her lip. The wound was not fatal to her as a vampire, she realized. But the longer she remained impaled upon it, the weaker Antonie realized she would become.

"A Vatican dog? A mercenary looking for a new combat high? Your skills are far more than this forsaken wasteland warrants"

The red haired human stood again, his movement making Antonie press the blade even tighter against the girl's neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Stay back, Human… or she dies right now."

A grin danced upon Antonie's lips again when she saw the vampire hunter's hesitation. As often was their fatal flaw, this supremely skilled and aptly prepared hunter had a soft spot for the weak and suffering.

How delicious, Antonie thought, her grin growing as the hunter lowered his arcane weapon from his shoulder and aimed the nozzle to the ground.

"Drop it!" Antonie commanded, her tone growing more confident and her French words coming more easily to her lips.

The vampiress truly enjoyed the helpless look on the hunter's angular face as he took the weapon in one hand and held it at arm's length out to the side while the other was held up in a surrendering pose.

Now, victory assured, Antonie sneered at the formidable hunter, confident that she had found the weakness she needed to survive.

That sneer quickly became a gurgle of surprise when, as unexpectedly as anything else that had happened over the past minute and a half, a stinging orange light, followed by a gout of fire erupted from the human's raised hand even while he dropped the weapon as told.

Already slowed by the cursed stake that still protruded from her chest, Antonie could not pull aside fast enough to dodge the unexplainable fire and caught the bolt of flame fully in her arm.

The arm that held the blade to the gypsy child's throat.

All too predictably, the frightened child panicked as her captor's arm burst into flame and, feeling the blade pull away from her vital throat, attempted to pull away. Antonie, no stranger to the whims of the desperate hostage, used her dark strength to easily hold the girl in front of her. But, now injured as she was both by this ravaging fire that crawled up her arm and the embedded, still smoldering blessed stake, she could not long control her knife wielding left hand and drew a long cut across her hostage's shoulder and arm, drawing a cry from the girl and spilling the human's blood far sooner than she had intended.

Heat ravaging her from both her arm and chest, Antonie could hardly focus on her surroundings. Pain and anger throbbed in her temples while she gripped tighter on the child's arm, easily crushing the bone and putting the girl on her knees in agony.

Again, Antonie forced her senses to focus beyond the anger, beyond the pain that was threatening to over whelm her, and back to what had caused this torment.

Now she realized that, in her distracted moment, the hunter had dropped to the floor almost on his back, catching the weapon before it could fall to the ground and now had the barrel aimed up again, pointed at his vampiric prey.

Intuition told Antonie that this was little more than a bluff. After all, she had the girl child up now right in front of her; her weeping, sobbing, pathetic face between the vampire's oddly placed heart and the hunter's oddly designed weapon.

It was not until she heard the weapon cock that the vampiress realized that the nozzle of the weapon was not aimed at her heart…but at her head.

The weapon kicked back, exploding loudly now instead of silently launching another stake. Faster than even a vamiric eye could move, a single, rather large bullet fired from the same barrel that had earlier launched the devastating stake.

Half an instant later, the vampiress's head rocked back, the metal slug burrowing straight into her skull and making lights explode behind her eyes.

Now, pain that could easily kill a man wracked her body, her already sluggish nerves pulsing with heat and filling her skin with an odd pins-and-needles sensation.

This, she realized, would heal in time, and once more, she put everything she had into focusing on her assailant and holding tightly onto her hostage.

The hunter now sat on the ground, his legs spread out before him and weapon put down to the side. How vulderable a position he had gone into for the shot he had taken.

Now, all of his hopeful defenses were compromised. How utterly pointless his head shot now seemed. The fire along her arm too had gone out and already, Antonie could feel the burns and wounds healing.

"You FOOL!" Antonie sneered in her native tongue again, blood pouring from her mouth with every syllable. "Bullets are USELESS against a Vampire!"

Now, Antonie was seriously unnerved when the human hunter looked up at her, a sly gleam in his eyes and an equally sly smirk on his lips. Only absently did Antonie notice the Hunter's subtle hand movement at the base of his weapon, much less the nearly inaudible pressing of the small red button on the bottom of the clip.

"True." The hunter replied wittingly, "Normal bullets are useless…"

Antonie, a Nosferatu who had lived three hundred years by her strength and superior wit, never heard the end of the hunter's explanation. All she could hear was a slight beeping in her skull….

…And then her head exploded in a bloody shower of bone fragments and liquefied brain matter.

"…But these are HARDLY 'normal' bullets." The red-haired hunter got up while the vampire's body fell lifelessly to the floor, pulling his weapon close to him and replacing it seamlessly into his coat. When he looked back, no one could have ever guessed that he was carrying such a large weapon. Now, his immediate task done, the vampire hunter went over to the girl.

Whimpering, her tear soaked face and quick prayers to any god who would listen would have told a blind and deaf man that she was in pain. As quickly as he could, he looked the girl over to see how badly she was hurt. None of the vampires had bitten her it looked like, that much was an immediate relief. And the most obvious wound, the blood dripping knife cut along the girl's exposed arm and shoulder seemed mostly superficial and would heal in time. More urgent in the Vampire Hunter's mind was the poor child's arm, the humerus crushed in at least two places by the lady vampire's merciless grip.

The girl would be lucky if she could ever use the arm again.

Feeling that the best bet for the child would be to get to a hospital in Cairo as quickly as possible, the hunter got up and moved quickly, getting things ready to go.

After removing his stake from the vampiress' heart (and wondering why the first shot had not disabled the monster to begin with) the hunter made sure there was no chance of her getting up again, using the long, curved blade the vampire had used to torment the Egyptian girl to more cleanly sever what was left of the vampire's head from her neck. Now, more relaxed he looked around the room and took a closer look at the enigmatic inscriptions on the far wall, facing away from the door.

Strange, these were not hieroglyphics, but given his more urgent task of getting the child to safety, the vampire hunter did not spend more than a moment looking over the engravings himself. Instead, reaching back into his black coat, the purple eyed hunter pulled out a small digital camera. Several flashes later, when he was sure he managed to get all of the inscriptions in the room on the camera's memory; he put it away and went to pick the girl up.

Here Sarcus stood, much as he had since after his mistress had cast him aside, only a few feet from the jeep that had brought him back to this place and the devastating sunlight of the desert morning.

From this spot, he had concentrated and listened to the entire exchange between the enigmatic hunter and his powerful mistress. And yet, despite her power and forewarning, she had been caught off guard by the intruder's skill.

Now, she was dead, and Sarcus was alone.

Had it been night time, the vampire would had not hesitated to rush to the jeep and drive away over the moon lit dunes.
However, in this deadly time of light, he felt powerless.

Unable to leave.

Fearing to stay.

Even worse, he stood in a ruin of stone. If only the flooring here had been made of sand. Then, he could simply bury himself until the sun went down and then move from there. But there was no sand or even ground here for the vampire to bury himself in here, at least, none that was untouched by the golden, damning rays of the sun.

Fearful for his un-life and knowing full and well that there was nowhere to hide in the simplistic, mostly blocked off ruin's mazes. Simple halls and corridors offered no solice to the desperate, cornered nosferatu.

"Your choice, midian…"

The words hit Sarcus harder than a cannonball, spinning him around to face his assailant.

There stood his terror.

The Red-Haired Vampire hunter that had challenged him in the nomatic village. The one that had destroyed so many of the fledglings AND his fearsome mistress now stood in the corridors, facing out into the light and into Sarcus, the arcane stake launcher weapon in one hand, and the gypsy girl that Sarcus had personally chosen to bring back to his mistress held up in the other.

But everything else was lost when his gaze fell upon those dark, harsh purple orbs.

"It's the sunlight…or me. Take your choice vampire."

Sarcus didn't have to be given the choice again.

As quickly as he could, the vampire pulled off his black jacket, threw it over himself, and charged out into the burning sand.

Rushing out, praying to any power that might listen that he could get though without allowing the damaging light to touch his skin, Sarcus dove towards the jeep and managed to get a hand on the door handle.

Just as he was feeling he might ACTUALLY escape, Sarcus heard the fearful whoosh.

"That, however…" The hunter shook his head, lowering his weapon as the vampire's coat was knocked from his hand and the one hundred and fifty year old vampire was immolated in the morning sun.

"…would be MY ride."

The blood left in that seemingly empty chamber of the ruin refused to dry.

Instead, the pooled, dripping life's blood of the vampire Antonie was…pulled. Drawn to the center of the room, oozing into the barely noticeable trench etched so many hundreds of thousands of years ago.

In mere moments, the blood of the Vampire Antonie was within the triangular trench, filling a single piece of the strange symbol carved into the floor.

Without warning, the blood of the damned began to glow a dark, deep shade of red.

Now, another much less abundant spackling of blood began to move. Droplets and spray from the young girl's shoulder and arm to moved inexplicabily towards the center of the room. And, in a matter of a few minutes, filled the much smaller symbol within the symbol.

In the moment that both triangular shapes were filled with the blood, a new glow, darker, a color not seen by mortals in eons filled the room.

And the portal, seamlessly sealed for millennia beyond human remembrance, cracked ever so slightly open.

Here, an Evil forced asleep for untold eons stirred….

And sent its strength forth though the cracked door.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lay down and try not to move." The hunter allowed himself a glance back, seeing the young girl clutching at her injured arm and shoulder. She couldn't understand him of course, and the vampire hunter's grasp of the language was far too limited to comfort her further. The crude tourniquet that he had ripped up from the vamperiess' suit would have to do until they could find a real doctor. Right now he had to hope that it would be enough for the long drive to civilization.

Still the important thing in the Hunter's mind was that the girl was safe and the vampires were dust.
Emphasis on the fact that the vampires were dust.

As long as there were no complications, they would be able to make it back to Cairo before dark.

As this thought passed his mind, the hunter's ears perked as he heard what he could only describe as a very well muffled explosion.

"What the hell…?" The hunter looked up and around until the image in the side mirror caught his eye. The ruin, only just barely within visual range, disappeared under a wave of sand, buried yet again under the merciless Sahara.

He was curious of course. Had the vampires wired the place to blow up? That didn't make any sense as there would have been no way to escape. Midians were not often the suicidal type and even if they were, why die for THAT hunk of rock in the sand.

All of this suddenly seemed pointless when the hunter realized that the wave of sand was not limited to the ruin.

Rippling outward like the shockwave of an atomic bomb, the sand was thrown into the air, creating what looked like solid wall of sand.

Worse of all, it was quickly catching up to the roofless jeep.

"Mary, Mother of…" The Hunter caught himself, gritting his teeth and pushing the accelerator to the limit just as the wall of sand edged the jeeps bumper.

"HOLD ON!"

At this point, the hunter realized again just how much he hated complications.

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:March 9th:

: England- Hellsing Agency Headquarters:

:Private Study of Sir Integra Wingate Helsing:

: 10:57 PM:

"This is it Alucard…" The white haired director of Hellsing Agency smirked slyly, uneasing her opponent. "End game, Midian. You always knew that it would end like this."

"She is quite right, Alucard." Walter shook his head, snickering between words, "You have no hope of getting past her this time. It would be best if you were to just lie down and accept your fate."

Seras Victoria, Alucard's Fledgling Vampire and a former police girl could hardly believe the intensity of the showdown and kept back, not sure weather to side with the respected Director of Hellsing Agency or her Master Alucard, to whom she owed her "Life" and felt an irresistible urge to serve.

"You should know better, My Master…." Alucard, the vampire known as The No-Life King replied with an equally confident smirk. "You don't have the guns or the nerve to take me down."

"You are so certain?" Integra Helsing spoke with all the obvious authority and conviction of her lofty position as Hellsing's Director. "You are not as invulnerable as you seem to believe, Alucard. And now…You're luck has run out. Any last words?"

The tension saturated the air as Master and Monster locked eyes, neither giving an inch.

In the years that past since she had first found the Midian that had become the Trump card of her monster hunting Helsing Agency, Integra had come to respect the vampire greatly. But all of that was moot now.
As she waited for him to make his decision, she realized that, at last, she had him beaten.

And for The No-Life King there could be no escape.

Alucard's arm came out suddenly, snapping forward so quickly that any no human onlooker could have caught it.

"CALL!" The Nosferatu declared, and in that same instant, twenty bright purple plastic chips scattered the multi-color pile in the center of the small table.

Integra smiled, looking over her glasses in confidence at the calling amount, Well over 10,000 Pounds in value, but still a pittance compared to the combined prize.
"You first Al."

Triumphant and smug as always, the Vampire threw down his hand, revealing the cards that had been the subject of the last twenty tense minutes.

"Just a little full house, My Master." Alucard smiled menacingly, his fangs bared in plain few as he brought the packet of A positive blood he had been snacking on up to his lips.

"Two fine Royal Air Force Aces and their three planes, Jack Heart, Jack Spade, and Jack Club."

"Full house, Aces and Jacks" Walter translated, pushing the green tinted dealer's shade higher up on his forehead to keep his Monocle from reflecting the cards that were in his hand. He had folded long ago, leaving Sir Integra and Alucard to their battle of wit, and now it had seemed that Alucard had indeed won.

"That is a very fine hand…" Sir Integra nodded sadly, her face a mask of confusion. "And here I thought you were bluffing."

"HA!" Alucard blurted out, immediately leaning forward to collect the winning that he felt he had won.

"And to THINK all I have is a Winston Churchhill, King Edward, Queen Victoria, Prince Charles, and Princess Diana wearing diamonds…. Poor poor me."

"Yah…poor.." The vampire stopped grasping at the plastic chips in the center, with a look almost along the lines of horror, The Nosferatu Alucard realized what his master was saying.

"Royal Straight Flush, Ace though 10 of Diamonds." Walter translated with a widening smile while Sir Integra reached forward, mocking Al's earlier grandstanding position and scooping the plastic chips to her side of the table.

"Very well Played Sir Integra." Seras congratulated Hellsing's Director. Having kept quiet until now, she drew an evil glare from her master, which caused her to break out immediately in a cold sweat.
"Of course, you did very well too master…" She stammered, running a gloved hand though her carrot-red hair.

"Police girl…" Alucard shook his head, keeping down the fury he felt and not instantly lash out. Damn Integra for making him read those anger management books. "… Shut up."

"But Master… I just…"

Seras never finished the sentence as her body was suddenly wracked in an intense, burning agony. Crying out from the sudden pain, Seras fell from her chair and began to writhe on the floor, loosing her voice after the initial shock and twitching uncontrollably.

"Seras? SERAS?" Integra leaped to her feet, the childish feeling of victory over Alucard instantly forgotten as she rushed to help the young vampire twitching wildly on the floor.

"WHOA!" Alucard jumped to his feet, his hands and arms shaking as if he had been given a powerful electro-shock.

Walter was immediately up and at the nosferatu's side while Integra quickly moved to hold Sera's head still as the vampiress convulsed on the floor. While Integra knew that a broken neck wouldn't be fatal to the vampire, it would take be exceedingly painful and probably take weeks to heal.

"What was that?" Walter asked the nosferatu, who was still twitching erratically.

"I don't know." Alucard shook his head, a confused look on his face. "Integra…"

The vampire had the attention of Helsing's Director in an instant.

"Something has happened." Alucard said, "I don't know what, but somewhere…..Something has happened.

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:March 9th:

: Egypt- Cairo:

:St. Luke's Charity Hospital:

: 11:57 PM:

Doctor Johan Salt had seen many things in his time in Egypt. He had seen dregs from the lowest lanes of poverty die of things that doctors in England, France, and America didn't even consider fatal. He had seen men twisted from years of hard work in a harsh desert trek as many as a hundred kilometers in deadly heat to discuss a simple rash. He had also been harassed as an 'Infidel' and threatened with force several times for his chosen faith.
Superstition was still rampant here, as were snake-oil salesmen and so-called magicians in this part of the world playing doctor.
But that was why he was here. As a devout catholic, he thought he could make a difference in the way the uneducated masses saw the world and his religion. And as a doctor, thought he could help those already suffering here.

Doctor Johan Salt had seen many things in his time in Egypt, but THIS really took the cake.

It had started half an hour earlier when the most beat up, sand encrusted jeep he had ever seen drove up to the corner and a pale, equally sand encrusted red-haired man brought a young native girl into the hospital in his arms.

The man was quite when the doctors took the girl in and cleaned her up. She was hurt pretty badly, the doctor realized, but she would easily live though it. The gash on her shoulder was superficial; no where near as bad as it looked with the sand encrusted blood and the crude, near ruined tourniquet.
The young woman's other arm was another story. The bone had been crushed and would never heal completely. But still, with a few hours of reconstructive surgery, the young girl would likely live to a ripe old age even with the injury barring disease and murder.

But the girl was not what stuck out in the good doctor's mind; it was the man that caught his attention.
At first, when he first came in he said nothing. After much prodding as to details, the red haired man replied that they had been caught in a sandstorm and that her family should be notified, but then left after giving the doctor the name of the girl's makeshift village. Both the doctor and the resident head priest, Father Montgomery were surprised he returned a short time later carrying a rather large case and a laptop computer.

Every now and then, the doctor and the priest would take notice of the red-haired man sitting in the lobby with his computer and what looked like a digital camera and (more than once) Dr. Salt noticed the man taking a deep drink of something from a flask that he quickly hid in his cloak. Though curious, Dr. Salt kept a level of professionalism and did not bother the grim, preoccupied American (At least, that was what the good doctor deduced from his obvious accent and perfect grasp of the language). Still, the doctor could not help but wonder.

Why had this man braved a sandstorm to help a native girl?
How had she been injured? The wounds were obviously not accidental, but Dr. Salt had never seen anything that could crush a bone so fully without breaking the skin. Bruises suggested a handprint, but no man on earth could POSSIBLY be that strong.

Finally when surgery was complete, the red haired man confronted both Doctor Salt and Father Montgomery with something that they had never expected and would never see again at the non-profit humanitarian St. Luke's Charity Hospital.

"This is for your troubles, Doctor." The red-haired man said, his voice even and steady as he handed a ten thousand US-Dollar brick to Dr. Salt, who's eyes almost immediately fell out of his head.

Father Montgomery was equally dumbstruck as the red-haired, violet eyed man continued on as casually as if he had handed the doctor a business card.

"I know it's not much considering, but take it as a donation." The man continued, leaning down to pick up his large case while the laptop was under his arm. "With any luck, her family should be here to claim her in a few days. If you could, please hold on to her until then."

He turned then, heading for the door when something happened that surprised Dr. Salt even more.

"Wait a bit." Father Montgomery called out to the man, "We're very grateful for the donation, but may we ask who is making it?"

The hunter paused in his tracks for a moment, looking over his shoulder to the priest, a gleam in his eyes.

'What the hell,' he thought. It wasn't like the cameras in this hospital hadn't already seen him and notified the Vatican that he was here. It wasn't like an Iscariot Hit squad wasn't already on its way.

"Harker." He said, resuming his walk. "Jonathan Harker."

As he left, Dr. Salt, who had worked with Father Montgomery for over a year, could not understand why the good father had suddenly turned so pale.

"Father?" he asked, disturbed to see the priest so shaken.

"Burn the money…." Father Montgomery said, now breaking into a cold sweat. "It's not welcome here."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

In the darkness beneath the sands, evil stirred again.

Having spent eons in darkness, planning its moves with precision, this unfortunate twist was an unfortunate setback, but not at all unexpected.
As immediate as its rage-fueled shockwave sundered the sand, a secondary wave of darkness had been unleashed. It was a power that was already spreading and would soon bring the World of Seth to its knees.

Now only one component was missing.

"Harrrrrkkkeerrrr…."