Singularity

Order: History

It had been a long, long evening, to say the least, a fact that quite escaped the two soldiers until the first rays of dawn broke through the curtains, casting a warm, melancholy glow onto the dark hardwood floors. Added to the thick curls of cigarillo smoke that hung in the warm air, it was a strange, yet somehow comforting scene; Integra was leaned back in her chair behind her desk, Ceras across and seated in a high backed leather lounger, the deep red of the leather in contrast to her blue uniform. Her tactical vest and gear were hanging off the armrest, having been removed hours ago.

The conversation had run the gamut, from starting off as a hard and fast debriefing to something of a less formal round table of where, when, and how exactly to rebuild the shattered institution, which was now wrapping up. All in all, it looked far more like two old friends catching up with one another than the reuniting of a commander and subordinate. Aside, of course, from the nature of the conversation, and the odd 'sir' and 'lady Integra' being tossed about.

"I suppose it is settled then. Are you sure you want me to act as the ranking officer, Sir?"

Integra nodded across the table. "Yes. Right now, outside of myself and Walter, you are the most familiar with our activities, and have the best relationship with the surviving troops." She paused, smirking before continuing, "So long as you don't ask them to storm a sewer, apparently."

Ceras reddened slightly, sniffing self consciously as if making sure the smell of the earlier excursion was gone, before nodding. "Right. Sir . . . are you intending on unsealing . . ."

Integra nodded. "Eventually. Soon. The Queen has given me permission, and he will be paramount in its execution. Still, given the situation, releasing him now would be a bit pointless. Unless Section 13 makes another move, I think it would be best for Hellsing if we formed a troop base that did not necessarily think we have a trump card to fall back on."

"Speaking of the Iscariot, Sir, what do you think of the book? Any idea why they wanted it?"

Integra shook her head, glancing at the tome at it lay before her. "Not a clue, though I already have our connections in MI-6 pulling data on it. But it will be awhile . . ."

"I believe I might be able to clear that up."

The unknown, dignified voice startled both women into action, sleepiness cast aside and eyes wide. Integra bolted upright with her hand going for her top desk drawer and the concealed handgun therein while Ceras jumped to her feet and had her Desert Eagle up with the safety off in one smooth motion, red eyes scanning from left to right even as she interposed herself between Integra and any possible attacker.
"There is no need for alarm. I am hear to help, I assure you." The disembodied voice continued on, though in truth, both women found it a bit hard to fear an accent that would seem to fit best on a bespectacled, tweed wearing, grey haired librarian. To say it wasn't threatening was something of an understatement.

Still, its source wasn't visible. And until he opened his mouth, Alexander Anderson seemed perfectly normal, albeit his exceptional height.

Caution was the watchword.

"Where are you? Who are you?" Integra's eyes narrowed, thumbing the safety off her chromed revolver.

The voice responded clearly and without hesitation.

"My name is Nox Praetor, former High Guard to the Council of Three Judges. My existence as such is a somewhat curious thing, you see. I have no body, per se."

"A ghost?" Ceras frowned. A ghost would be a new one on her, but given what she had seen . . . what she in fact was, it seemed possible. Even probable.

"No, not really." It paused, as if considering the best possible answer, before responding with a slight hesitation. "I suppose you could call me an intelligent weapon. Or more specifically, an Intelligent Battle hammer. Mistress Ceras happened to use me to carry out her will against the thrice damned Iscariot in the museum, I believe."

Ceras looked at the weapon that leaned against her chair. Cautiously, she reached out and hefted the weapon, grasping it halfway up the hilt, noticing as she did that the head was glowing a soft blue but not really casting any light. She grasped it in her right hand, gun leveled with her left.

"Explain, or Major Ceras here is going to shatter you into a million little pieces."

"My my." The hammer sounded a bit rankled, as if its dignity had been upset. It was an attitude that was, by and large, completely out of place given the blunt, heavy-handed and perhaps inelegant nature of the weapon. Not to mention it was a weapon, for hells sake. It continued on nevertheless. "Such threats. Regardless, I do believe I understand your position; with what I know and the things I have seen, I would be wary of such magiks as well. But I can assure you I mean neither you, nor Mistress Ceras any harm."

"And we just take that at face value, and listen to what you have to say?" Integra fixed the hammer with piercing glare.

The air around the weapon seemed to drop a few degrees and waver, as if it was sympathizing with the hammer, which itself seemed to shake under the woman's gaze.

"Ah huh. I see. It . . . I understand where you are coming from. As I said, wise of you to be wary. But . . . if you would stop glaring at me, I shall lay my cards on the table. Then you can judge for yourself. After all, what harm is their in listening?"

Integra nodded for the weapon to continue, though Ceras didn't waver in her aim.

"Centuries ago, I was a guard in the service of the Three Judges, a council of entities that ruled a rather widespread and loosely organized shadow empire. Within their domain, they insured that certain things were maintained and certain threats were held back. They cared little for regional or political boundaries, and did not interact with the normal rulers of a territory. Rather, they governed the denizens of the night."

"A council of Vampires?"

The hammer seemed to shake imperceptibly. "No, though one of them was a vampire, I suppose. Another seat was filled by a Lich Lord, and another still by a human daemon hunter. The daemon hunter's seat was rotational and passed down between successive generations within the family, mind you, since they lacked the longevity of their compatriots."

"Now, I know enough of your time to know that such a council might seem unlikely, but it was beneficial to all involved. Within the territory of the Judges, supernatural activity was controlled and kept to a minimum. Demons, undead, all manner of what you would deem paranormal entities were held at bay by the Judges and their forces. At the time, it was necessary for survival. Though the arts have been lost over the centuries since, there was an era when witchcraft, sorcery, and pure zeal were not insignificant threats to the power of any being, living or dead. You will remember the crusades; not all of it was fueled by religious fervor and a lust for power. There were, embroiled in the mess, a great many uncouth beings."

Ceras shifted her gaze towards Integra, her expression puzzled, obviously awaiting a command.

"Set . . . him . . . down, Major. I am not entirely unfamiliar with the period he is referring to."

Before Ceras could do so, however, the hammer spoke again. "No, please, I prefer to be upright when talking. And, technically, I am an 'it'. A conjured intelligence, I am not actually of a gender."

Ceras holstered her gun, but continued to hold the weapon aloft.

"Ah, yes then. Ahem." The sheer oddity of a hammer clearing its throat was not lost on its audience, but comment was withheld none the less.

"The book you have there contains the record of the Legion of Righteous Order, a Crusade army under the Jurisdiction of the Order Iscariot, founded and lost at the end of the Crusades."

"Lost?" Ceras questioned.

"The Commander of the army, Paladin General Sigsmund, was the proto-regenerator of the Iscariot. He, along with his army, was thought to have fallen victim to the Sahara desert on a march to the River Nile. Until recently, the Iscariot believed this. My former lords, however, have always known different. The Paladin General was a thoroughly insane, power mad creature. Seemingly a Zealot to the cause of the Church, he simply reveled in bloodshed. The Legion he was given to command became a sacrifice for his power."

"You see, Sigsmund led them into the desert to die deliberately; with each soldier that fell dead, their souls became forfeit to the darker magiks he had wrought. My former masters intervened prior to the completion of the ritual, however, and disrupted the process before Sigsmund could ascend.

"Ascend?"

"Sigsmund was attempting to recreate himself as lich."

"A . . . a lich? They exist!" Integra's eyes went wide. She had heard stories about liches, but assumed they were just that, stories. The powerful ones . . . the strong ones . . even the Ancient Vampires were said to have kept their distance.

The hammed nodded imperceptibly from Ceras's hand. "Yes, though the legends vary from culture to culture. As the Council defined a lich, they were essentially undead warriors or spell casters that had sealed their souls away, thus removing both the threat of final death as well as the reality of full life. Their bodies act as a sort of physical anchor; if destroyed, they remanifest after a period of a week unless their souls are found and destroyed as well."

"Why is the Iscariot looking for this book?"

"The book was scribed by the Heretic Priest Zul'Eraf, a worshipper of a rather interesting offshoot of the Cult of Seven Deaths. How he got the information, we may never know. But, it records the final resting place of Sigsmund, where my masters interrupted his final ritual."

"What is the danger in finding it?"

"When my masters defeated Sigsmund, they did so by ripping his physical body asunder. In a last ditch effort to save himself, the blasphemous creature spread his spirit among the sands; thousands of individual grains each contained a small bit of his being. Though we attempted to destroy the sands, it is quite possible that we missed one or two, and that Sigsmund's being may still lurk in the area as a result. Deprived of a complete ritual, he could not remanifest himself; however, this book contains the necessary information to form a new shell for him to inhabit, should he somehow still survive. Zul'Eraf apparently had some interest in resurrecting Sigsmund, but lacked the appropriate tools. Several relics of a holy nature would have to be presented in order to create the appropriate setting for his recreation. Unfortunately, Zul'Eraf was a canny fellow, and portrayed Sigsmund as a sleeping champion, rather than the base heretic he was. As such, the idiots of the Iscariot would have little qualm attempting to revive him, until it would be far to late."

Integra sat down, and motioned for Ceras to holster her gun and release the hammer. As she moved to set it down, it instead hovered lightly in the air, the head at shoulder level with the two women.

The Lady Hellsing's mind ran wild. She hadn't expected anything like this. More freaks, maybe territory wars with the Iscariot, but never something on this level. Especially not so soon after Incognito.

"It would seem that you, at least, have a promising story. At the very least, we cannot afford to ignore your warnings. We will move to confirm it, and should it prove true, we will gladly offer you whatever you desire, within reason, in return for your information." Integra said, leaning over the desk slightly.

"I guarantee you, Madam. You will not find my account lacking. As for payment, I require none. This is, among other things, what I was forged for. Although, I would appreciate it if you would allow me to remain your will embodied, Mistress Victoria. Few have I seen display your dedication, since I was first wielded by Lord Verax, neigh on five centuries previous. Long has it been my wish to serve under one such as you, my lady."

The vampire sweat dropped, and intelligently stuttered "Eeeh? Wha . . . wait . . . what?"

"You have displayed great dedication to the cause of order in the time I have known you, and I have long lain dormant. I swear now my oath of fealty unto thee; my life and my service are forfeit to you." The voice was sincere, and humble. The day just kept getting odder.

The young woman could do little more than stare wide eyed at the weapon, rendered completely speechless. This was something she had never expected. Never. Ever.

Integra, however, found her subordinates look not a little amusing, and the possibilities portrayed by the situation not without possible benefits. Beings like the Nox Praetor, and in truth, the Council of Judges, were known to her, in a fashion; the Hellsing library contained a few treaties on the subject, though she had initially written them off as idle fantasy, the dreams of a utopianistic scribe. Self regulating vampires and creatures of the night . . . certainly, a joke.

Or so she had thought. Proof was now staring her in the face. Or swearing an oath of loyalty to her chief officer on metaphysical bended knee.

"Major, I suggest you accept. Nox Praetor would undoubtedly be of great value to our operation, and to you yourself."

The vampire looked open mouthed between the slightly bent over, now free hovering battle hammer, and her superior. He jaw worked open and closed a few times, before she found her voice.

"Umm . . . sure?"

"Ahh! You won't regret it, Mistress! In fact, I believe I can be of assistance immediately! Allow me to demonstrate, these techniques were of interest to my previous . . ."

Ceras turned a helpless look to her commander, over the now enthusiastic, fast talking, and self levitating hammer.

Integra smirked. "Good day, Major. I will be retiring now. Take care of your new . . . servant."

And with that, the Lady knight rose and excused herself, the chatting of the weapon only fading out as she climbed the stairs to her chambers.

SSSSSSSSSScene ChangeEEEEEEEEEEEE

Two days later, Integra sighed, a half empty bottle of whiskey on her desk, and a stack of books 3 feet high on the floor next to it.

The hammer, for all the surrealness of the conversation, all signs pointed towards the verification of its story. Though there was precious little on Zul'Eraf, or the Cult of Seven Deaths, numerous references to both Sigsmund and the Three Judges were littered throughout the ancient tomes.

It did not please her. Not one bit. The fact that she hadn't any idea what to do next pleased her even less.

Burn the book? A likely possibility. Though there was probably another copy, somewhere. And even if their weren't, the tome would eventually be found. Now, or a hundred years from now, the threat remained.

So that was out. She had already sent Walter to alert the heads of the Round Table. This was going to take more than the range of Hellsing to deal with.

When it came down to it, sticking the their head in the sand and hoping the Iscariot never figures out the location was not an option. Which left seeking out and destroying Sigsmund.

Idly, she sighed, and hoped her Major was getting along better than she was, at the moment. Though she rather doubted that, given how much Nox Praetor seemed to like to talk. A gregarious implement of war, if she ever saw one.

The week just kept getting more and more surreal.

SSSSSSSSSScene ChangeEEEEEEEEEEEE

"So . . . why are we here again?" Ceras asked as she ghosted up to the wall, crouching low to the ground.

Praetor trembled slightly in his its rear harness, a motion Ceras had learned over the past couple of days was its form of a sigh.

"Training, Mistress. As I have said, while you are undoubtedly a powerful creature, you are not up to your full potential."

Ceras sighed in return as she crouched, legs coiling beneath her only to be released in a fury of action.

She cleared the wall easily, and before whispering to the companion strapped to her back.

"And as I told you, don't call me Mistress. Ceras, or Major. Not Mistress."

It had been a long two days for the fledgling, that had been most certain. After the initial declaration of loyalty, the hammer had chattered almost non stop, about topics ranging far and wide. Only sealing herself in her coffin seemed to shut Praetor up, and even then, peace was not something that came easy to her mind, quiet or no.

Part of it, she would be the first to admit, was sheer restless pride.

'Major,' she had thought, eyes staring happily into her cherry wood ceiling, 'I'm Major Victoria now.'

Which, of course, led to other, somewhat less outright enjoyable thoughts. Past comrades, past commanders. Now she was to become the Field commander of Hellsing's paramilitary forces, to step into the boots previously worn by Fergeson. The ones to which Galaice had aspired to. They were large boots to fill, and it was a task which she faced with a degree of trepidation.

As it was, however, all but emergency operations had been suspended for the next two weeks, as Integra flexed her newfound momentary and reinstated political powers, calling up candidates and re-equipping and restocking the various cupboards, pantries, coffers, armories, and ammo boxes of the Hellsing institution. Not to mention researching this new threat.

Even Hellsing Hall itself was receiving an . . . upgrade. The masonry walls around the building were being etched with runes of warding and then being painted over to hide them from the general public and remote gun turrets sporting .50 BMG rounds were now set at key positions on the roof to cover the main thoroughfares of the grounds, set to identify, track, and terminate creatures with body temperatures lower than 60 degrees. In an emergency, they could be manual controlled by remote, or crewed. Ceras herself had to be given a special identifier badge to keep the guns from locking onto her. The wards, when finished, would have to be attuned to her before activated, lest they force her from the grounds as well as any would be attackers.

There would never be another episode like the Valentino brothers.

Already, 60 new soldiers were scheduled for her review at the end of the two weeks. Hellsing was well on its way to regaining its full force and then some.

But that was still a fortnight away. In the meantime, Ceras found herself with precious little to do. Her men were on off time, or were helping where they could in the re-establishment; she was herself unable to do much of the more basic work as it took place during the day, and Integra was reluctant to expose her too much to the public at large, as well as possible recruits at that point.

Which brings us back to the scene of Ceras slipping over a massive stone wall, dropping lightly to her feet, and stalking quietly passed a sleeping . . . aardvark. The London Zoo had been built with the idea of keeping animals inside foremost in mind, and not vampires out.

"So, Mistress," the Hammer continued, either ignoring her request or being suitably absent minded, "Have you decided on a creature yet?"

The vampire nodded, boots quietly clicking on the stone walk, winding her way past a display of tropical birds.

"Yes. But are you sure . . ."

"Quite sure. I was responsible for the training of no less than three vampires and two daemon hunters over the centuries in the service of my former lords. The process of taking a familiar is quite necessary, as it provides the basis for further development. It should be relatively painless for one of your skill, as well. Tell me, what have you selected?"

"Two. Two things."

"Cats?"

Ceras shook her head. "No. I'm no kitten."

She paused, gazing into a display.

Praetor gave a whistle of appreciation at the creature beyond. "Ah. A unique choice."

Ceras nodded, before jumping lightly over the barrier, and into the habitat of the Ursus Actos Horriblus.

In the surrounding neighborhood, people would wonder what exactly was producing the roars of combat. In the morning, when the Polar Bear exhibit, as well as the North American Grizzly habitat, was found empty, even more questions would be raised. In the end, though, like so many other things surrounding Hellsing, the public would never know the truth. Things were better that way.

Author's notes -
Ah, yet another completed chapter. A long delay between, but as I promised, it is continued. I will confess, this chapter is a bit different than I intended, and was rushed, but I forced it through to try and get my writing groove back. So if it seems a bit traumatized, apologies. Also, apologies for the lack of review responses, though I thank all those that choose to do so. It helps to keep me going.

Checked out the latest Hellsing Manga, in which Ceras becomes a major badass. Huh. This little story now decidedly follows the Anime series.