Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs to Kouta Hirano, Gonzo Animation, Dark Horse Comics and Geneon Entertainment.
Hades' Corpse
A lone figure paced slowly in the rubbles. Whistling wind blew, scattering light-weighted debris around her feet. The winds ruffled her hair, but she took no notice.
On she walked.
It was dark. Everywhere was dark, lit only by the fires of destruction. Among ruins of buildings, temples, churches and vehicles lay mutilated corpses and severed body-parts. The blood of these bodies and animals stained the ground red, never to be purged.
No other being had survived the war. Only she. Her teeth bit harder into the cigar as another chilling wind blew.
On she walked.
Her suit, miraculously, was still intact, though splattered with the blood of both her foes and comrades, and dust. The dust was mingled with that of concrete and diminished vampires'.
Occasionally she passed torsos still dressed in her organisation's uniform, and silently she prayed for their souls. Those men had willingly sacrificed their life, for the hope of happier lives for others, for their country, for what they believe in.
Some were foreigners, fighting and bleeding for a foreign land, but it did not matter. They had shed blood for her country, for her people and for her cause. They deserved to be honoured.
On she walked.
Finally she came to a stop. In front of her lay Walter Dornez's body. It had reverted back to its original form—old and wrinkled. His wires were still in his hands, blood of his own and other's caked the steel.
To the left of Integral Hellsing was the carcass of a female vampire's. Like the rest, her body was still clothed by her blood-soaked battle dress. However, Seras' head resting was a few feet away from her body.
Tears welled in her bloodshot eyes as her fingers caressed the late butler's face. His lips were frozen in a mad smile. A smile of victory. A smile of satisfaction. Because he had killed one of the strongest members of Hellsing.
It was a sight capable of saddening the world. Once a devoted warrior of Hellsing, captured, brainwashed, turned devoted destroyer of Hellsing. The world would shake his head in pity, as if saying, Such is the melancholy of Man.
But he was happy in his last moments. Though he killed one of whom she cared, he was like a father to her. Her heart broke as she remembered the final blow that was delivered to him, ending his life.
Alas, he was weak already, hence his quick downfall. The wounds Seras inflicted on him had nearly overcome whatever will that was keeping him going.. One blow was all that was needed.
But he died in bliss.
This war was, for him, bliss.
For others, it was insanity and horrid bloodshed.
Walter died a man of Millenium, where all were winners, champions. They had their war, after all. It was all the blind followers of their madman of a leader wanted. A war far more vicious and costly was their prime target. In fact, it was their only target.
She, Hellsing and Britain were the losers and fallen.
They, Millenium, were the winners and victors.
Torrents of fears she fought as she buried Seras' and Walter's remains.
The digging up of the earth was easy—all the blood spilt on the battlefield seeped into the ground. But it was the lifting of her loved ones and filling up of the hole that she found almost impossible.
Gone was her trademark steely composure. However, did it still matter?
When the burial work was finally done, she crouched on the ground for a few seconds in silence. After getting a reasonable hold on herself, she stood and bowed for a minute.
A minute of silence for the man who raised her up and for the vampire who likened to a daughter.
They were like family.
A family of four, reduced to three, then two, and at last, one.
She hesitated, and for the first time in at least a year, was unsure of herself. Fortunately, it was only for a moment. She was still able to make decisions.
She had not lost all.
Where was the body of the last family member?
Integral quickened her stride as her mind hurriedly searched for a memory of how Alucard died.
But she needn't search. She knew where he made his last stand. She just knew.
Her swift walk grew faster and faster, turning into a run, and subsequently, she was sprinting towards the east, where the sun had just begun to rise. On she ran, and unexplainable desperation coursing through her system.
Alucard. Alucard. Her faithful servant, her companion in war. Her companion always.
On she ran.
The sun was trying to force its rays through the adamant clouds, which were reluctant to give. Slowly, the strong and beautiful sun illuminated more and more land.
On she ran.
The sun. The cliff. The shore. Bliss. It was true bliss.
The great ball of fire seemed to have been hastened by her relentless running, and rose as fast as she sped.
Alucard!
She halted. She stood on the edge of a cliff. From above, she saw numerous impaled figures along the rough beach. The work of Alucard.
Her thoughts drifted to the memory of which Alucard fell, at long last, to his grave. His true grave. A grave from where he shall never rise again, reborn.
She was suddenly conscious of the breath she was holding, and inhaled deeply, trying to slow the heaving of her chest.
He was hit by countless silver bullets. The armour-piercing rounds were fired from panzerfausts. Other bullets that flashed past, from modified arms. Dying soldiers had united to ensure his demise.
The projectiles hit him in the chest, some reaching his lifeless heart. Each shot forced him to step back. They impacted him in succession. Dracula had been unable to heal his wounds, the ammunition having been blessed.
He lasted for quite a long time, before tumbling to his end.
She paused at the recollection to light a fresh cigar. Her hands trembled as she held the match to the cigar. She was shivering, though the wind was not what chilled her.
She inhaled deeply, absorbing the warmth the cigar provided, filling her lungs with comforting smoke.
The sea. It was what swallowed the previously invincible vampire. The remaining Nazis and Catholics cheered when they saw it happen. The immortal Alucard was ultimately beaten and conquered by the enforcers of the Third Reich as well as the Crusaders. In shock she had stood when his death was witnessed. The truth sank in only when the Waffen SS and Crusaders had collapsed and silence claimed everything but the wind.
It sank in only after every single creature alive was slain.
She drew her sword and scrutinised the blade. The lowly Nazis' and Catholics' blood dirtied her holy weapon and hands. Filth. How she despised them.
The sword was thrust in the air, with power and dignity. Tears dried, her face was resolute. It was in respect for and to honour the fallen Black Knight.
"Count. You have done well."
And may this be genuine happiness for you.