It was late into the night and early in the morning. The sun still has not yet risen over England but the state of Buckingham Palace was still clearly visible. It was complete disarray. Bodies were piled high and blood soaked every floor. Paintings were in tatters and so was fabric. Gold was stolen. Furniture was broken. The grandiosity of the building had suffered and hung as some bitter reminder as to what things were as it loomed over its fallen subjects. It loomed over those who were still fighting, too.

The sound of gunfire could still be heard. The forces protecting the palace were dwindling, but were still fighting to the bitter end. Most of those who were previously unarmed with anti-freak weapons due to insufficient supply were now armed, having taken weapons from their fallen comrades. The battle was grueling and was taking it's toll on those who remained. The soldiers were tired, having fought for many hours on end. They were starving and they were thirsty. They were were also cold, with their sweat joining forces with frozen air in order to chill them. Those who were not fighting and were merely resting in shifts while others stayed alert huddled together so that the elements would not kill them before the Philosophers. Backup didn't seem to be coming. They were all that was there, still fighting and still holding on by a thread.

Death rode in on a white horse, entering through the front gate like a plague. The heavy breathing of the horse and the thunder of it's hooves were enough to make boots quake. It leaped over bodies and ran by combatants as its rider lopped off heads with a swing of his sword. Holding its reigns was a broad man wearing armour. It wasn't a particularly heavy set, but it was certainly armour, nonetheless. Anything incredibly durable was not necessary for him. The revenant could not be killed by regular weapons, including typical anti-freak technology available to his enemy. He barked and hollered, his voice tearing through the battlefield as he regained his proper place in the fray.

At last, a proper battle! Oh, how his heart yearned for one! His blood was pumping, adrenaline saturated his brain and pushed his body forward, thrilling him in a way that nothing else could. Not food, nor drink, nor women, nor money, but battle! The thrill of conquest was to Abhartach, most pure, when forcing a formidable foe into submission. Easy domination would only wet his appetite to a minute degree, but this? It was heaven! Oh, how he longed for this.

He had wandered through many lands, joining in wars, battles, and fights wherever he went. He aided whichever side he thought would give him the most, and destroyed that which would give him little, but none of it- none of it!- would ever thrill him like a battle where he was in command. The thrill of possible defeat is what made things exciting. Without it, it was simply going through the motions until something happened. What was the point of that? No, he had to have dominion over his foe. That is what granted him the right to rule!

Only upon fighting for the things one's heart desires, can one deserve them. Such prizes should not be given with such ease. How can such a lazy person be considered a leader? How can such a lazy person wield such power? They couldn't. They shouldn't! No, only through blood and sweat and tears can one say that they have earned that right. Otherwise, one is nothing but a child, too weak to fend for themselves, yet they go around acting like they are worth a damn. "You need me," they would say. "Who else will protect you?" They won't. They can't even protect themselves. So take it! Take command from them! Rip it from their hands! That is the way the world should be. That is the way that Abhartach wanted it.

He rode until he was noticed and found himself on the other end of machine guns. Jumping upwards, he stood in a crouching position on top of his horse's saddle, somehow maintaining his balance as the animal continued to charge forward. There were gunshots. Abhartach leaped into the air as bullet's pierced the horse's flesh, dyeing its white coat. It fell, sliding forward along the ground with it's momentum as Abhartach landed on the other side of the enemy soldiers. They began to turn around, only to have their heads lopped off by the revenant's blade. From there, he kept moving.

Onward! Forward! Keep going! Keep fighting! Abhartach forced his way through his own men, even deciding to cut them down if they failed to move fast enough to suit him. He tore through more of HELLSING's forces, entering their hidey-holes and cutting them to ribbons. But it was not enough. It was still not enough. It wasn't challenging. He needed more!

He continued his quest for the throne, ever forward, with victory in his sights. This was it. This was his greatest victory. This wasn't just some small kingdom on the island surrounded by a plethora of other kingdoms, this was the crown. It was the crown of all crowns, and it was his. He could feel it. Faster! Faster! Faster! He could hardly contain himself!

Rounding the corner, however, his haste became confusion. It should have just been more of the same, beaten up hallways, but here, he found something most peculiar. The bodies on the floor were concentrated. Philosophers. They covered the floor and were stacked high- high enough that they made it a ways up the door that they were surrounding. They were only in that spot, however, and they were missing their weapons.

A laugh bubbled up from Abhartach's throat. That must be it! Without any caution, the leader of the Philosophers advanced. He took huge steps before reaching the pile, then he grabbed the first body. Throwing it to the side, he realised that the door did not open outwards. It opened inwards. That was how it was able to close with the bodies here. His boots were large and heavy, carrying both his weight and the weight of the blood that had soaked into them from stepping through enough puddles to fill an ocean on the way there. Using them, he stepped on the bodies of his troops, trampling them in order to reach the doorhandle to the prize before him. The safety of a gun was switched off. Abhartach grabbed the handle and swung the door open to a barrage of gunfire. It struck him in the eyes before he could even see the inside of the room.

Jim kept firing until the clip in that gun ran out before tossing it aside and grabbing another one from the pile he had amassed. He sat there, in his place on the steps to the throne, dutifully protecting it with the guns of the poor souls who thought they would sneak up on the prize before anyone else could. Jim stole them, and put them to good use, shooting holes into Abhartach until holes became a mush of flesh and exposed bone. His gun jammed, so he picked up another, refilling it until ammunition for it ran out. Then, he grabbed another one again.

His target's jaw hung open by a thread of muscle tissue and his forehead was completely gone. Abhartach reached a hand out to block the bullets, only for his fingers to be taken off by constant gunfire. Yet, Abhartach still stood, only stumbling backwards until his back was pressed up against the wall opposite to the open room. He remained standing even as Jim reached his last gun and even as the menace himself stood up, still firing, and walked toward him. The demon's movements were precise and methodical. He walked with purpose, as if he had rehearsed this a hundred times. The menace was practically gliding as he advanced, replacing clips as he went. Once the weapon was spent and the gap was closed, Jim ejected the final clip and turned on the safety, before lowering the weapon and gripping the barrel.

He held onto the barrel with both hands and raised it over his head. After taking aim, he swung it like a baseball back. The stock made harsh contact with the bloody mass that remained of Abhartach's head, but Jim wasn't done. He switched hands and hit him again, this time, on the other side before allowing the weapon to fall from his hand. Taking a step back, the threads of his demonic garb began to unravel in his palm, revealing a sword made of wood. It emerged partway, allowing for the handle and half of the scabbard to emerge. With his other hand, he grabbed hold of the handle and drew the weapon, retracting the scabbard back into his garb.

Then, with his aim still true, he thrust the blade forward and pierced the revenant's already tattered heart. Finally, Abhartach flinched, jolting and then freezing. Air slowly escaped his lungs in a horrible, hissing grown through the many holes in his chest and neck. Then, he slumped over. His legs collapsed from underneath him and Jim let go, leaving the sword in Abhartach's chest. Jim took a few steps and looked down at his enemy. That was all? He struck first and didn't let up so as to not allow his opponent the chance to counter, knowing full-well that he lacked the skill to have a proper sword fight, but the menace did think that things would be a lot easier than that.

Ah, well… The next thing Jim needed to do was get to a radio and report that the enemy leader was deceased.

Turning to begin his search, he paused, thinking that he heard movement. Jim returned his attention back to Abhartach and blinked. His eyes widened and his eyebrows raised as he saw the other man reaching at his belt with his remaining hand and gently grasping a vial. Clumsily, the revenant shook it and wrestled with the lid. Once it was off, with a shaky arm, he reached up and dumped the contents over his head. All Jim could do was watch him, but when he reached for the second vial, the demon moved.

"Hey!" the menace called out, rushing back over to the revenant. Steam began to radiate from it's body and as the second vial was poured out, the marred flesh began to boil. Then, pressing his hand against the floor, Abhartach began to stand. "No, no, no, no, no!"

Jim cocked back a fist, getting ready to pound the sword deeper into Abhartach's chest, when he thrust it forward, he was shocked to find the revenant catch it. Jim had a close-up look at his handiwork now, and he could see the mass of meat moving. It was regenerating. The demon could hear the groaning, wheezing sound of Abhartach's lungs continuing to inhale and exhale as the man held up his bad hand. Fingers were starting to reform. Alois could see bone and tendons starting to connect to them. They wrapped around the handle of the sword and pulled, prompting the menace to lunge backwards in case Abhartach decided to swing it at him.

No longer holding onto the menace, Abhartach switched hands so that the handle of the weapon was in his good hand, holding it parallel to the floor. With his marred hand, he gripped the blade and in one quick motion, Abhartach snapped the yew wood sword in half, snuffing out all hope that the menace had of possibly defeating him on his own.

"Good..." A deep gurgle came from the revenant's throat. The man's skull had reformed and so did his tongue. Somehow, he had lids, allowing him to open his eyes and take a good look at the menace. They were glowing. That was unusual. The blackened orbs were glowing crimson. "That was very good… You did your research, boy..."

In his shock, the menace had nothing profound to say back to him. "I'm a grown-ass man, jackass."

The revenant laughed, or perhaps it really was a gurgle and Jim was hearing things- he couldn't tell. "A peculiar accent, you have, there… It's not English, but it's been anglicised a lotTell me, are you a child of the emerald isle?"

"Mate, I have no idea what the fuck you're saying..." Jim shook his head. "All I'm hearin' is 'please kick my arse,' and honestly, I'm more than willing to oblige."

"I'm asking if you're Irish." As the other man's flesh regenerated more, so too did his ability to speak.

"I'm an orphan, so who's to say?" Blinking, the menace paused. "Though that would explain a few things..."

Abhartach laughed. It was proper, this time. "From the way you set that up, you could be one of mine, for all we know!" Skin covered his head and his hair was starting to grow back. "You're very good. Hopefully, you can give me a challenge! Those other men of yours were very disappointing."

"My job isn't to show you a good time. Don't make this weird."

"Very well… Let's cut to the chase, then..." With that, Abhartach drew his weapon and brandished it toward the menace in a threatening fashion, but to his curiosity, the menace didn't even blink at the gesture.

Instead, Abhartach was forced to arch an eyebrow as black fire engulfed the demon's hands, burning and burning until they began to fade, revealing a pair of golden gauntlets covering the blonde's fists. The demon did not revel in it, the demon made no quips, but instead, he took a fighting stance. His movements were controlled. They were practically graceful! But Abhartach could see as Jim stared at him with those icy blue eyes of his that there was an unhinged ferocity lurking just beneath the surface.

It was a fascinating juxtaposition of things, from Abhartach's point of view. There wasn't a single doubt in Abhartach's imagination that this man was a trained killer. There was no telling just how many had fallen by the demon's hands, as he didn't wear them on his face like Abhartach did. Jim was pristine. He was not scrawny, nor was he delicate, but he was fair. He was pretty, for a man- practically beautiful, with smooth, soft-looking skin and flaxen hair. At a glance, he would look harmless, but that was not at all how he carried himself. He carried himself like a man that was dangerous and knew it- like a wild animal about to brandish the weight of a full lunge upon him with gnashing fangs and razor-sharp claws upon the revenant.

Yes, they were both wild. Abhartach wore it proudly, with scars littering his body and bulging muscles that made him look as though he wrestled bears for fun. His dark mane was unkempt and his scruffy beard hid a good portion of his face, but he exposed his teeth to the menace in a toothy grin. His eyes were perhaps even more wild than the blonde's, however. He had more experience in battle and he knew it. Yet, it was that same experience that made him feel as though there was something special about the demon before him. Sure, the blonde was a pretty man, but so was Lucifer, the mythologial source of all ills.

Abhartach's blood was boiling. It felt as though he were on fire. The blood of Johnathan Beattie had accelerated his regeneration, allowing him to overcome the wounds the other demon had inflicted upon him, but also made him crave conflict even more. Very quickly, however, the blonde obliged him.

The lion advanced, moving toward Abhartach with great speed. Cocking back his arm, he prepared to strike the revenant, but Abhartach did not even try to dodge. Instead, the revenant thrust his forward his blade, forcing the menace to dodge. He drew his fist in close instead of punching and moved his head to the side, stopping his feet just short of the other man. With his eyes trained on Abhartach's sword, he didn't notice the man cocking his own arm back until he felt his fist collide with his cheek. Abhartach his unexpectedly hard. It was far too hard for a revenant, but Jim didn't understand why or how. All he could do was try to recover from his surprise and strike Abhartach in the kidney with his other fist. His foe took a step back and retracted his blade before thrusting it forward again. Once again, Jim dodged, turning to his side and pushing his hips forward, all the while standing on the tips of his toes to avoid being stabbed in the stomach. With his odd position, he left himself open to attack and fell when Abhartach kicked him, forcing his back to hit the floor. Looking up, Jim could see the other man taking the sword in both hands, raising it above his head in order to stab the demon while he was down.

The sword was thrust downwards, aiming right for the Phantomhive's heart, but was stopped short of it. It was caught with a clap of the demon's hands. Jarnglofar protected the menace from his hands being cut, but Abhartach was not going to give up just yet. He continued to apply pressure, forcing the menace to do his absolute best to keep the blade from slipping from his grasp to bury itself in his flesh. Growling, the menace flexed his triceps to keep it in place. Then, he raised a leg, drawing it in close to his torso before forcing it upwards in between the revenant's legs.

"Hrrk!" Abhartach grunted, but he did not relent, so neither did the Phantomhive. Using the placement of his foot as leverage, Jim twisted sideways, forcing the other man's weapon into the floor instead of his body before drawing his leg back in and kicking him in the gut. From there, he was able to slide himself across the floor in order to get out from under his enemy long enough to stand.

Drawing his weapon from the floor, the older man growled, raising his weapon and swinging it at the demon in rapid succession. He swung, he stabbed, he kept the attacks coming while the demon either dodged him or blocked him with his gauntlets. With one particular thrust, the weapon deflected off of the demon's the wrong way, and managed to slice into the Phantomhive's arm. Sucking in a sharp breath, Jim did not hesitate and created some distance before closing it again on his own terms.

He struck at the revenant in rapid succession, only his opponent had no incentive to dodge and nothing to block with. Abhartach simply took every heavy blow, allowing it to bruise him and crack his bones. Teeth flew out of his mouth and rolled across the floor and blood spattered the walls. It poured from his nose, mouth, and eyes, giving him a nightmarish appearance, but then, their eyes met for a split-second. It only registered as a flash of blue before he was struck on the side of his face by the blonde's fist. It was hard enough to send his head spinning. It twisted around, tearing the muscles in Abhartach's neck and snapping his vertebrae out of place. The revenant reeled back, swinging his weapon in the general vicinity of the menace to force him away before trying to force his head back into the correct position. Immediately, he began to heal, but he was surprised. The prettyboy before him was as mean as he was strong, and that was absolutely nothing to sneeze at.

"Good..." Abhartach grinned. "That's very good! It's been a long time since I've fought anybody like you… I suppose there's Mister Beattie, but his ambition is nothing compared to your sheer ferocity! You must tell me because I must know… What is your name? I must remember it when I find myself lacking worthy opponents."

The blonde wrinkled his nose at the praise and furrowed his brow at the request. "It's Jim." he said simply, becoming increasingly annoyed as he noticed the surprise on Abhartach's face.

"'Jim?'" the revenant echoed, making absolutely no effort to conceal his astonishment and disappointment. "Well… Forgive me, but that's rather unexpected…"

"Too bad. It's my name." the menace defiantly stated, lifting his chin. "I'm Jim Phantomhive of the house of Phantomhive; the Honourable Lion of HELLSING, the Champion of Gehenna, member of the Macken clan, and spouse to the Queen's Guard Dog. You can either respect that, or you can kiss my arse- I don't really care one which..."

"Is that so? Well, you're certainly proper nobility, aren't you? Fighting the good fight like a real man! Truly, I'm impressed..."

"Nah… Sorry to disappoint, but I'm no blue blood." said the Phantomhive, standing up straight. His head was tilted lightly and his nose was raised in the air so that he could look down on Abhartach like he was some loathsome, lower-lifeform. He smiled and said to him: "I'm a common, mangy, mutt from the shittiest of social circles. Sorry, scruffy, but there ain't no nobles, here."

He said this with absolute confidence. Even though what he was saying would sound as though he were putting himself down to untrained ears, he spoke with a certain amount of pride, as if challenging Abhartach to do something about it. Jim knew what kind of offense that nobles took to him invading their circle. He knew that they took offense to a commoner excelling where they should posses sovereign dominion, yet there he stood, head high and chest out, daring Abhartach to try and stop him. He expected this to stir some indignation within the revenant, but on the contrary, it made him smile.

"Hah! Very good!" Abhartach declared, his words booming from the bottom of his chest. "You, young man, are a true warrior! I admire your tenacity and skill!"

Admittedly, that took the menace aback for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "Oh? Does it not offend you that a scoundrel like me has excelled into noble regard?"

"Never." the revenant shook rather seriously. "Nobles these days are weak. They are so accustomed to having power by virtue of their birth that they have forgotten what it means to lead! You, however, have started from what I assume is the bottom of social hierarchy- forgive me if I am mistaken- and forged your way into power by your own hand! For that, you have my utmost respect! May you continue to soar ever upwards until you either succeed or die!"

"I have a sinking suspicion that the option of those two that you have in mind for me isn't exactly one I'm going to be enthusiastic about."

"Indeed, it is a shame that you had not the opportunity to fully achieve your rightful place as a nobleman."

"My feelings aren't hurt over it. I did steal a title once. It wasn't really all it was cracked up to be."

"Is that so? Why are you not a noble any longer?"

"I died." the menace bluntly stated with a shrug. "To be fair, I was a fourteen-year-old human up against a grown-ass demon, so my odds weren't great."

Not it was Abhartach's turn to be taken by surprise. He blinked for a moment, but soon, his smile returned and he threw back his head with a hearty laugh. "Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" he exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. "I could never have asked for a better opponent!"

"Glad you think so, mate," Jim replied with a nod. He widened his stance and bent his knees, preparing for a fight. "'Cause I'm still gonna have to ram my foot so far up your ass, you can taste my shoe!"

"I am elated to see you try!" answered the revenant, taking his own fighting stance. "Come at me, Jim Phantomhive of the house of Phantomhive! Come at me with everything you have!"


A/N: I'm REALLY excited about this fight, you guys. I've been holding back my excitement for months, but now, at long last, I finally get to ask the question:

Don't Abhartach's ideas about power sort of jive with some of Alois'? Specifically on the subject of nobility. They don't completely agree, however, and I want this fight to sort of be about that disagreement and how that transcends just the narrative of this specific arc.

I'm extremely excited about all of the things to come and will get started on the next chapter as soon as I'm done with classes tomorrow. I'm really anxious to see how you all receive it!

Until the next chapter, my duckies~!