This is how an angel dies. It is not a simple act of dying, breathing your last breath, and saying your goodbyes. There would be no funeral where loved ones came to mourn the passing of a great friend. Nor would there be flowers to rest on a tombstone. The death of a creature made of light and all things pure known to none but the highest of beings would go unnoticed like the melting of a singular snowflake in the blizzard of humanity. While the world raced ever forward, constantly changing, adapting, learning, understanding life in such a dismal fashion that the romanticism of the past has been all but forgotten. Where there is no mystery, wonder, or magic left. When the world has fallen prey to technology and greed. When immortal monsters walk the streets in search of their one true desire – death – loath to exist in a world where not even their legends survive . . . the ending of an angel's life would truly go unnoticed.

No, an angel dies when a person – human or otherwise – is forced to kill itself. Not by lifting a gun to its head, slitting its throat, or swallowing a handful of pills. But by destroying every iota of its make-up. Everything that makes it what it is. Every thought, emotion, memory, every reaction and instinct that lengthened its survival, and every gentle inclination that may have once convinced someone of its humanity.

Yes, humanity, something that he had long since left behind.

His existence had become nothing but the next battle. The next meal. The next splatter of blood across his cheek that he gleefully licked away. And he didn't mind. After all, it was good entertainment. A decent way to pass the time – the eternity that ticked away on an infinite clock – that seemed never ending. The world had become rather boring during his existence. He had once stood upon the mountains of his enemy's mutilated corpses laughing like a madman, delighted by the bloodshed, and watching his legacy bound across the lands and into the homes of all who lived. He was the monster under the bed, the beast in the woods, and murderer around the corner of every street. He was a King! He waged war and reaped the rewards!

But it had all come crumbling down.

He learned quickly that the world was ever changing. That nothing could last. That no matter how many wars you won, how many men you impaled and posted at your doorstep, time would take its toll. His legacy disintegrated in the wind like so much ash and dust and he was loath to look away. It was a sort of morbid curiosity that forced him to watch as the world moved on and his name was left to gather dust, pushed back into the attic, and forgotten like so many legends before him.

The world was different now.

An anger had begun to boil deep within him. While he sat stagnant within his hallowed halls he began to plot.

And his plan would have succeeded because in the end, all those forced to weather the ages wish for nothing but eternal sleep, to forget – and at the same to remember – what once was.

But that man had not been able to kill him. He had stood over him with a wooden stake in hand. Delivered the death blow! But no everlasting darkness came to him. No. The only thing that awaited him was an eternity of servitude for his sins. How quaint.

The sound of splintering bone and tearing flesh echoed across the void of darkness. One body fell. One soul amongst the masses that surrounded him. Patiently waiting for their turn. They stretched as far as his inhuman eyes could see. And then some. They made no sound, only watched on as he slaughtered one after the other, their vacant eyes glowing in the darkness, long since losing the spark of life that had defined them as individuals. How irritating.

With each souls destruction he felt himself grow a fraction weaker, a little less determined, and he realized that the closer he got to his eventual return, the harder it would be. He had been tempted to give up, to remain lost within himself and wonder through the millions of gathered souls within him, revisiting the past and reminiscing on better times. But then he recalled that, with the exception of a few bright moments within the first few years of his life, it was all the same. Dark, bloody, and boring. If his existence was to continue despite his best efforts than he would rather return to the light of the moon and the stars and the sweet smell of gunpowder. Why bother watching the reruns of an already tired drama? Wallowing in the past? How pathetic.

He called himself a king, but that was only ever a reference to the past, he hardly thought himself the ruler of anyone these days. Even when his reign of terror was brought to an end he had only been ruling over a small gaggle of Romani, gypsies, that had reveled in his history and feared him. Not known him as the noble that he truly had been. And most recently, he had been the servant to a volatile woman bent on ridding the world of every last vestige of supernatural existence, sending him out into the night as if he were little more than an attack dog. With a little fledgling at his side no less. He had spent his days indulging in thought broken by rare moments of violence and bloodshed. He had tasted war again for the first time in centuries though and he had never felt more alive. But even his nemesis was not able to end his pitiful existence. How disgusting.

How infuriating.

How frustrating.

How absurd.

How . . . tiring.

Each question of how was punctuated by his hand, squelching through the chest cavity of another soul. His calm and serene expression morphed into one of manic rage.

His red eyes, glowing with malice and vindictive determination, lifted to the void above. As if he were looking at God himself – the monster laughed.

"Do you think this will stop me?"

The deep baritone rolled across the plans of shuffling, rotting souls, and soothed them all the while he continued to plow through them. One after the other. And the angel died for a third time.

"What's troubling you?"

"I've been thinking about the past recently."

"The past?"

"Yes . . . I miss them."

Sir Integra Fairbrooke Wingates Hellsing scowled at the woman sitting across from her at the small outdoor café table. It was early in the day, the sky overcast and grey, yet the small blond still wore a black duster and wide brimmed fedora to hide from the light. Around them civilians walked the streets, chattering and laughing, passing by with not a care in the world. Unbeknownst to them the small blond that men leered at and women stuck their noses up at, was in fact, a vampire. Integra bit down at the end of the cigar perched between her lips and sighed through her nose. The girl's emotions were constantly fluctuating to the point that she had grown rather depressed the past few years. She was weighed down by guilt and nostalgia, a weird combination of sadness and hope for the future, and if she was correct, also a yearning for her master who had yet to return. The manor had grown so quiet and peaceful, the men were a rambunctious lot and caused enough trouble, but the lack of his dark presence, his laughter and thirst for relief of his boredom, was so noticeable that it had been quite discerning for a time. They never grew out of the habit of expecting him to pop up around any corner, to stroll into whatever room they occupied, or to be found lounging in a chair napping.

"I thought you were done with this," Integra said, removing her cigar to casually take a sip of the coffee steaming in front of her. No creamer, just sugar swirled within its black depths. She set the cup back down on the wrought iron table as gently as she could before carefully lifting her gaze to the vampire.

"I thought so too," Seras admitted gloomily, "But I keep running across things, things that don't really seem all that important, and it makes me recall the past." She thought of the new butler and how efficient he was, yet every time she witnessed him working she could not help but think 'Walter would have done that better' or 'Walter would have known'. She let out a sigh and turned her gaze on Integra, red eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The woman had picked up the newspaper and was halfheartedly skimming through it, studiously ignoring Seras, she had always been awkward when it came to the more emotional stuff. Seras smiled in tired amusement.

They had taken to visiting several cafes in the freshly rebuilt London over the years. It had been eighteen years since the attack and progress was coming along nicely. Integra claimed it was purely for observational reasons but Seras knew it had more to do with her need to fill the void left behind by Walter than her need to watch as the city rebuilt itself. Integra and Seras had grown closer over the years, relying on each other after the London Blitz, and the Draculina had been overjoyed by the first invitation to join her out to a café. The sun did not bother her as much as it once had but she still preferred to keep herself covered up. Her sleeping schedule had been shot to all hell with their outings but she did not mind. She was already up for most hours of the day anyways, training the men and helping Integra with the upkeep of the house, so waking up an extra few hours early was not much of a bother to her. Sometimes she felt a little off, a little sick, but after a glass of blood she felt right as rain again. She wouldn't miss out on a chance to spend some extra time with one of her very few friends.

She eyed Integra's silver hair thoughtfully but did not let her sadness show on her face. She was so much more emotional since becoming a vampire. The happiness and excitement, boredom, love . . . those were all the same but the sadness, the anger, when she felt those she was completely overcome by them. And she found herself feeling quite sad as she watched Integra age right before her eyes while she stayed as young as ever. Sometimes she worried that her Master would never return and she would be left on her own, doomed to watch her loved ones wither away over and over again. That was the curse of immortality. Other times she wondered what her master would do if he did return in time for Integra's death. She had had no children, there would no longer be Hellsing blood leading the organization, would he even stay? She highly doubted it.

"None of that now," Integra voiced calmly, slicing through the cloud of negative thoughts that she could see slowly drowning the poor woman.

"Yes Sir," Seras chirped, sitting a bit straighter in her seat and forcing a smile.

"Now tell me about the new recruits. You said there was a rather promising fellow among them?" Integra ordered. She returned her eyes to the paper, half listening to the vampire as she rambled on about the new men, and let out a quiet sigh. Originally she had been worried about the state of the world when Alucard disappeared, how would they destroy other vampires without him? But as time passed and Hellsing grew stronger, and the world braver, she began to worry for Seras more than anything. If Integra herself died, what would Seras Victoria do?

"Police Girl."

Seras paused in her writing, pen hovering over half filled documents, and let out a heavy sigh. Though it had been decades since she had last laid eyes on the owner of that voice his words still continued to haunt her. It was one of the reasons she was so adamant about his return. Every time Integra so much as hinted at her doubt of his loyalty she would hear a dark chuckle in the back of her mind, mocking the woman behind her back, and leaving Seras feeling hopeful and determined.

But it was not actually his voice, she knew. Rather, it was the memory of him that echoed in her mind, body and soul. He was her master and though a person could not say that they exactly loved each other there was still a deep connection between them. It allowed them to share thoughts and emotions, feel each other's pain, and Seras to notice the horrible absence he had left behind when he vanished that day some thirty years ago. Integra missed his presence, his comments and antics, but she did not feel the deep heart ache that wracked Seras' body whenever she was reminded of him.

She stared down at the paperwork blankly, deep in thought, and ignored the sound of laughter floating down the hall of the manor to her own little office. Some of the men no doubt getting into trouble with the cook again. Natalie was more than able to take care of herself. She was a firecracker of an older woman, one that had been with them since before the attack on London and had been able to stand up against Alucard himself, and she only seemed to get worse with age. The men delighted in riling her up knowing that she would eventually throw a snack or two their way just to get them out of her kitchen. They were nice enough men but she had never known anyone with larger stomachs than them, not even the Wild Geese. She shook her head and attempted to focus on the paper in front of her.

After the attack in London there had been copious amounts of vampire activity but it had died down after ten years, and for the past twenty? Seras had been juggling paper work, training the new recruits, and acting as Integra's assistant and right hand woman in place of the late Walter. It was exhausting work, being the jack of all trades, but then, she honestly wouldn't have it any other way. She enjoyed keeping busy. The men had grown to respect her and though they were no Wild Geese they still managed to cause quite the racket with their mischievous behavior. She was certain it was the depressing atmosphere they had sensed when they first arrived that caused them to bring out their more childish sides to lighten the mood. When Seras had first stood in front of them wearing a grim expression and demanding respect the mood had been immediately shattered when one of the men wolf whistled. His name was Arron, if she recalled correctly, and was still with them to this day. She had leveled him with such a look of contempt then and though she tried her hardest to remain stern, she just couldn't. Her lips had broken into a smile and she had let out a sigh. Even knowing that she was a vampire they had still opted to poke fun at her for the sake of cheering her up.

Red eyes lifted to the framed picture on her cluttered desk top. It sat resting innocently next to the rather old and ornate lamp that had come with the office and while the rest of the room had gathered dust she had refused to let the picture fall victim to the grime.

Integra, still young and defiant, stood at the center of the picture. Her eyes filled with a kind of vindictive mirth as she smirked at the camera and to her right just behind her stood Walter, smiling kindly. Alucard leaned against the grand staircase banister to her left, arms crossed and wearing an irritated frown. Seras stood between him and Integra, wearing her own joyous smile. And around them all stood the Wild Geese. Pip Bernadotte himself stood next to Walter wearing a cocky grin.

Seras had never been a nostalgic person, finding her own past too dark and grim to dwell on, and had marched forward through her life with nary a thought for the people she met and later left behind. But after having become a part of Hellsing, meeting everyone and learning what it meant to truly work as a team, well, she found herself yearning for those times again. The little family she had managed to cultivate had been obliterated by the Major during the London Blitz. The wild Geese had been defeated, Pip killed in front of her, Walter had turned on them, Alucard had vanished, and all that remained had been Integra and herself. Pip was a part of her now, true, but had he still been alive she had no doubt in her heart that the relationship they had would have been much different. Unfortunately, she could only ever hear his voice, smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke, and occasionally summon him into physical form for a few short moments. She hoped that one day she would be powerful enough to allow him freedom, like Alucard's familiar Baskerville, the mutt had always been found roaming the manor of his own will before London. In order to do that, however, she would have to drink more blood and she feared that if she did then Pip would be lost amongst the tide of souls within her.

Master would know what to do, she thought, and sniffed against the oncoming tears of frustration. She blamed it on having been sitting at that bloody desk for days on end, struggling through the accounts and reports in a vain attempt at helping Integra, but she just did not have the heart for paperwork. She wanted to be outside, enjoying the moon light, running through training routines with her men, not stuck in a room with no mental stimulation other than her own sad memories. But the men were all well trained, the majority were veterans who had gone on several missions already, and while she could continue to run drills with them they were more often than not already training on their own, very much aware of the dangers of slipping up when in the field. The sun was shining as it was anyways. She could feel its rays through the closed blinds and thick curtains and it made her uncomfortable enough to be irritated by it. The warmth of it would have once lulled her to sleep long ago when she was human but now it just made her feel gross, like she was coming down with a sicknesses. Whenever she felt the fatigue she wished for her master. He had always known what to do. He had never been soft hearted or extremely kind exactly, but whenever she had panicked or been worried, he had offered a firm pat on the shoulder or just the right maniacal grin to put her heart at ease. And when he had finally shown up in London he had placed a hand atop her head and smiled down at her with the warmest expression she had ever seen him wear and it had made her so happy. She smiled at the memory.

Her eyes traveled over to the stack of unread mail and she grudgingly pulled it over to her, picking through the large pile and discarding the junk mail. She allowed her mind to wander while she worked but after having gone through the whole stack she paused and stared down at the final letter. Unlike the picture next to the lamp, this envelope did not sit there innocently, no, it was mocking all those that laid eyes upon it.

Seras scowled and reached for the phone at her desk, lifting it to her ear and pushing one of the various buttons on the pad. The line rang once before a rather annoyed Integra answered. She was probably hungry by that point as it was late in the day and if Seras knew her like she thought she did then there was a plate of food sitting at her desk, pushed off to the side and growing cold, while she continued to scroll through her emails on her laptop.

"Sir Integra," Seras groaned, "We've received a letter from the Vatican."

"What?" Integra snapped over the line. The phone crackled against the volume of her voice and Seras pulled the phone away from her ear with a resigned sigh.

Across the Manor, siting at her own desk, gnawing at the end of her cigar, Integra scowled. Her platinum blond hair had grown silver over the years but she had aged gracefully. Few wrinkles adorned her face and her back was still strait and strong, her shoulders broad, and her figure admirable. She pushed herself away from her desk and took a long drag on the cigar. The open laptop at her desk lit the otherwise dark room as her curtains were drawn shut against the daylight. Over the years she had developed a distaste for the flaming ball of light and she blamed Seras for it. It was like a form of sympathy pain that was so subtle she hadn't noticed the growing dislike until it was to late.

"What does it say?" she asked wearily and leaned against the desk.

"It's an invitation . . ." Seras said hesitantly.

"To what?" she asked darkly. She could only guess what the Vatican would invite her to: her kidnapping? Her execution? A parody performance of Dracula? Either one of those options would be just as bad as the other but she would admit that the performance of Dracula would be the most humiliating and therefore her least favorite out of the three. Which would make it the Vatican's favorite.

"The city of St. Augustine is celebrating its four-hundred and sixty-fifth birthday, Sir," Seras answered while she read through the letter. "The Pope would like to meet with you, offer his respects, and hopefully build a better relationship . . . or something like that . . ." she trailed off with a nervous laugh.

"Ha," Integra grunted and ground out the last of her cigar. "More like rub their prosperity in our faces." She let out a sigh and crossed her arms, standing in front of her desk while she stared out the window in thought. "Alright, send out a response," she growled, "I'll take the bait. But you of course will be coming with me. If I have to suffer through this than you do too."

"Yes sir!" Seras exclaimed happily. The thought of traveling to an old city in America, where she had never been before, awakened a bit of childlike curiosity within her. She hung up the phone and quickly penned a response before folding the paper, slipping it into an envelope, and setting it aside with the rest of the mail to be sent out. Andrews would be by shortly and would take care of the rest.

Within the last few years the new Pope had changed a lot within the Vatican, so much so that even Integra's prejudice against them had flagged a bit. Seras was just glad that there was less fighting between them. Though she had no sympathy for them she had garnered a sort of respect for Alexander Anderson, the only person to even come close to defeating her master, and though he had made it clear he stood on his own in the end she had still transferred some of that respect to the Vatican. It was no surprise that Integra was actually willing to cooperate with them, not to mention they would be meeting in a heavily populated city, though she highly doubted they would try to "remove" Integra but it was still better to have the suspicion then not at all. If they tried anything while they were in St. Augustine it would surely become public.

She pushed herself up and moved to the window, pulling aside the curtains just a fraction to peek outside, squinting against the light that streamed in. Her little office looked out over the training field and she could see her men practicing their drills, marching about, and taking aim on the gun range. A spark of pride ignited within her and she smirked, watching them continue their training dutifully even without her orders to do so was promising, she had never before had a group so devoted to the cause. The Wild Geese had spent the majority of their time goofing off or sexually harassing her.

She let out a sigh just as there was a knock at her door.

"Come in," she called.

The door swung open and Andrews, the new Hellsing butler, stepped in. He was in his early thirties, fresh and clean shaven, with a full head of black hair and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. As usual he was dressed well, all in black, and wore a pleasant smile. His general presence was rather lacking, often times people would visit the manor and never notice his existence in the room until he, heaven forbid it, moved and nearly caused their guest to have a stroke. But Seras always pointed out that it was good skill to have as a butler so as to seem less intrusive. Plus he would make a good spy, to which Andrews would always reply that he was a spy for a time and thus would find it redundant to reclaim that title after having left the organization the had employed him at one time. He had such a jovial yet at times intimidating personality that she was often reminded of Walter. The resemblance always saddened her, causing her to layer him with a melancholic smile whenever they conversed, but this only earned her a special place in his heart. He was a sentimental person himself, odd though it was seeing as how he worked for an organization that dealt with much more gruesome situations than any military, but there it was.

He closed the door behind him and stood at attention, a mug of warm blood sat atop a tray in his hand, "You're lunch, ma'am."

Seras smiled and reclaimed her seat at her desk as the butler moved forward and set the mug down gently in front of her.

"Thank you, Andrews," Seras said, pulling the mug closer to her and sniffing at the red liquid. "You always know how I want it," she commended him cheerily. She set the mug back down and lifted her gaze to the butler curiously. "How was your vacation? I didn't know if I was going to be able to hold out till you got back. I never realized how much you butlers do," she laughed.

"It was excellent," Andrews responded with a smile. "It was nice to see the family again, my sister has had her own set of little ones for a long while now but I'm afraid I rarely get to see them anymore." He tucked the metal tray under one arm while he spoke and his eyes took on a rather amused and slightly wistful glint. "Not to mention the weather was as gloomy as I could have hoped for."

Seras laughed, "You're such a strange one, Andrews, I swear if I didn't know any better I'd say you were the vampire."

"Quite. I am afraid I cannot help it, ma'am, I was raised to be a butler to the Hellsing family and as such I was exposed to the much darker side of humanity," he explained absently. As he spoke he moved over to the couch in her office and set the tray down on the coffee table, lifting a blanket from the couch he folded it and placed it on the back of the seat. It was true, the family had worked for Hellsing on several occasions and after Walter's death had prepared their son to take his place. Andrews had acted out after he finished school, refusing to serve Hellsing out of rebellion, and had later joined MI-6. He was well practiced in self defense and offensive styles of fighting, weaponry, and languages and was snatched up without a second thought. Not to mention his identity would be protected. But it was through a chance meeting on a battlefield some miles and several years away that he met Seras Victoria.

It had been during a strange mission, one that he later learned was the product of a crazed vampire and its ghouls, that he ran across the petite blonde vampire. He had been slinking through a old school, long forgotten after having been taken over by the vampire five years back, when he first glimpsed her. She darted from one classroom to the other with such speed that he had feared he'd seen a ghost. He spent the night trying to keep up with her, wondering if she was the one he had been sent to dispose of, when he quite suddenly found himself cornered by a group of ghouls. She had come to his rescue, hands fisted and wearing a feral grin, while he stared in stunned amazement in the corner. It had been such an awe inspiring sight that he could not get her out of his head for months afterwards and so later defected to join Hellsing as was originally planned. He had still been rather young then and would admit that part of it had more to do with her attractive figure and the mystery surrounding her than anything else.

Seras pursed her lips, taking on a rather distressed expression at the notion of a dark childhood, and followed the butler about the room with her eyes worriedly.

"Do not fret, Miss Victoria, I had quite a lovely family, I even had a pet tarantula named Sir Ivan as I was growing up," he admonished lightly, returning to her desk with tray in hand.

"Right," Seras agreed with a forced laugh. She wasn't so sure that his 'average childhood' was so average.

"Are you going to drink, Miss Victoria?" he asked patiently.

Seras looked down at the forgotten mug of blood and sighed. She hated ingesting the life giving liquid in front of others, it often made them uncomfortable, but Andrews was different. He insisted that she drank with him present and she had a sneaking suspicion that it had more to do with orders from Integra than friendly concern. As time wore on the woman had noticed her vampire drinking less and less blood and probably feared that if not carefully monitored she would wither away. But it had less to do with emotional state and more to do with her lack of time to do so.

But it was so terrifying. While drinking the medically donated blood staved off her hunger it was never as filling as truly drinking directly from a living person. And drinking them dry. Since the attack on London she had drunken several other individuals dry and while they all had been dying to begin with she had still felt rather guilty about it. Their voices had mingled with Pip's and she feared that, over the years, his voice would be drowned out.

It is alright, Seras, I am still here, his accented voice resounded through her mind, clear as day, and she smiled. A little warmth spread through her chest and she obligingly lifted the mug to her lips and took a hesitant sip.

Satisfied only after half the mug had been consumed, Andrews bowed with a friendly grin, and retreated from the office.

When he was gone, his footsteps fading down the hall at a hurried pace, Seras pulled out her laptop from its bag at her feet and opened it up. If they were to be traveling to St. Augustine then they would need a few supplies and she would need to do some research on the area, its history, and where to find the best coffee and cigars.