Death was such an unbecoming thing. It was something that he had come to learn over the centuries of his existence. Humans had romanticized it, as they did anything that frightened them, and warped it into a beautiful thing. But in truth it was disgusting. The body would empty itself, atrophy, and rot away stinking to the heavens while creatures feasted on the bacteria infested flesh.

But his body would never experience such a thing. He stared down at the white glove, pristine even after the horrendous horrors it had been through, and flexed his fingers. He was frozen, suspended between life and death, for the rest of his life. However long that would be. But his soul was no doubt twisted and warped beyond recognition. Yes, as the flesh withers away so too does the soul. Which was no surprise to him as he had watched the millions he had consumed decay within him.

Which made the creature sitting in front of him all the more curious as it had obviously once been the soul of a man, now decomposed beyond recognition, but he was laughing. Crouched before him with his knees to his chest and his hands on the ground, the ghoulish thing looked down at its feet and chuckled darkly.

He cocked his head, intrigued by the new development, not quite understanding who it was he was looking at for he had consumed too many to recall. He had never thought to truly memorize the faces of those he indulged in, maybe at first, when he had still had a conscience and needed allies, but he had snapped at some point in the past and let go of all sense of morale. Perhaps it was after the death of his son. The boy had gone on to be king after his supposed death and he had worked to watch over him as he grew from the shadows. But as time passed the king, of course, withered of old age and died leaving him to weather the world with nothing to protect. His son had been the only thing he had left after the war. The war that forced him to reach for a dark power and become a damned monster.

As his thoughts careened through his mind a scowl worked its way across his face. Teeth grit and creaked under the pressure he exuded upon them.

Yes, he was forced to embrace the darkness, lied to, tricked, and cheated into it. He would have never – oh. His piercing gaze returned to the mirthful sack of rotting flesh in front of him and he grinned a Cheshire grin. He bent forward, hands reaching out and clasping the things head between his palms, before he chuckled as well.

"It's been a while Master," he greeted mockingly. His voice grew darker and guttural as he spoke, manic joy raging through his limbs, tickling his nerve endings as it did so. He lifted the thing up, staring into the empty and shattered windows of what had once been his soul, and watched in amusement as it dangled limply from his hands yet continued to laugh. "You are the last obstacle between me and my freedom, I'm sorry to say that we will have to part ways," he cooed, adjusting his hold on the creatures head to one hand while he pulled the other back to no doubt run him through.

"You are a fool."

He paused, staring blankly at the soul, and his arm lowered just a fraction in his surprise. Few souls ever remained sentient within him, rather, they gained a kind of hive-like mentality, but if somehow they managed to hold on to their individuality it did not last long. Within days they would be maddened and corrupted by what they saw within his own soul and retreat within themselves.

"Oh?" he questioned in interest. He dropped his arm to his side and lifted the creature above his head to get a good look at his down turned face.

"I am not your master, you idiot," it continued. Its mouth did not move as it spoke but its empty sockets and brows shifted as if it were.

"My mistake," he apologized dryly and dropped the thing to the ground carelessly, a little bit put out by the realization that he must have slaughtered the monster already without having realized it.

"Your master was never here," it said, laying sprawled across the ground like the corpse it was. It turned its head to look up at him.

He quirked a brow and turned to look back at the soul. "Impossible, how else would I have gotten my freedom?"

"You're a thick one," the soul observed and pushed itself into a sitting position. Its bones and joints creaked and popped as he moved. "I was the first, yes, but only because I summoned that demon and he possessed me."

He remained silent, now glaring at the thing sagging against the ground as if gravity itself was too much, while his mind raced with memories. Yes, the first vampire had come into existence because a human had summoned a demon for power and been tricked into becoming a monster. How familiar. He clenched his fists and felt immense raging bubbling up in his chest.

"When you returned and drank me dry he fled in a cloud of smoke and retreated into the wilderness," the thing explained darkly. "Had you actually defeated him there would not be as many vampires in the world as there are now, I had hoped you would have figured it out, but you were concerned with other things . . ." it sighed and grunted when its shoulder gave a horrendous squelch and seemed to dislocate on its own. "Now he's out there doing God knows what and you are stuck in here."

His face was shadowed by the wide brim of his hat when he asked, in a flat and dangerous tone, "His name?"

"Cain," it answered.

His white teeth shone in the shadows and he snorted, "How appropriate," he said and bent down in a crouch in front of the old soul. "Tell me, do you still believe in God?"

"Of course," the soul said in a sure tone. "If there are demons and monsters in this world then God himself must exist."

"Good," he remarked. "Then pray to him and I hope you know peace," he added, once again lifting his hand.

"I will," the soul responded in a tone that spoke of the obvious, as if the monster in front of it had asked it if the sky was blue. "Destroy that bastard and we can all rest in peace," it growled just as his hand tore through his chest and sunk through the cavity up to his elbow.

When the soul had dispersed into nothing but ash all of his flagging strength that had been slowly diminishing over the years returned in a wave of darkness. It washed through his being like an old friend, quenching an unknown thirst within him, and filling him with certainty. He felt it moving around him, pushing and pulling, like the currents of the ocean, coercing him up into consciousness. All around him, the darkness had overtaken his world, shrouded it from view, and continued to push and pull, stretching him across all that he had known for thirty years. Ahead of him a dim light began to appear through the clouds of shadow, it pierced the darkness, and he reached for it with a maniacal grin that spoke of the immense satisfaction nestling his dead heart. Yes, he had done the impossible, and he would return with a vengeance.

Mice. There were two mice sitting in front of her. She stared at them through slitted lids, feeling cold and slimy cement underneath her cheek, and wondered where she had ended up. Wherever she was was dark, dank, and reeked like the deepest tunnels of a sewer. Now that she thought about it, that was probably a likely candidate for her current location. There were two mice sitting in front of her face after all. One black and one white. Both with glowing red eyes.

"Vlad and Radu," she mumbled, pulling the names from the furthest corners of her aching mind.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, hearing her movements echo out across the dark expanse that seemed to lighten and form a surrounding picture the more awake and aware she became. As soon as she was sitting up the mice began to squeak and hop about in excitement, like children ready to play, and scampered around her in circles. She whipped her head back and forth, amused by their antics, and followed their progress around her.

"Alright, alright," she hushed, attempting to calm the creatures.

They obediently came to a stop, side by side in front of her, and sat back on their haunches patiently.

Satisfied with their behavior she climbed to her feet, brushing off the seat of her skirt, and let out a frustrated sigh. Now to figure out where she was, but more importantly, who she was. She was aware of her name and a few clear memories rattling about in her head, but she was positive there was more to her than the few recollections she could manage. Her parents had been murdered, she had lived in an orphanage, something about the police force . . .? Ugh. She rubbed at her head irritably and dropped her gaze down to the mice who had yet to move from their spots, lifting their snouts to follow her eyes as she stood.

"Do you know anything about this place?" she asked them curiously.

The white mouse dropped his gaze, seeming sheepish, while the black one let out a proud squeak and scurried off into the darkness. The white mouse watched him go before glancing back at the woman questioningly.

"I suppose we should follow him," Seras stated with a smile.

Together the two, Seras at a slow pace, and the mouse running to keep up, trailed after the black mouse.

It was disorienting to say the least, walking through the darkness that seemed to be lined with cement block walls and a flowing river of sewage to her right, not knowing how she had gotten there. Her memories were frustratingly fractured and the further she walked the more confusing they became. She recalled horrible things and nice things, funny, and strange, but they were not in order and left her head aching after each new memory resurfaced.

As they traveled further along the sewer took on a strange aspect. Doorways started to appear along the wall. At first they were simple wooden ones, doors she recalled from her childhood; her old bedroom door, the closet door, the back entrance to the orphanage, a classroom door, etc. But they were shortly joined by shop fronts and furniture. She felt as if she were walking down a street in London if it weren't for the cement walls and horrid smell that still overpowered her nose. Lights spilled out across the cement floor and were soon joined by the low chatter of people.

She could still make out the black mouse, scampering across the ground ahead of her, passing in and out of the shop lights and throwing his own shadow across the floor. But each time he did so his shadow became bigger, more grotesque, and utterly frightening. She was beginning to doubt her decision to follow him. She glanced down at the white mouse still scurrying along beside her warily. He seemed innocent enough.

She had been searching through the bars and shops as they passed and after having already been walking quite a ways down the supposed city street, she finally found a familiar face. She caught sight of him through the window, sitting at a table, casually talking to a . . . thing. She paused in their journey and scampered back a few steps, pressing her face against the glass of the bar, and stared in at her friend Eddie. He sat across the table from a rotting zombie-like corpse. And he was holding a one sided conversation with it as if it were a fellow co-worker and they had just gotten off the clock to enjoy a pint together. The zombie even had a bloody liver on a plate in front of it.

He must have spotted her through the window because he turned to her and called her name cheerily but she jumped back out of terror, seeing that the half of his face previously hidden behind his profile, was missing. Blood poured from the gaping wound and dribbled down over his police uniform. Right before her eyes his flesh rotted away.

She ran ahead, clutching her arms around herself, and pulled at a strand of hair while watching the black mouse ahead of her in a daze. Next to her the white mouse squeaked in concern.

Her paranoia was in full swing now. The black mouse's shadow grew into a monster with drooling jaws and spines, and she could swear there were wolves of some sort behind her. Growling with glowing eyes in the darkness, but she was too afraid to look to know for certain.

She was assaulted by horrible images that she could only assume were her memories, leading her to wonder what kind of life she had led in later years. Blood, gore, and broken bones flitted through her mind. Gunshots and screams, the sound of blades slicing cleanly through flesh, the smell of burning corpses. Bile threatened to spill from her mouth and she had taken to holding her hand in front of it as if to stem the oncoming flow. She felt sick and feverish and the white mouse beside he seemed to be swallowed by the shadows, she could no longer make out his figure, and his brother was nothing but a pair of fleeting red eyes that glanced back at her every once and a while blinking in and out of existence like a ghostly pair of lightning bugs in a demented forest. Like willow-the-wisps.

She ran forward to catch up to them but the more she struggled the further away the mouse seemed to be until he was gone all together. The lights had all gone out. She could no longer hear the distant chatter of people. The smell that she had grown used to doubled in strength and was now accompanied by the stench of rotting flesh. But she could feel monstrous creatures leering at her from every angle. Hear their grunts, growls, and hisses. Feel their breath on the back of her neck. Smell their breath.

She lurched into a run, fighting against the tears threatening to spill, and scampered through the darkness.

She was consumed by her panic and when a door appeared in front of her she did not hesitate to pull it open, light was thrown over her and through the darkness behind her, and she lunged forward and pulled it shut behind her.

The night had grown old and the sun was just peeking over the horizon when Andrews entered the room for what felt like the millionth time in only a handful of hours. He stared at the unconscious form of Seras, laid out on the bed with her boots and gloves removed. She was still dirty and covered in rotted blood despite his best efforts to clean her up but he could only do so much before she regained some form of awareness and battered him away in fright.

Radu had left before the sun could rise, claiming he had some matters to take care of, and Integra had retired to a fitful night of sleep, leaving him the only one to watch over Seras.

He had brought more blood with him, intent on once again getting something in her stomach in hopes of flushing out whatever had gotten into her. But he was losing hope. Any time he got even a drop of blood between her lips she would spit it back out, or worse, heave and sputter until she was vomiting over the side of the bed.

He set the cup down on the bedside table and sighed.

"Miss Victoria," he called, gently shaking her shoulder in hopes of rousing her from her nightmares.

Her eyes opened, covered in a strange film, and she stared at him in confusion for several seconds before tears welled up in them and spilled across her cheeks. He worried that even that small act would waste more of the precious then she could spare.

"Where've you been Walter?" she questioned in a distraught voice. She moved as if she were attempting to sit up but discovered she did not have the strength to move. "I had a dream you died and master left, and I didn't know what to do. I only had Integra and she was so depressed, I thought she was going to waist away and leave me too." She was sobbing now, reaching for him, her arms shaking against the strain of holding them up.

Andrews let out a shaky sigh and sat down next to her on the bed, not having the heart to correct her, and smoothed the hair away from her forehead while she wrapped her arms around his waist and curled around him awkwardly on the bed.

"I am sorry," he said lightly despite the tightness in his throat. Emotions settled in his chest and stomach, threatening to choke him. "I was held up, that was all," he continued.

"Did master hide your glasses again?" she asked with a voice thick with tears. "I think he just does that because he doesn't like the thought of you getting old," she chuckled.

"Quite," he responded simply. "Are you thirsty?" he asked hopefully.

"No," she answered, closing her eyes as unconsciousness threatened to take her once again. "I really want ice cream," she added tiredly.

"Miss Victoria, you don't eat ice cream," he reminded dully. "I have some blood for you on the table."

"Why would I want blood?" she asked in disgust but fell silent as she slipped away once more.

Andrews continued to pet her hair while she returned to her slumbers, absently wondering how she was going to recover if she still clearly believed she was human. She would not drink. She did not recognize the people around her. She was so far gone that he worried she would survive. And with every hour she grew frailer and more corpse like than he had ever seen.

The basement was dark and colder than Radu remembered. Being dead, of course, the cold did not bother him but it was nonetheless worrisome. They were in Florida, a state notorious for its hot weather and though they were underground he should not have been able to see his barely warmed breath fogging the air as he did. He watched the frost float away and dissipate absently, aware that he was being spoken to, but finding he did not have the heart to listen.

"Did you get our message?"

The voice of Flagler cut through his thoughts like ice and caused his eyes to widen in surprise. He lifted his head to gaze at the creature sitting within the high backed Victorian chair casually, one leg thrown over the other while his fist supported his head and his elbow rested and the arm of the chair, as if it were some social gathering he was attending. In all reality, this was a warning to Radu, who had been invited down into the basement not an hour before sunrise by a messenger. A little black butterfly, the preferred familiars of his master, had fluttered in through the open balcony window of the hotel room as innocent as could be. He had nearly had a heart attack at the sight of it and had rushed to scoop it out of the air, cupping into within his palms, and escaped unnoticed. If it had lingered within the room for much longer his master would have been made aware of his recent companions and their identities without a doubt.

He was to join Flagler and his master in the basement that morning over a late drink, a simple enough invitation, but it was obviously laced with dark intent.

"I did, your Highness, I will not make the mistake again. Please accept my apologies," Radu bowed low at the waist, his eyes open and staring at the cement blocks that made up the floor of the room. He would not make the mistake of getting caught again, anyways. He was through with being the meek little mouse his brother had once labeled him as. He had sat back for centuries while Elizabeth tortured him for amusement, had been unable to do anything about his brother's death, and was now forced to watch as his only blood relative left alive in the world withered away from blood poisoning. He would play the part no more. Elizabeth would no longer be referred to as his master. If he could not break his ties with her by drinking her blood then he would force his way out through sheer force of will. Nothing was impossible.

"I am glad to hear that," Flagler responded in a dry tone that spoke of boredom. He drummed a finger against the arm of the chair in quiet contemplation before he paused in his ministrations and sat forward just a fraction. "I've had word that a very curious person has shown up, one Seras Victoria, the only living vampire sired by Dracula himself," he said. He eyed Radu with poorly concealed amusement while he processed what he had just said.

"I do not know of whom you speak," Radu replied, layering his tone with as much confusion as he could muster, which, given the situation, was not hard. Anyone in their right mind would want to meet the only living Draculina after her sire's death, of course, but how had Flagler known of her presence within the city? He had not slipped up and given her away, any ghouls they had come across were destroyed, and as far as he knew, Seras had not spoken with any other vampires.

"I am sure you don't," Flagler said with a sickening smirk. "Regardless, I want to send her an invitation to the party. Would you be so kind as to deliver it to her?" he asked. One of his various familiars, a strange black creature that walked on two legs and wore a fox mask, stepped forward. It proffered a small envelope with gloved hands and waited silently for Radu to take it. When he had taken it after eyeing the paper, the familiar bowed, and the bells adorning the jesters hat it wore trilled lightly before it returned to the shadows at its master's side.

"Of course, sir," Radu answered curtly and bowed again.

"Good," Flagler smiled kindly. "Now be a good little fledgling and run along. Your master and I must have a talk."

Elizabeth stepped forward, stopping just to the left of the high backed chair and quirked her lips in the smallest of smirks at Radu, her red eyes boring into him, and watched as he bowed for the third time and made his retreat.

"Will he do as he is told?" Flagler asked her, his eyes never leaving the spot where Radu had stood not moments before.

"Oh, he will."

A new voice joined the two in the basement, followed by the dark cloaked figure and piercing blue eyes that had haunted the grounds for decades now. "He is an obedient little thing, always has been, even as a human. It was his brother who was the trouble maker." The creature chuckled darkly and glided over to a table against the far wall that held nothing but a single lit candle. He lifted his hands as if to cradle the flames while the two vampires watched him, Flagler tense and unsure, and Elizabeth in cold amusement.

"If only I had gotten a hold of his brother first," Elizabeth drawled. She strode over to the center of the room where Radu had stood not minutes before and let out a hefty sigh.

"You would not have been able to control him," Cain mumbled while he gazed into the fire, seemingly lost in a trance.

Elizabeth turned to face the creature with a scowl and opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off with a chuckle, "Do not think me to be belittling you. But that man nearly destroyed me as a newborn vampire by sheer force of will. You, my dear," he pinned her with a look over his shoulder, "Would not have survived."

Elizabeth shut her mouth with a click and lifted her nose into the air.

The men standing guard at the Hellsing Estate had been idle for four days now. They continued to train and practice, the house staff cleaned and cooked, and no visitors came calling for Sir Integra while she was away. They had heard no news from her and while they would have liked to assume that she and the other two were simply just enjoying themselves there was a niggling suspicion that all was not as it seemed.

"Trust your gut," the veterans would say. "Your strength aint worth shit when it comes to Vampires and neither are your brains in most cases. Instinct is what saves your ass," they would explain.

Well, they were all feeling it now.

Aaron, one of the few older members of the organization, having joined fifteen years after the attack on London at the age of twenty, was following his rout around the grounds that night. It was pretty much a pointless exercise as the whole estate was fenced and layered with motion sensors, weaponry, and cameras. It was more a formality than anything at this point. He was weighed down with his gear, rifle held within his hands as he walked over gravel and grass, and was just turning to head to the southern corner of the property when he noticed the strange hue that night air had taken.

He cocked his head curiously and scanned the grounds for any unusual lights, found nothing, and lifted his eyes to the sky where they froze in stunned surprise.

The moon was blood red. It loomed over the estate, leering down at him, and sent an intense surge of fear racing through his spine. Dark figures flitted across its face, squeaking and screaming in high pitch tones, as they gathered into a general cloud and spilled down towards the mansion.

Aaron took a step back in fright. The bats were diving towards the property with no regards for obstacles in their way. They smashed through the windows and engulfed the building in their shadows, filled it to the brim with their screams and fluttering wings, awakening the staff and sending everyone into a panic.

Maids screamed and hid under blankets and furniture. Butlers and laborers uselessly fought against them with whatever was within hands reach. And the soldiers struggled to maintain order, barking commands through facefulls of the furry creatures.

The staff fled for windows and doors, running to escape the seemingly never ending onslaught, and only froze in fright when a deep maniacal laughter echoed through the building and over the grounds. It sent thrills of fright rolling through their bodies.

The pool of staff who had collected within the foyer all stood still while the bats continued to flutter about them. It did not occur to them that, though the beasts were frantic in their cries and movements, they were not actually harming anyone. A kind of calm fell over them while the bats flew about, they stood transfixed by the voice, and waited.

The collection of the bats clustered together in the middle of the room while other continue to fly through the rafters, and from within their shroud a figure stepped forth. At first it was clad all in black, a skeletal figure emanating sick mirth, but as the bats seemed to dissipate within its form, a red coat fluttered into existence around the figure and fell about its ankles. A wide brimmed hat, glasses, and a Cheshire grin were soon to follow.

As he fully appeared the rest of the bats vanished within the depths of his coat and he leaned his head back, breathing in the air, black hair fell to his shoulders and seemed to absorb the light.

"I'm home."

His voice was deep and smooth, but light in tone, as he spoke. He cared not for the guns aimed at his chest. He lifted his arms and laughed again.

"Tell me, where has my master gone?" he asked the gathering of house staff in front of him.

The soldiers remained silent while they held onto their weapons, ignoring the way their aims quivered, while the maids and butlers coward. A tense moment of silence fell about the room while the demon in front of them waited patiently. It was only broken when an older woman shoved her way to the front. Her hair was salt and pepper, pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head, and she wore a stained apron over a black dress. She came to a stop at the front of the group, hands on her hips, and scowled at the creature.

"Shame on you," she snapped. "Frightening all the staff. Sir Integra would have your head if she knew what kind of behavior you were partaking in, in her absence."

The grin fell from the monsters face and he dropped his arms to his side. "Natalie," he greeted.

"Vampire," she returned the greeting gruffly.

He smirked, "I have worked all these years to return home only to find a household full of new children and no master in sight."

The soldiers had yet to lower their weapons, focused on the creature in front of them, but the staff had perked their ears in frightened curiosity.

"You don't deserve Sir Integra or Miss Victoria for that matter," she snapped. "They've gone off to America, if you must know, something to do with the Vatican and turning over a new leaf." She waved her hands in the air flippantly in irritation.

He cocked his head in thought. "How strange," he mused, "Making friends with the Vatican after all they have done . . ." he trailed off. He paused in the middle of his thoughts, feeling unfamiliar emotions roll over him from one of the few bonds he had left, and lifted a hand to his chin. "It appears they have run into some trouble, why have you not gone to them?" He turned his gaze onto a soldier, baring a significant badge marking him as one of the captains, and though his eyes were hidden behind the lenses the man could feel their intensity easily.

"We-," the man stumbled to respond, "We haven't heard anything . . .Sir?" He lowered his gun and straightened his posture, glancing at his men around him who refused to do the same without an order. "We've been sitting on our hands waiting to hear word from Sir Hellsing, but the lines have all been quiet, we assumed there was no trouble."

"Idiots," he drawled.

And like that he was gone. Whether he had run off down a hall, dispersed into a cloud of mist, or simply sunken through the floor, no one was sure. But the weapons room had been raided, a particularly dusty box unearthed from a collection and left thrown open, and the monsters miasma was vacant from the house hold.

The people gathered in the foyer were left there to ponder of what had just happened. Natalie, the one of the very few staff members who had been a part of hellsing before the war, simply grunted and dusted off her hands before returning to the kitchens to clean up after the "Bat Attack" muttering about egotistical Vampires.

Andrews rinsed out the now empty cup of blood, scrubbing at it with a rag found under the sink of the kitchenette, while his mind wandered in thought. He worried for Seras and his employer, who was far more stressed than he had ever seen her, and even the vampire Radu. It was a very precarious situation they had found themselves in: caught within the lion's den, unable to make a move. He was half tempted to call up the Vatican himself and be done with the petty rivalry they shared with the Hellsing Organization. He had not born witness to the attack on London, however, as he had lived far out in the country and was a child little more than five years old and that stayed his hand. He was a levelheaded person without a doubt because, while he yearned to reach out for the only help they could, he refused to act knowing that there were horrors he had not been made known of. When he had first join the organization he had gotten a brief history lesson and later snooped to find out more, but even Integra had not revealed all of what the Vatican had done while under the reign of Enrico Maxwell. He suspected it was why Integra could not move herself to trust them.

He set the cup on the counter next to the sink and stared at it forlornly for a moment, wishing that he had not had to dispose of the congealing blood, and that Seras had actually drunken it.

He was left to twiddle his thumbs while Integra slept and Seras dreamed of monstrous things. All the while the wolves gnashed their teeth on the outskirts of the campfire, waiting, and biding their time to attack.

He wished – for just a moment – that they were back at the estate and twiddling their thumbs out of boredom instead. Integra would be in her office, smoking away and sipping her tea, thumbing through paperwork. Seras would be outside supervising their men, barking out commands, or asleep at her desk after sorting through hours of her own paperwork. And he would be partaking the mundane household chores and overseeing the kitchen's preparations of the soldiers' next meal.

The tense silence that had filled the hotel room was suddenly shattered by a shout from Integra's room, followed by a gun shot, and the sound of furniture tumbling to the ground. And then Integra shouted.

"Alucard!"

Andrews turned as her bedroom door was thrown open and she stormed out, yelling at the top of her lungs, hair all astray and still clad in her light blue striped pajamas.

"You impudent, childish, piece of-," she cut herself off as she reached the desk and pulled out a cigar, tossing her pistol onto the desk top, and fumbled for a lighter.

From her room inky blackness swirled and a pair of leering reds eyes peered out into the morning light. Deep laughter rolled from the shadows and sent Andrews flesh crawling, his hand reached for the knife hidden within his coat sleeve.

"Is that any way to welcome back your most trusted and loyal servant?" the voice asked.

"You are neither of those things, Alucard, you bastard," Integra shot back at the darkness. As she spoke it seemed to recede, displaying her room once more as it should have appeared, with morning light streaming in through the blinds across the now disturbed room, and a figure melted into existence. "You are gone for thirty years and you expect me to welcome you back like nothing? Idiot," she groused, pulling on the now lit cigar.

"I apologize for my lateness," the tall man, clad in red and black, stepped out into the sitting room. He did not bother giving Andrews so much as a cursory glance. "Unfortunately, I had to lay waste to all the souls within me in order to return. It took longer than I expected." He fell silent, as if irritated with his own lack of efficiency, and grit his teeth.

Andrews took a step away from the monster and sat down on the nearest chair, proper manners be damned, but the creature radiated such an aura that he was struggling not to give into the sheer terror building in his chest. The beast standing casually in the center of the room was of a caliber he had never born witness to before in his life. He was a predator without a doubt, the smell of blood clung to him as if he had just soaked in a tub of it not minutes before, and his grin spoke of confidence born from experience. An era's worth of experience in the art of bloodshed and torture. He leaned forward and clasped his hands together to hide the way they shook and watched as Integra lectured him like a child.

Integra dropped into the chair behind the desk with a tired sigh. It spoke of years preparing for that very moment and it was obvious that she had planned for it to go in a whole other direction but the situation did not allow it. She had waited for thirty years for the man in front of her to make his reappearance and she had not expected it to be so sudden and anticlimactic as her simply rolling over in her sleep and finding his eyes leering at her with a grin.

"I've returned to you, my countess," he bowed at the waist and swept his arm out, "and just in time." He straightened, "Baskerville tells me you have gotten yourself into quite the predicament."

Integra glowered at him over her clasped hands but took a moment to organize her thoughts before responding. "It seems your death had more of an effect on the world than I could have imagined," she began through grit teeth.

Alucard turned away from her and moved over towards one of the windows where he stood with his arms crossed.

"Without you they felt leaderless and flocked to the next most powerful vampire. A creature that goes by the name of Flagler, the very man that made this city what it is today, and he claims he is going to introduce the existence of vampires to the whole world and begin an era of peace," Integra continued in a flat tone.

Alucard half turned to look back at her, a blank expression on his face, before he laughed. "That's great," he exclaimed, "Our two worlds will never see eye to eye. It was not meant to be. How curious."

"Yes, well, after some investigation we have concluded that he has something very different planned, as you would expect," she responded.

"I have no doubt," he agreed and once again fell silent, turning back to the window. The daylight streamed in around him and painted him orange. He stood there, ageless and somber, and seemed to be caught within his own mind. Something Integra had rarely seen him do.

"Is something wrong?" she asked warily, unsure if he was still the same person she had grown to know over the years.

He was silent for a few moments before letting his arms fall to his sides. "It is strange . . ." he lifted his gaze to the clouds, "my mind is the clearest it has ever been in centuries. My head is empty of so many voices . . ." He turned away from the window and sat down in the chair next to Andrews, silent as the grave, and crossed his legs and rested his arms on the armrests, posing a regal image even from Andrews point of view. "I had grown used to their voices, constantly running in the background, and now . . . all is silent."

Integra set the cigar down in an ashtray and stared at him, bewildered by his sudden change in character, and was stumped on how to respond.

Upon seeing her expression the vampire laughed, revealing his fangs, "Tell me more about this Flagler and what the Vatican has to do with all of this. I am bored and hungry and ready to return to the slaughter."

That was more like it.

She was in a familiar room. A dinner table set up at one end where a doorway led to the kitchen, and a light blue couch and brown coffee table sat at the other end of the room. A television was on, some sports game playing, while voices filtered in from the kitchen.

"Not yet, David," a woman said followed by the sound of a light slap.

"Mum!" Seras cried, rushing around the dining room table and into the kitchen.

She remembered this day. Her father had invited some friends over to watch the soccer game and her mother had prepared all kinds of snack food for them to eat during and her father had kept picking at the various plates before anyone had even arrived. She could recall the day down to every little detail. She remembered the dress her mother had worn and the way her father's hair had sat with an awkward cowlick that refused to stay down. He had come home late the night before from work.

She entered the kitchen, hopeful and overjoyed at the thought of seeing them once more, but froze. The scene that awaited her was not the one she remembered. The food her mother prepared sat atop the counters, rotted and covered in maggots, the lights had burnt out and gathered cobwebs, and the stench that reached her nose was overpowering. Their bodies were sprawled across the ground and half rotted. Gore dribbled from their eyes and mouths, their organs displayed from long decomposing wounds, and rats were gnawing on their bones and flesh.

At the sight of her they all turned with glowing eyes and hissed.

She slammed the door shut behind her with wide eyes and vomited on the beige carpet. Blood splattered across the fibers and sickened her further. Was there no escape from the gore? The horror that assaulted her every time she turned around? Her insides were shoving their way up her throat and her heart was pounding so hard she felt like she was going to pass out. She couldn't breathe, she was choking on nothing and everything all at once, and she couldn't breathe!

Blue eyes watched from the shadows. Reveled in her distraught terror and chuckled. He had crawled through every crevice of her mind, analyzed every memory she had, and knew all her secrets by that point.

Using the ghouls as lures had been one of his favorite tricks for as long as he could remember. Gaining access to any vampire dumb enough to latch their maws onto the disgusting creatures was one of his favored past times. He had learned much about the world through this technique while he hid in the darkness and it had served him well. He was aware of their presence now, knew that both Hellsing and the Vatican were no more than a stone's throw away and planned on using it to his advantage. Not only would he be able to make his mark on the world but he could destroy two of his most powerful foes at the same time.

And he had a new pet to play with on top of it all!

It was about time. He was tired of watching from the shadows as humanity set themselves on the slow path to destruction. He was ready to change it all in his favor like he had originally planned all those hundreds of years ago when he had first clawed his way up from the roiling depths of hell. It had been getting far too crowded down there for his liking. He could destroy damned soul after damned soul but hundreds more would move in to take their places.

Now that the only true threat to his existence was conveniently removed from the face of the planet he could move about freely without fear. The vampires were blind fools, running to the next strongest creature for protection and guidance, and he had offered it to them through Flagler, the face of his plans. A few more souls and he would be more powerful than any monster who had ever walked the Earth. Stronger even then God himself.

He laughed again and withdrew from the mind of Seras Victoria, leaving her with more terrors than she had yet faced, and returned to the basement.

Andrews had prepared tea for Integra while she spoke with her servant, and even went so far as to offer a cup of medical blood to the vampire, before once more returning to his seat. He slouched within the cushioned chair and looked for all the world like an eighty year old man whose life had just ended.

The vampire drank the blood like a starved animal, gulping the liquid down with such veracity that Integra forced herself to look away. He set the glass down on the table atop the maps they had been pouring over not a day before and leaned back in the chair.

"Where is the Police Girl?" he asked, interrupting Integra's retelling of the fiasco that was their investigation. He had grown bored with the tales quickly and was itching to wreak havoc but the thought of his fledgling had niggled its way into his much more spacious mind and taken up root in the very center. He had not felt her presence since his return even though he had clearly felt the bond with his familiar.

Integra paused in her continued explanation and sent a glance to Andrews cautiously. It was her way of telling him to let her handle the situation. He was fine with that, he had not planned on opening his mouth in the presence of the monster, lest he draw his attention.

"Seras is resting right now, she has fallen ill," Integra said calmly, lightly, and belittled the situation to the best of her abilities.

"Ill?" Alucard drawled warningly, knowing what Integra was playing at, and gripped the armrests of the chair in restrained irritation.

"Yes," Integra muttered. "She was out searching for a vampire and ran into some ghouls."

While she spoke Alucard had stood and began moving towards the only other closed bedroom door in their room.

"We think she drank from one in a frenzy-," she fell short as the vampire threw the door open and stared into the darkened room in anger. He radiated such hate in that moment that Integra had bit her tongue and Andrews had jumped to his feet, worried for the safety of Seras.

"Ill?" Alucard questioned again, turning a glare onto the woman sitting behind the desk, "This is not 'Ill', this is dying." He stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, now understanding why he had not been able to feel her through their bond, her mind was locked away deep within her while her body slowly decayed.

He stood at the side of the bed, eyeing the prone figure beneath the covers, noting the stench of rotted blood that rolled from her and accumulated sickness from her previous episodes resulting in the expelling of the liquid. He scowled, prodding her mind through their bond for any sort of response, and ran into a wall of darkness so thick that he himself did not even bother wasting the energy in penetrating. He was not yet strong enough to master the darkness as he had before. It would require far more souls than he currently had within him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and tried a different tactic. Instead, he turned to his own mind and searched through the vast, now emptied, void of his own soul. He had spent that past thirty years clearing it out but there was one soul, at least part of it, that he had hidden away to remain untouched. He returned to it now, hidden amongst the fortresses of the past, and opened the door that had acted as protection against his own destruction.

She sat at a windowsill, wearing nothing but a white gown, and stared out through the grimy glass absently. Through that window a world of peace and laughter could be seen, something she had created on her own to brighten the darkness that was him, and it was something he had allowed in hopes to retain some of her innocence. Years down the road, when she had finally drank from him and reclaimed her freedom, she would also regain the things she had unknowingly lost in her death and rebirth.

"Seras," he called, shutting the door behind him and silencing the overpowering quietness that was the void.

She turned to look at him, blue eyes bloodshot and watery tears streaking down her face, and let out a distraught huff of air signaling the beginnings of a sob.

"Why won't it stop?" she asked through the tears. She had pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as if to hold herself together, but it proved to be of little help.

Alucard did not move from his spot next to the door, he stood their silently, analyzing the girl in front of him wordlessly. His lips were pressed together and a slight wrinkle between his brows were all that gave away his emotions.

"Everything was okay, we were doing okay," she mumbled, "and then everything went wrong."

"What happened?" he finally said.

She turned her gaze back towards the window and tightened her grip on her knees. "I don't know, I was searching . . . for somebody. Somebody important . . ." she trailed off in frustration. "And I got angry and did something stupid. It was supposed to help . . ." she fell quiet and rubbed at her forehead.

She would not be able to give him a detailed answer. She was only a fragment of her true self and the best she could give him was the emotions she had been feeling at the time, but it was still better than nothing.

He stepped forward and rested a gloved hand atop her head, ruffled her hair, before turning to leave. "Don't worry about it," he said over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him and returning to the real world.

The fragment of Seras watched the door for a moment, sniffling in an attempt to calm herself, and returned to watching the ocean view outside the window. It only calmed her momentarily before the horrible images assaulted her again and she was left to curl up in fear by herself.

Alucard stood and reentered the sitting room where Integra had not moved from her seat behind the desk and the butler had gone to wash the dishes that had used previously. He blew through the room and reached for the door, drawing his master's attention as he did so. He was half way out the door before she demanded to know where he was going.

"For a walk," he threw back to her, and shut the door behind himself. If he wanted to help Seras than he would need more than just a fraction of her soul and Baskerville to do so. He intended on gorging himself on the darkest, most twisted, beings he could find and thanks to the science experiment catastrophe that he had ingested thirty years ago it would be easier than ever.

Integra watched him leave before letting out a sigh and pushing herself to her feet.

"Is he always like that?" Andrews asked. He had finished washing up after tea and was standing with a drying rag in hands, wiping away the rest of the water.

"Yes," she grumbled.