Public Service Announcement: Princess Destiny of the Destiny Gateway Romance Fanfiction Archive (a fantastic website filled with good quality romantic fanfics, for anyone interested) is in danger of losing her home and her cats due to a work-related injury that has left her unable to make income. The compensation money quickly ran out, and government assistance will not arrive for a few months. Therefor, she needs our help to raise the money needed to pay rent, and thus keep her home and her many beautiful cats. Every little bit helps, even $1. (Since I struggle every month to make rent and keep my cat, I empathize.)

If you want to help Princess Destiny of Destiny Gateway, a fantastic human being and contributor to the FF community, go visit her Go Fund Me page under the name "Aurelia Destiny," and wire money into her account through , share her story, get the word out (especially to her followers), or any other way.

I repeat: To help Princess Destiny of Destiny Gateway, to go "Go Fund Me" under "Aurelia Destiny," and help in any way you can.

That is all.

Disclaimer: I own and make no money off of Hellsing.


Seras' clenched fist trembled on the desk. She wanted so badly to accept his offer. She wanted so much to take a drink. All she had to do was stick out her tongue and let rich, red liquid pour down her throat. Sating her. Sustaining her…

But deep inside she felt she would be changed by the experience, and she wasn't ready to change yet.

Though every inch of her body ached for the red liquid, that iron will forced her to lower her head, and her eyes.

"I can't."

He stared at her for several moments, and withdrew his hand. The blood returned to the wound, which healed, and he placed his glove back on. He stood in front of his desk, and stared at her for several minutes.

"Get out."

Seras didn't need to be told twice.

It was just too crazy to think about! He made this world into a festering hell-hole filled with vampires and demons on every corner, now he wanted to purge them all and give the world back to humans? Or, rather, he wanted to make the world more inhabitable to humans? Who was it? How could he do that to his own people? His own subjects? Seras hated them too, but they weren't her people. ("Yes they are," the vampire voice whispered deep inside her, but she ignored it.) She didn't create them. She didn't give them run of the world, and then decide to kill them when she grew bored with how they ran it.

She always hated them, and she hated her master for making them. She'd always felt so angry, so helpless before. Now he was offering her a chance to heal the world. All well and good, but—at least before she could respect her master. He made the world the way it was, and he had presided over it. Even if she hated his subjects, and hated him by extension, at least she could respect him for making the world the way he wanted and protecting his citizens, dark and twisted and horrible as they were.

Now he was making the world the way she wanted, but it didn't feel right because he was betraying his own people to do it.

What if he became bored with her in the new world? Would he kill her too? Decide he liked the decadent world better, and side with a new vampire to kill her?

But her gut didn't believe it even as her mind thought it.

"You are the only fledgling I have fed my own blood."

Seras walked blindly from room to room around the castle, not even aware that the creatures of the night now fled and hid from her. She was too lost in her own thoughts to notice that they didn't dare tease or harass her as they did every other time before.

Instead, she thought of the chance to make things right…

Then she groaned, thinking about how her master had a way of doing things in a way that twisted the knife the hardest.

She didn't want to become a monster like them! She didn't want to lose the last scraps of her humanity. If she drank blood, she could feel it… it would be the end of something… it would be like a true death… she could feel it, deep in the recesses of her soul… she knew that as soon as she drank blood, accepted what she was, something important would end inside of her forever.

"He's quite the stallion, isn't he?"

She blushed, and looked up at that unwelcome thought. She was in the kitchens now, and a few miserable looking humans kept their eyes on the food they were preparing. A few pots of bland-looking stew, and cutting boards to chop up the vegetables for the stews. In the pantry, she knew where were only this season's fruits and vegetables harvested. Nothing else.

She thought of the stews and the fruits and vegetables she had brought for Pip in the cellar below.

She remembered his warm smile, his tight skin, the hot blood pulsing through his veins, and the rhythmic beating of his heart. She thought of his sharp tongue and his quick wit. She remembered the mischievous glint in his eye, and the suggestive grin (which always made her blush, even in memory) every time she went to visit him. She remembered the heat radiating off his skin, which she could practically see and smell with her vampire senses. She had felt it only once, when she had touched his shoulder as she had combed his hair. The heat was so strong she could feel it coursing through her hand, up her wrist.

He always radiated heat—well, warmth, when she first met him. Warmth and heat and all things alive. Even locked in the coldest, darkest bowels of the castle, he smelled of earth and musk and spices and dust and tobacco smoke. Everything about him radiated… life… which was especially attractive to one who was dead…

She held herself like she was cold. Cold and alone.

She felt guilty, then. She wanted to bask in that heat and warmth like a cat taking a nap in the sun. And it felt selfish to her, because it was his warmth to give and not hers to take.

She felt like a vampire then, stronger than any other time. She was a cold, selfish, parasitic monster that wanted to leech off the blood and light and warmth and sun he had that she couldn't make. They said vampires drank blood because they couldn't make any themselves, but that was too simple. They took life because they had no life themselves? That was too simple as well. It was warmth. It was liquid. It was life. Vampires envied humans who had hearts that could beat and hot blood that could flow and warm bodies that could share heat and life because they had none to give and…

She felt guilty, and she couldn't go see him, even though she never wanted to see him more. He wouldn't welcome the company of a vampire whose every cell ached to take his blood, his warmth, his life like a parasitic tube worm. One that couldn't make heat or blood or life itself, and so wanted to leech his.

He'd be better off without her. She had to be alone right now—alone to think. She had so much to consider.

Below, in one of the private dungeons in the castle, the stone walls echoed with screams.

The blonde vampiress who bought him pulled back to gloat at her work.

Pip Bernadotte hung from the walls in chains so tight they cut into his ligaments. And why shouldn't it? She wanted everything to hurt. His raggedy breath ripped from his chest as sweat and blood dripped from his face.

"Not sure if I like that eye…" she mused out loud.

"Why don't we pop it out? Make him blind?" her mate purred.

She'd invited him in to join her hours before. It was fun doing it by herself for the first few hours, but there were only so many ways to cut and whip someone by herself before it got repetitive and boring. And she couldn't do it too long without killing him. When she had to go fetch more blood to keep him alive (she was proud of herself for thinking to tie him up in a way that caused excruciating pain before she left, otherwise he would have been given too much hope with a brief respite), she brought her mate along. He always thought of new and creative ways to make them bleed and scream without damaging them too much, so the fun could go on and on.

Presently, her mate crawled up behind her, nibbling her ear and groping her breast while growing playfully in her ear.

Even strung up like a scarecrow (and tattered like one), the human shuddered and grimaced in disgust.

"Want to know a good way of striking fear into them, love?" her mate growled into her ear.

"Mmm… how?"

"Like this." He cocked a gun, carelessly aimed behind him, and shot another pet of theirs they kept in a metal cage. He was half dead from weeks of neglect, anyway. She'd gotten bored with him long ago, so she'd stopped feeding him, but she hadn't made up her mind to kill him outright either.

The human flinched at the gunshot, and looked pained by the death of his fellow kind.

"That's how you do it," he grinned cockily.

"Oh, honey…" she cooed, and would have done him right there had the blast not brought the attention of one of her friends.

Tall and thin and willowy, she often waltzed

They all knew she wasn't quite right in the head. Tall and willowy, she often waltzed as though in a trance, floating through space as though she could hear music in her head.

"What beautiful music you two make," she said as she danced into their menagerie of chained and caged human. Her eyes instantly rested on their chained human.

"Thanks, Drellie," her mate said.

"It's Drusilla."

"Whatever."

"How crass you too are," she said in a sing-song voice as she drifted right up to the human they had chained.

"Is this the one?" she asked.

"That's right," her mate said as he nibbled her ear, and she swatted him away.

"The one who…?"

"That's right. Seras' favorite."

Elizabeth smiled vaguely, yet also maliciously.

"She swatted my love today. We can't let her get away with that."

She grabbed Pip's chin and forced him to look up, though his whole spine was already so painfully contorted it threatened to snap. "What do you say, human? Are you ready to have some fun?"

"That's what I said," his owner chipped in as her mate nibbled her ear.

"Oh, forgive me. You two have made a lovely choir in here…" she strolled absently to the center of the dungeon, then stopped abruptly. "But let's see if we can make it an orchestra."

She pointed and snapped her fingers at a human chained to the corner, thin and weak and maimed in the legs. He raised his flute as quickly as he could and begin to play, though tears sprang from his eyes as he did. Every time she ordered him to do that she filled the whole room with pain, yet if he resisted (and he had, once or twice before), they filled the room with his screams.

The notes of the little reed flute filled the little dungeon, its heavenly little sound a cruel and ironic counter to the hellish torment that awaited.

All humans not too starved or passed out to move cringed when they heard the music. The new human did not know to flinch or cringe, but he would soon learn.

She sighed as she swayed on her feet. "You two make the most beautiful music."

They grinned. "It's what we do."

She sighed again, and ran her hands over her own body. "It soothes my inner kitty, and helps me get some rest."

"A little late for that now," her mate said with a grin.

"Then let's create an orchestra of pain!"

As the music picked up, she pointed to the snogging couple. "The melody of lusty growls!"

Her mate growled playfully as he bit her ear again.

"A counterpoint of painful howls!" she sang, and tightened the machine that made Pip howl.

She threw her hands into the air. "A symphony of death, oh my!"

"That's my lullaby," her friend finished for her.

Drusilla ran up to Pip and clutched his blood-soaked cheeks with her claws. "His lovely mistress' mournful cry! That's my lullaby!"

Her friend grinned, and stood. "Then we'd better get to work."

"Now then," Drusilla whispered in Pip's ear, pulling out a hot poker. "Let's see if we can really make you sing."

The walls echoed with his screams.

Seras snapped awake in her coffin. She was in her own private room in the heart of the castle—not in one of the airy towers with a lovely view, but now down near the dungeons like some of the lesser nobles. She looked around, but saw no issue with where she lay. She opened her coffin and looked around her room, but found nothing wrong. It was barren except for a large tapestry used as a throw rug, a piano in the corner (most rooms had them; she didn't play), and a dresser for her clothes.

Everything looked fine, but something in her gut told her something was wrong.

She quickly rose from her coffin, put on her work clothes (a navy dress with black thigh-high stockings, and ankle-high black boots), and quickly scarpered out of her room. Her feeling of intense drowsiness and her inner supernatural clock (that all vampires seemed to have) told her it was well into the day, perhaps a little after noon. She knew most of the vampires would be asleep in their coffins, for even they tended to feel sleepy during the day, and would sooner indulge in their drowsiness than sleep than fight it in order to have some fun.

This made it easier to travel through the castle, as she had little fear of being seen by anyone but the servants (who straightened things out while most of their masters slept), and they hardly cared what she was doing.

She tried to assure herself that nothing was wrong as she made her way down to the dungeons. No doubt he'd be asleep—at least, she hoped he'd be asleep. She tried to assure herself that nothing was wrong—that she'd peek in, see that he was sleeping peacefully on his bed or doing pull-ups or something, then she'd be relieved, go back to bed, and wait to pluck up the courage to see him when he was awake again.

That was what she kept telling herself as she made it down to the dungeons, and tried to ignore sounds of pain on her way—actually? You know what? Screw it, she thought. She went into one room where she heard moaning, and saw a man tied up to a torture device that stretches limbs. It was a mechanical machine with a handle that turned on its own like a playing music box, and the human had a rag stuffed into his mouth to keep him from screaming. Seras smashed the handle with one powerful kick, and worked to untie him. The ropes had dug into his flesh down to the bone, but Seras was too furious and too fed up with the whole situation to care.

She also kind of wished she had a knife, so she could cut him loose with one powerful slice; not bite and claw at the rope like a clumsy kitten.

He profoundly grateful to be relieved of pain until she took the rag out of his mouth, then it seemed to occur to him that, as a vampire who just showed him a kindness, she might want to do something worse to him.

Before he could say anything, she said, "If anyone asks why you're untied, you tell them you have the Vampire King's assistant to deal with if they try to hurt you again, all right?"

She was so tired of being afraid of stepping on toes or angering more powerful vampires. If they were angry with her, let them come at her. By now she was itching for an excuse to fight. Either her master would stop her or kill her, but either way she was tired of living in fear of crossing him.

He nodded, and she left him to find another.

She found and freed too more painful sods the same way she'd freed this one. One looked like he was in so much pain he'd need either intense medical treatment, or to get put down. Seras didn't have the resources for the former nor the heart to do the latter, so instead she made a nest of blankets so he could rest, and some water for him to sip on until she came back for him.

Perhaps he'd know what to do with an injured soldier. He had seen many wounds, in his time.

Seras opened the door to his room. Her eyes widened in surprise, but her gut always knew. He was gone.

She found Narissa asleep in her own coffin. She threw the lid open and grabbed the scruff of her frilly night dress, which was so delicate it ripped in her hand while Narissa remained laying asleep in her coffin.

Seras blushed, glad no one saw that.

This time, she made sure to wake Narissa before pulling her up. "Where is he?!"

"Where is who, dear?"

"Don't play games with me, Narissa, I'm in no mood!"

"I should say not!" she said indignantly. "After that little display you put on last night."

"I don't care about any of that! I just want to know where he is."

"What concern is it of mine? I don't own him anymore."

Seras felt a cold stab in her gut. "You don't… own him?"

"I should say not! Not after how much money I was offered."

"Who bought him from you?!"

The color drained from Seras' face and her feet felt like lead as she rushed back up the stairs to find his new owner. Oh no, not that one…

Seras could hear his screaming from down the hall. Her dead heart leapt as her stomach flip-flopped. "Pip!" she cried, and in her haste to get to him she didn't notice the shadows sneaking up on her until it was too late.

Pip had spent so many hours screaming and writhing in pain that he was almost apart from himself, as a coping mechanism. He was no longer aware that he was screaming, he only felt pain, and could hear screaming which he occasionally realized was coming from him.

Sometimes he daydreamed of Seras soothing his pain, or stroking his brow, or cooing in his ear, in order to cope with the pain. He knew they were mere fantasies—emotions of love and sex release chemicals in the brain that act as endorphins, natural painkillers and mood-lifters to make even the worst situation seem somewhat bearable.

He knew they were mere illusions created by his pain-addled mind to cope with torture—to cope with trauma—but as the hours wore on and his body was ripped apart and his screams ripped from his body, the illusions grew stronger and stronger. He day-dreamed that Seras rushed in to save him. He dreamed she snarled like an animal, showing the full strength of her vampiric powers, and slashed and kicked at his torturers.

It never made him love her more than to see her snarl and fight.

But still, the pain continued, along with the nausea and helplessness and powerlessness at being at the mercy of these monsters. The visions blurred in and out between other scenes of pain and madness.

He was only vaguely aware of his own screams, which was why it vaguely surprised him to hear Seras' scream.

He saw a two men drag her in, holding her from either side of her arms so no matter how much she kicked, twisted and writhed, she couldn't break their hold.

He was exhausted by then, and could barely stay awake. He felt sure this was a dream, drifting in and out of consciousness.

He felt cold metal press against his skin, and his torturer say something—though he was far too exhausted and pain-addled to hear the words.

In his haze, his vision blurred in and out, of Seras being overrun by male vampires, Seras struggling only feebly against her attackers. One of her attackers tearing off her shirt, her arm—and her going berserk and making them shower in a rain of blood.

He felt the bite of metal on his neck, then a fountain of blood burst beside him. He felt himself succumb to exhaustion, ready to go into the black.

He could hear Seras' beautiful voice, though he could not hear or understand what she had to say.

It seemed to him the bonds on his wrists and under his skin were loosened, and he was aware that she was near him. Heh, there was that rush of endorphins again. She was so close, she could press her body against his if she wanted to, her…

He could feel her cool lips pressed against his own, which felt good against his feverish skin. He felt sure his wounds were infected and his blood turning septic from the dirty instruments. Soon he'd probably go into shock or bleed out or simply die of exhaustion, and he felt this was a good dream.

If this was a fever dream or a hallucination on his way out, it was a good one.

He loved Seras—loved her skin, her lips, her hair, her eyes, her knobby little hands, her sweet little voice. Dream or no, one little kiss before he died was all he needed to die happy.

His heart swelled with love, and it felt ready to expire.

He was vaguely aware that she was distressed (even in a dream, he thought, she fussed and fretted like a mother hen—and considering how he'd been treated by others before, he appreciated it all the more), and he could hear her voice make sounds that his broken mind was too exhausted to interpret.

He felt her lips press forcefully against his, and this time it was a wet kiss—wet and metallic with blood. He could feel her press her tongue against his, and he inhaled deeply, and tried to lift his hand to place on the back of her head (he thought he succeeded, but it likely never moved from his side. After how many times and in so many places the bones were broken, it would make sense), and put his all into the kiss.

He felt his mouth filling with liquid, and his half-hearted attempt to pull away was met with soft lips pressing even more insistently against his. Whelp, couldn't argue with that, and he gladly kissed her back, swallowing whatever interfering liquid ran down his throat.

Finally, when both seemed to have enough, they both pulled away.

Wow, those endorphins were really kicking in. His mind and brain were still too exhausted, and his eyes and ears still weren't working nearly as well as they should, but he was no longer in as much pain. Perhaps he was numb all over, or dying.

He smiled fondly at her, and tried to stroke a strand of her hair. Probably didn't succeed, but he thought as he did it that he loved her.

And then he felt relaxed enough to lay down for sleep, to embrace the comfort and darkness of oblivion.