PART FOUR

"I knew I should have stuck it out with those Hellsing guys."

Deadpool, the merc with a mouth, was by no means an easy opponent. Even before his cancer, before Weapon X grafted him with a bizarre form of healing factor Wade Wilson was a trained killer and a stone-cold assassin: one of the best in the business. Now with his mind broken and his body enhanced he was more deadly than ever, not that it seemed to matter against an enemy that was already dead.

The small mercenary force unloaded clip after clip into the enemy to no avail. They didn't even try to avoid the gunfire: all it did was punch holes in superfluous rotting tissue. How in the hell were they supposed to hurt a force that couldn't feel pain?

Cable and Domino were the first to go. They were firing back to back as the undead converged on them and were doing a pretty good job of it until a bolt of Thor's lightning blew them off their feet. Spider-Man was over Cable instantly while Thor and the Hulk fought over Domino. Clubbing the fallen god with his unhinged jawbone he cried out something that sounded like 'girls are tastier'.

Bullseye tried to use Taskmaster for cover when none of his critical shots were having any effect. Slitting their throats with playing cards would have done the trick back in the day: now all he could do was aim for the eyes and hope that blinding them would slow them down. Though Taskmaster could fight them off with a sword and shield he was eventually overpowered by their sheer numbers and so was Bullseye moments after.

The Punisher didn't relent or back down from the horror. That cold stare in his eyes said that he'd been dead a lot longer than they had and that nothing they could do would make him scream. A smile was painted on his face as they pulled his limbs free from his body. He probably didn't even feel the pain: he probably thought he was still pulling the trigger.

However Deadpool was playing it smart. When the bodies starting hitting the ground he made a run for it. Several shots from Hawkeye had severely injured his good shooting arm, so he decided to cut it off and throw it out as bait. They were so hungry they didn't even notice the grenade attached to it. It went boom and Luke Cage lost half of his rotten face.

"Come on. Just five minutes to try and grow a new one," he cursed to himself from behind a beaten pillar. The crunching of footsteps in the debris could be heard as they sniffed him out, their last vestige of food. He wondered where the hell Fury went: he hadn't seen him since the battle started. It was a damn shame: he could have really used the backup.

The monsters hissed as they trudged closer. He loaded a new clip. With any luck Deadpool would be able to catch one out and blow its freakin' head off.

"Surprise!" A line of web shot down and yanked the gun from the merc's hand followed by a reign of arrows pinning his remaining appendages down. They stung like fire as he tried to prop himself up but he was getting weak.

Spider-Man pounced and dived face first into Deadpool's stomach, eating away his intestines as he lay helpless. At first there was unspeakable agony which quickly made way to a cold rush: probably the zombie poison coursing through his veins. He could only hope they finished him off before he turned.

"Goodbye, little yellow boxes," he said to nobody with finality. "It's been a hoot. Really, it has."

Suddenly there came a cry from deep within the Hulk's bowels. The jade giant held his torso as if it were about to explode. When it did there followed the familiar flurry of knives trademark of his previous meal: Father Alexander Anderson.

The priest wiped the black goo from his vestments as he stood over the two halves of the Hulk. The undead's large, meaty hands clambered through the pool of his own intestines to find chunks of Domino to eat once again.

"Ye're once so mighty," Anderson said down to him. "Now look at ye. Truly ye've bin humbled. Ye're pathetic."

Though the Hulk ignored him and searched and struggled to keep his food inside of himself, the fear and panic mingled with unbridled hunger and eliminating any capacity for rational thought. What more could the paladin do? He did the merciful thing and put the beast out of it's misery, bashing it's skull open and destroying the brain seemingly without it even noticing.

"Ye dinnae need te rush te hielp," he chided the rest.

"He was fast becoming a liability," said Iron Man coldly. "How did you survive? We've eaten a lot of fast healers before. You're the first one to bounce back."

Father Anderson began to cackle. "Stupid daemons. Ye dinnae even knoll whut ye are!"

"Answer the question."

"Aye, ah'll answer," he spat. "The beast dinnae bite mae so mah regen'ration weren't halted by the dark forces thet turned ye. There's nae but deth in yere poison bite. A body dinnae need te heal nae more when it's died."

"Namor... died? Didn't we eat him?" Spider-Man choked.

"Enough talk," Colonel America roared. "Just because the Hulk couldn't keep his last meal down doesn't mean the Avengers can't!"

Alexander Anderson smiled at the prospect of the war starting again. A new set of blades seemed to dance anxiously between his fingers. For faith and glory his soul flared as he fended off the unholy convergeance. A knife wedged down the back of Iron Man's throat, another shattered what remained of the Colonel's left shoulder while a third punctured a hole in Power Man's lung, causing for it to whistle when he stood on a certain angle.

"Back! Back, ye deils!" he raged. "By the power of Christ ah stand an' from this poiput ah condemn thee to Hell!"

Suddenly there came a sound that had no right place in battle. As rapidly as the battle had started it quelled when the nearby voice of a young girl called out for help. Anderson's eyes widened in horror as the zombies to the back of the horde began to shift away towards her. Full of panic he tried to break through, but could not. For the first time since the battle started he was filled with fear: not for himself but for the wee lass trapped in the hellstorm with him.

"Ayuda! Se atrapa mi pierna!" Her leg was trapped. She was helpless and couldn't run. He damned her for not remaining silent and quickly recanted, praying to God for her safety and his own forgiveness.

The jungle of putrid limbs wouldn't hold him back. Hack and slash he cut his way through like they were feculent, festering vines in an unending jungle of death. He charged ahead, disregarding his enemy. He couldn't in good conscience let another of God's children be subject to this suffering. If it turned out she were a heathen he might have decided differently but all the same it was a risk he could not take.

Giant Man crawled, demolishing rooftops as he stretched towards the meal screaming for him to eat her. His gargantuan palms fumbled about as he reached for her. Her wail became louder and louder as he clasped the dark skinned maiden and raised her to his jowls. Suddenly he noticed something on the air: something not quite right.

"Wait a minute, you're..."

The dry, brittle bones in his giant decaying knuckles shattered as Alexander Anderson flew by with a deadly strike. He turned and clasped the girl close as they hurtled to the ground. Though he'd managed to soften the impact the pair still hit the ground heavily on his feet. In less than a moment he was running with her in his arms, though he didn't know how far his speed would carry them with her weighing him down.

"Ach, ye're a heavy one," he complained.

"How rude," she said as she took a bite of his shoulder. He should have realised when he caught her that she was too heavy, too solidly built to be what she appeared. Now it had cost him his life and purity. He fell to the ground and as the vicious carrion infected his body he looked up to see the girl's bloody smile and her holographic image blink away.

"Those... those teeth," he stuttered in recognition.

"All the better to eat you with," Deadpool seethed hungrily, still with the young girl's voice. The costume was all that was left of the man, even with a mouthpiece torn open and his intestines hanging out the front. In moments the other zombies gathered around him. "Eats are on, boys!"

Alexander Anderson prayed as he resigned his mortal flesh to such a terrible fate. He still had the strength to fight, but to what end? Now he'd been bitten he too would turn and be no better than that he faced. No, he was confident that the Lord would not want him to travel that path.

The zombies descended to sate their unquellable apetite, tearing at his flesh, destroying his body and drinking his blood like flowing wine. The sickness had taken hold, his body began to fail him. Heaven was only a few short moments away.

In a dying whisper he spoke the prayer for acceptance of death. "Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, Ah accept from Yere hands whatever kind of death it may please Ye to send me this day, with all its pains, penalties and sorrows..."

"Dibs on the kidney," Spider-Man croaked.

"You can have his heart," said Iron Man, hardly turning away from the feast.

"Why not just give me the lungs while you're at it?" he protested.

Slowly the warrior paladin began to fade. "...In reparation for all of mah sins, for the souls in Purgatory, for all those who will die today and for Yere greater glory..."

Leaning back the zombies gasped, tasting the air instead of meat, satisfied with the meal they'd just made. Colonel America frowned with blood painted lips at the remains of the pompous zealot at his feet. He hadn't even finished his prayer. "Amen."

Deadpool leaned back and cracked his shoulders for the last time. His first meal was extraordinarily satisfying but as he looked down he discovered that he had some difficulty keeping it in. What he saw was an open wound: the mark of his undeath. "Thanks everybody. How's a guy supposed to eat when you can almost see right through him?"

"He won't even shut up when he's dead," Spider-Man complained.

"Like us he's practically immortal," said Iron Man. "We're never going to hear the end of it."

"You're just jealous 'cause I got first piece of Ned Flanders down there," the merc gloated. He reached into his belt and pulled a roll of duct tape from it, then wrapping layer after layer around himself and patching his entrails inside. Good old duct tape: always useful for something. "Tell me nobody's eaten Bea Arthur yet. I'd love to lay her down by the fire… and eat her liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti!"

The group ignored him and gathered around Colonel America. "Alright. We've had a number of setbacks, but we've all eaten. From here we move north and take apart the larger European forces."

"Silence of the Lambs reference? Nothing?" said Deadpool still clamoring for attention.

"So what do we do?" asked Giant Man as he reverted to normal human stature. He struggled to maintain balance with one foot and a bloody stump.

"We call for backup," the Colonel announced. "We're not the only ones whose survival is at stake. Once we have numbers we move onto London… and the final phase of our assault begins."

London, England

The sound of each footstep resonated sharply down the long hallway of the underground facility. Walking brusquely down the painted white line between the smooth, cold, grey concrete walls Integra Wingates Hellsing grimaced. These were truly grim times and it did not amuse her that she should be summoned the way she had been.

She held her unlit cigarette holder tightly between her teeth for no other reason than to ease her tension by at lease pretending to smoke. Silently she damned such pointless military protocol and procedure. How was she supposed to breath easily and think properly without a thick cloud of smoke filling her lungs? As if she already weren't perturbed enough.

Walter followed behind, dignified as ever. It was hard to imagine that under the scrawny butler's placid exterior laid a skill monster hunter. Unlike Sir Hellsing he managed to keep his temper in check: after all he was merely a weapon and the beaurocracy did not at all concern one such as he.

Sir Tristan smiled wryly as he met her at the end of the corridor. He brushed back his short dirty blonde hair with an effeminate wave. Even before he'd opened his mouth he sounded as though he was gloating.

"Sir Hellsing, so good of you to join us," he sneered. "By your behaviour one would almost have thought you regarded team Excalibur far below your interest."

"Let's see what these superheroes of yours are made of, Tristan," she said coolly. There was no time for pleasantries: she already knew the capabilities of the heroes he'd drafted and little would change her mind.

He ushered them past the opening steel doors of the subterranian stronghold to where several costumed identities studied monitors, readings and papers regarding their enemy. They looked up as they approached, keen to hear whatever wisdom the great Sir Integra Wingates Hellsing could impart to them.

"Team Excalibur," Sir Tristan proclaimed.

She couldn't help but think what a motley crew they were: a young mutant resembling a blue demon, a dark haired girl who seemed too timid for holy battle nursing a small purple dragon, another girl claiming the title of Pheonix and a disconcerted blonde woman with odd features. The team's leader, a man whose uniform was stylised with the Union Jack approached her and offered his hand.

"Sir Hellsing," he greeted her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Captain Britain."

She shook his hand: another mere pleasantry. "Of course you are."

"With me are Nightcrawler, Shadowcat, her dragon Lockheed, the Pheonix and Meggan," he continued. "We may be few, but we are formidable. We've saved the multiverse: hopefully this time we can save the Earth."

Integra smiled as she strolled up and down the room before them, inspecting them, analysing them for obvious flaws. Excalibur stood silent, knowing she was a woman of true power and influence not to be trifled with. Despite his dislike for her Sir Tristan had confided to them that she was a great asset they would be foolish not to exploit.

Lighting her cigarette she inhaled and exhaled theraputically. "Pathetic."

"Excuse me?"

"I said you're all pathetic." She hated repeating herself almost as much as she hated explaining herself. They should have had the common sense to know better. "Alien armadas and crossdimensional warlords are nothing the like of what you will soon face. You're ill-prepared."

"I sink zat you underestimate us a great deal, Sir Hellsing," said Nightcrawler in his thick German tone.

"These were your allies," she argued. "You fought together against 'insurmountable' odds, staying off 'unspeakable' evils, sacrificing yourselves for the greater good." Integra chuckled to keep from spitting. "They know you. They're coming for you. They will kill you."

"And we know them." Kitty Pride, Shadowcat, stepped forward, her face contorted in fury. "That gives us an advantage as well. We've seen what they've done and we know what they can do. We know that we can no longer save them from themselves. They must be destroyed... we've accepted that. So don't you dare call us weak."

Integra gave the girl a moment's pause for her temper to cool. "I didn't call you weak. I called you pathetic. Your strength is what the enemy will make into their asset." She mused for a moment on the name. "Kitty Pride. How apt, because that is exactly what will destroy you. All of you."

"That's quite enough," said Captain Britain as he stood between them.

"I'm in agreement," said Sir Tristan from his disapproving corner. "Sir Hellsing, Integra, your purpose here is to help us formulate a strategy. If you've nothing useful to contribute then I'm afraid you're no longer welcome here."

For a moment she dwelled on the knight's words and sneered back to him in contempt. "Plan? Why, the plan is very simple."

Captain Britain folded his arms expectantly. "And that is...?"

"If you care anything for your country, your loved ones or the human race as a whole then there is only one course of action to take." Her words were stark and bleak, though you could hadly expect nothing less from a masterplan by Integra Wingates Hellsing. "Kill yourselves now. Save yourselves and the world the heartache."

"Sir Hellsing!" Tristan roared in protest. "This is an outrage! How dare you come in here and threaten to undermine the plans laid out by the Round Table?"

Excalibur looked to them both in horror, as if the reality of what they were to face just dawned on them. Integra's expression sat like stone as she turned to leave with Sir Tristan yelling obscenities at her all the way through the door.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Clearly she wasn't as she turned to face her butler upon exiting. "Walter, see that they get a proper briefing."

"Yes, Sir Hellsing."

Sir Tristan followed as she strolled through the cement path leading back to the surface. Still Tristan could do nothing but express his conniption. "When this is all over I promise that the Queen herself will hear of this..."

Walter stood alone in the silent room. The air was thick with tension and fear: two traits which Walter himself had overcome and found in recent times that he had little to no consideration for. Now Excalibur looked to him for counsel, to impart decades of his accumulated wisdom upon them.

He smiled politely and looked down on them. "Do you love your country?"

"Yes," said Captain Britain without hesitation.

"Good." Walter turned and began to stroll after his master. "Then kill yourselves now while you have the chance."

UNIT Command Centre
An undisclosed location

"Sir, we've just picked up the enemy."

Alistair Lethbridge-Swewart leaned over his subordinate's shoulder, staring at the obvious dot on the radar scope approaching the capital. His white-bearded frown dropped even further. Now was the moment they had been waiting for. So far every nation in the world had failed to hold their own: it was time to test England's mettle.

"What is their present location, Mr Crane?"

"Fifty miles and closing," said the UNIT soldier shakily. Fear dripped from his voice. "Sir, they're on an intercept course with Parliament House."

The former Brigadeer huffed at such bravado. It was entirely possible that after all of the carnage they'd already caused these 'zombie' creatures thought themselves indestructible. A sensible man such as Sir Lethbridge-Stewart wouldn't dare stand for such nonsense.

"Prepare the anti-aircraft missiles to launch," he ordered. "Mr Crane, let's show them how her Majesty welcomes invaders."

UNIT soldiers scrambled around the war room, some entering codes while subcommanders passed on orders through telephones. In less than a minute the arsenal was assembled and all that was needed was a final word of authority.

"On your order, sir."

Sir Lethbridge-Stewart inhaled deeply. Something unsettled him a great deal: something other than the oceans of blood already spilled that is. Were a certain old friend standing by his side he would have said that this all seemed a little too easy and as usual he would have agreed. What he wouldn't have given for his sagely advice at that moment.

Without hesitation he gave the order. "Fire."

A series of markers appeared on the main screen, each of them heading from the coast towards the approaching bogey. There were only seconds until impact. He prayed that the missiles did their job, that the beasts be destroyed in a final hail of fire. He prayed that that the attack didn't fail and that all they'd succeeded in doing was making them angry.

The room listened as Mr Crane counted down. "Five... four... three... two... one... impact."

There was silence. If the monsters had survived they would respond straight away making the following seconds absolutely crucial. Every eye in the room was glued to a screen, searching desperately for any sign of movement. Anything at all would signal that the war for survival had spilled onto their home soil.

Every moment felt like an eternity and search as they might their instruments showed nothing. For the time being Sir Lethbridge-Stewart thought it safe for his heart to beat again and release a heavy breath.

"Call Sir Tristan," he ordered the second in command. "Tell him we've downed the Quinjet off the coast and give him the coordinates. It's time for Excalibur to get to work."

The remains of the Avenger's Quinjet descended quickly to the ocean floor taking nearly half a billion dollars of Stark prototype stealth technology with it: not that it seemed to matter now of course. If anything the undead Iron Man found the sight rather cathardic leaving a symbol of his pityful mortal life behind him. Like the others he had ascended to something even more powerful.

Then came the final phase of their attack. With the Quinjet destroyed they would be able to quietly swarm Britian. They had to cover their tracks every step of the way and remove all elements that could have them discovered such as the trail of oxygen bubbles escaping the hole in Spider-Man's throat.

Colonel America signalled frantically. Though it seemed fortunate that they no longer had to breathe it was still very difficult to speak underwater. In moments Deadpool was over the wall-crawler, patching his neck with the duct tape that had served him so well.

Step by step they reached the coastline. Colonel America couldn't help but smile as they approached: the thought of all that fresh meat was more than tempting. Once again he was starting to hunger...

TO BE CONTINUED...