PART SEVEN
Colonel America snarled. His small army of zombies gathered behind him, bathed in the moonlight as they approached, converging into a small circle around Alucard. "We've fought the Masters of Evil, bested the Super-Skrull and beaten Thanos of Titan," he gloated. "And believe me, pal: you aren't Thanos."
Alucard beamed, his broken mind reveling in the thought of the oncoming carnage. "You talk boldly, Captain. You may even have the strength to back it up. I may even have to draw on my full powers to defeat you."
"I'm betting you're all talk," quipped the archer as he pulled the bowstring back with his teeth.
"No, Hawkeye. There'll be no more talking." As one they charged, Colonel America leading the fray with a furious swipe of his legendary shield, though it was like stabbing a wall of rushing water as Hellsing's dog transformed into a swarm of bats and flew to higher ground.
Once more Alucard took his native form and cried into the night sky. He needed to be at maximum strength to defeat this foe, of this there was no doubt: though he would never beg for Hellsing to release the shackles binding him. How could he? He was the proud vampire king, challenger of God, the great immortal! No, he would never beg. Instead he would scream and call and demand his freedom.
"Integra Wingates Hellsing!" he bellowed furiously. "Heed my call! I command of thee! Release me from these bonds! Release control art system to level zero!"
Colonel America was growing impatient with his constant running. "Thor, get up there and shut him down!"
"Verily!" The late god of thunder swung his mighty hammer and propelled himself skyward and into the path of his enemy. Mjolnir's epic blow sent Alucard flying back over the rooftops and landing with a hard crash through an oversized Dethklok tour billboard. Thor scoffed at the pitiful resistance he was met with. "Methinks the cur doth not wish to exchange blows."
"Just hurry up and finish him!" the Colonel roared.
Alucard raised himself to his feet, cursing. Why? Why did Integra play these games with him? Why wouldn't she simply grant this simple request? Did she want him to plead? No, she was too pragmatic for that, even when Alucard tried to petulantly order her. "Master! Release me! Master!"
"Submit to thy gruesome fate!" Thor was foolish to announce himself so: perhaps being undead had filled him with the folly of feeling invincible. Alucard almost paid him no heed as he once more drew the Jackal and with a very casual shot removed the hand wielding the fallen god's weapon with a small explosion of rotting flesh. The parted god and his hammer both fell to the ground clumsily as the vampire king continued his search.
He cried out to the streets. "Master!"
"Alucard!" The loudspeakers echoed a high pitched squeal as they came to life. The voice booming from them tried to command him. "Alucard! I free you from your bonds! Release control art system to level zero!"
The vampire was puzzled. The voice did not belong to his master: it belonged to Walter, a servant like him. His face contorted at this offense. It wasn't a servants place to perform the job of a master. He wailed in protest, "Master! Where is my master!? Where is she!? Where is she, Walter!? Tell me!"
"Alucard!" The voice repeated itself. "I command you! Release control art system to level zero!"
"Don't order me, fellow servant!" He wouldn't hear of anything else. It had to be Integra that would release him or else it simply wouldn't do. "You and I are equals, Walter! You cannot command me!"
"Release! Release control art system to level zero! Alucard! Release!"
The zombies gathered around the base of the building and looked up as the vampire argued with the night. It was an amusing event the likes of which they'd never seen. She-Hulk cackled. "Look at him. Calling for his master like she's his mommy! Talk about dependant..."
"We've got to stop him," stated Colonel America flatly. "Whatever that control art zero thing is can't be good for us. He needs to be taken down fast."
On top of the building Alucard spun, screaming at the darkness with all of his lung's strength. He was hysterical, flailing the Jackal around as he raged. "Master! Where are you, Master!? I command you to speak with me! Speak with me now, Master!"
Thor took to his feet and retrieved Mjolnir while the Avengers and Excalibur climbed up over the edge to join him. As one they moved in together towards the madman, determined to finish him once and for all.
It was as almost as if they weren't there. Alucard ignored them completely in favour of his tirade. "Where are you, Integra Wingates Hellsing!? Where are you!? Master!"
"Sir Hellsing? Sir Hellsing, are you in there?" The soldiers rapped on her door, anxious for a response. What a pity for them that she was committed to silence lest the greedy blade of the mad priest pressed behind open her neck.
Father Maxwell smiled. "What are you waiting for, Hellsing? Answer the man."
At the best of times she did not enjoy being ordered around. As it happened she enjoyed it far less when the orders came from a fanatical heretic threatening her life. Still, she had no option but to comply. "I am here."
"Is everything alright, sir?" the soldier said through the door. "We've been knocking for some time and there has been no answer."
"Everything is fine," she told him.
"Now, now, Hellsing. Deception is the Devil's game. You're supposed to be a Holy knight," he teased maliciously.
Integra sneered in disgust. "Don't be stupid, Maxwell. Do you honestly wish to be discovered attempting to take my life within this territory?"
"What do you care?" His tone had flattened, almost to the point of melancholy. "I certainly don't. I am a Holy representative of the one true God and I am not afraid to die in His name."
"Sir?" called the soldier.
"Lies." Again Integra defied her captor's will. "You came here because of what happened to your Vatican church. Oh yes, I know how quickly it fell. Your existence is worthless without a Holy symbol to prattle on about, so you've come here to die."
"Answer him," he seethed, trying his best to ignore her games. Every second grew more difficult as the dagger's hungry edge flirted ever closer.
"Sir, it's Alucard," the soldier announced. "He's requesting you, sir. He's requesting that you initiate the release of control art system to level zero."
She could smell Maxwell's grin on his salty breath. It was so thick that she thought she would wretch. She sighed and then spoke to him curtly. "Soldier, I am unable to come out because there is a man in my room with a knife pressed against my throat."
"Sir?" came his confused reply.
"You heard me, man! We have a hostage situation in here! Bring more men!" No matter how many times she was forced to teach the lesson it only grew more infuriating: she hated most of all having to repeat herself.
Father Maxwell was pleased by the news he'd just heard. His twisted intent was immediately reevaluated with a result far more rewarding. "So that's how it is, is it, Hellsing? You keep your dog bound tighter than we'd thought. He must be more powerful than we'd ever dreamed..."
"Oh yes, he is," Integra agreed pleasantly.
The priest was confused by her shift in tone. The dagger pulled closer questioningly. "Why the change in mood, Hellsing?"
"It amuses me," she laughed. "You think the situation has turned in your favour. Nothing could be further from the truth. As tight as we've managed to bind him there was never a hope of truly containing him."
"Lies do not become you, Hellsing," he cursed her, but her calm, polite demeanour revealed the opposite. "He the vampire they once called king. Now he stalks the Earth and preys upon his own kind. Why would he do such a thing?"
Integra's revelation dropped upon Father Maxwell like a lead brick. "Penance."
His face contorted in anger. "The Devil you say!"
"No more running! No more hiding! Tonight, vampire king, you will die!"
Colonel America's proclamation was bold and he had every intention of acting upon it. The zombies followed his impassioned charge and came down upon Alucard with single-minded aggression, tearing him limb from limb.
"Master," he gasped, his weak voice heavy with melancholy. "I didn't want for you to miss this, my Master. Oh, how glorious it will be..."
Kitty Pride shrieked as she tore through him. "What's he talking about?"
"I think he actually wants to die!" Captain Britain observed as he tore away every chunk of skin and bone he possibly could get his mighty fists around.
"Forgive me, my Master." Alucard's eyes slowly came to a heavy close. Then came his deafening roar. "Releasing art control system to level zero!"
From somewhere deep inside his buried heart came a mighty crash like an empire falling, the force of it rippling over the city and forcing the zombies back into the shadows to watch the eye of the storm unleashed. The Avengers were accustomed to battling the odds and overcoming them, but never before had they seen such a raw display of supernatural power flow from one being. Through mist and steam and smoke Alucard's form was lost and the zombies were forced to battle their way through the white clouds rushing outwards to them in all directions.
Colonel America had to scream to be heard over the shrieking gale. His words were weak and vague: the winds would not be ignored. "We need to get close and stop him before the transformation is complete!"
"There's no way we'll ever get clo...!" The sound of Wasp's voice was quickly drowned out.
Nightcrawler focused on the target with determination filling what remained of his rotting black heart. He leapt forward, no match for the unadulterated strength of the razor-like stream of wind, but with small leaps and his natural teleportation ability he inched ever closer.
An image of how his victory would be won crawled through his mind. When he finally arrived he would snap his neck, reach down it's throat and pull out the vampire's brain with it's spinal chord. Should that fail he had other plans but nothing was going to keep him from taking Alucard apart with his bare hands.
Moving closer and closer he was blinded by the white as he felt the soft gel coating his eyes being stripped away by the elemental force. His sight would only be a small cost next to his final victory when he placed his hands around... he was stopped when a shadowy, clawed hand reached out and clasped his throat, then raising him high as if he were nothing.
"Unten gesetzt mir!" Nightcrawler hissed as he struggled. "Unten gesetzt mir oder mir tötet Sie!"
"Nein." The tail of the cyclone tore into the blue mutant's chest like a bastard sword, dragging out a long trail of his insides with the greatest of ease. Running in terror Nightcrawler turned and attempted to teleport to safety, but with every jump the cyclone followed and took another pound of flesh.
It wasn't certain that it had ever let go or if it could follow the zombie between dimensions and continue it's work there. The onlooking Avengers and Excalibur were certain never to find out when the bones of their lithe companion were laid in front of them: a preview of what was to come.
Suddenly the wind ceased and all was still. There was nothing left on the bare rooftops that moved save themselves. Alucard had disappeared to parts unknown.
"Jesus," gasped She-Hulk over Kurt's remains.
"Isn't here," Hawkeye growled. "And you can bet your sorry ass that if he was he wouldn't be on our side!"
Captain Britain stepped forward, asserting his own leadership. "Try and keep your mind on the issues at hand. The battle has been long and arduous. We've lost some of our number and the rest of us are getting hungry. There are UNIT shelters not far from here. I say we split up and feed."
"No." Colonel America stared at the horizon, transfixed by something invisible. "He's still out there. We weed him out, we stick together and we fight until he's destroyed."
"You said it yourself! We can't think straight if we don't eat!" He growled, clutching at his own stomach. "I can feel the hunger taking over already. I've never felt anything pull at me like this before. I don't know if I'll ever get used to it."
"We stay the course. If we distract ourselves then we're dead for certain," Colonel America stated flatly. He pointed to the distance. "Listen over there."
The air carried nothing except the discontented groans of their party. Fighting for survival almost seemed pointless, trivial when hunger dictated their every waking thought. It made it hard for them to focus, to listen, to get a handle on what Colonel America's was getting at. How he resisted temptation seemed almost mysterious and for that they hated him.
"I don't hear anything," Giant-Man spat impatiently. Suddenly his eyes grew wide along with others in the group. "Wait..."
It wasn't thunder: it was too heavy to be thunder. Thousands of feet beat down on the dirt, on the paths, filling the streets with their number. Windows crashed and horns blew as a rampaging army stampeded London town, claiming all that they saw in the name of their master.
The zombies were extactic, smiling and drooling at the thought of what approached. Rachel Summers, the Phoenix, laughed, delirious with hunger. "Food! Food is coming to us!"
"No." Colonel America's expression was grim. He looked down to the tide of medieval warriors coursing towards them. He couldn't feel the familiar warmth of countless bodies huddled together prepared for battle, they didn't carry flaming torches: the night still had it's bitter chill. They marched together in the shadows, the moonlight only catching the occasional glimmer of their blades.
"Colonel?" Hawkeye stood by the leading Avenger, studying the swarm.
"It's Alucard," he seethed spitefully. "Alucard is coming back to us."
The soldier's report came weakly through the door. "Sir. Word topside is that Alucard at full power. Walter says we can expect situation resolution within the hour."
"Hubris!" Father Maxwell's hand trembled as the thick lumps of hatred clotted his veins. His initial plan was quickly becoming pointless as the Hellsing Organisation one by one revealed their cards to him. "To take a prisoner is one thing, but to compromise yourself by regarding him an equal..."
"You and I are both steadfast in our beliefs," said Integra so thickly she was almost bragging. "Forgiveness is divine. Why, even patience is one of your seven holy virtues, is it not?"
"Forgiveness is given to those who would ask for it," he spat. "I doubt that the proud Count Dracula would ever stoop to begging."
"What he asked for not in words he asked for in deed."
"Forgiveness is God's gift to humanity!" He was hot with rage, his skin burning to a fever pitch. "Your monster, Alucard, is no man. He disregarded that long ago. We cannot afford to him what God has decreed he does not deserve!"
Integra huffed. She was growing tired of these games, waiting for the knife to do it's work, feeling the condensation of his hot breath accumulate in her ear as she stared mind-numbingly at the same orange wall. It was becoming pitiful, almost painful. "Why are we still standing here, Maxwell?"
"Quiet," he ordered her.
He should have known better than to think she would listen. "It should be clear by now that my purpose has been served. My hand in this conflict has been played and I am now as useless as you as the final stage is set for Armageddon."
"Shut up!" The flat edge pulled against her throat, making it hard to breathe. Integra laughed: she had nothing to fear from him or his cheap little weapon.
"Why are we still standing here, Maxwell?" The silence between them was almost thunderous: the accumulation of years of distrust, anger and zealous hatred boiling to a head. "There are soldiers outside out the door. At the first sight of you they will shoot and you will be dead whether I am or not. Do you understand that?"
"I told you that I was not afraid of dying," he reminded her.
"Then why haven't you killed me yet?" She gave him moment for pause lest by some miracle reason pay him a visit. "Surely you realise that what you intend is nothing less than murder. The knife you hold doesn't represent an end to our crusade. All it represents is your own wrath, your own human frailty and your failure to walk a righteous path."
Integra didn't see the thin stream of tears roll down his cheek. His voice didn't for a moment waver. "Those monsters... they took our Holy mother from us. Perhaps this is God testing us to see our mettle. All I know is that I cannot bare to see what remains fall into the hands of filthy heathen protestants."
"What you're doing is a sin!"
"Then I pray God forgives me," he scowled.
"You know that it doesn't work that way," she replied, in her mind cursing his desperate stupidity. "You cannot commit murder then expect to be immediately absolved."
"That is God's decision." Maxwell's breathing grew heavy in preparation for his final act. The knife turned and positioned itself in his hand. "I would gladly break each of the Ten Commandments in His name, even if it meant my own damnation!"
"Soldiers!" she cried out, but it was too late to give any further instructions. As the sharp edge ran along the line of her neck Integra Wingates Hellsing felt her head grow light and weary as the blood rushed from it and out of the gaping wound. Her body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, her fading heartbeat like a bass drum in the back of her mind. All she could see from where she lay those last few moments of consciousness was the pool of blood washing over the hard floor.
Finally, it was over, she thought. Finally she'd be able to see Heaven shine. She would meet her God and tell him of all the good works she'd done in His name. Not even her insane killer could spoil the peace that had suddenly taken her.
"You will not rest in peace," Maxwell chided coldly: a parting message as he sent her on path to meet the Devil.
The door burst open with a heavy boot and the soldiers swarmed the room, the first wave kneeling down and giving the second room to cock and aim their rifles. Maxwell stood, a guilty smile painted on his lips. The satisfied glint in his crazy eyes betrayed his intent. Even after committing such a heinous act he would not repent.
"On your knees! Hands on your head! Now!" the soldier barked autonomously. He looked down to see Integra swimming in her own red puddle. The sight of his commanding officer in front of him caused for him to scream. "Medic!"
"This was no sin," Maxwell bragged as he stood frozen. "This was God's work. He guided my hand. It is His judgement that would condemn you all!"
The soldier repeated himself emphatically. "On your knees! Hands on your head!"
"Never!" Perhaps in Father Maxwell's mind he thought himself untouchable, emboldened by God's righteous hand. Then again perhaps he saw no need to continue his life and would allow himself to burn out in a blaze of glory. Whatever lay inside his head was sure to come leaking out when Maxwell made a threatening move and a soldier with an itchy trigger finger put a bullet straight through it.
In that final moment, the split second before his body went limp and succumbed to collapse, his spirit smiled. Even without the Vatican he could rest knowing that he'd lived to see a world without Integra Wingates Hellsing. He thanked God and felt safe that the world would be a better place without her.
SHIELD Helicarrier
Above Amsterdam, the Netherlands
The gruff old soldier limped through the vessel, his beaten brow heavy with responsibility. He was starting to feel his age: coming up to a hundred if he was a day, but he looked nothing over fifty-five. Still, even at that age he'd already felt he'd lived too long, like he was an old relic fighting the new wave. In his time it was all about fighter jets, rising empires and atom bombs. Now it was terrorists, extremist groups, biological warfare... and zombies.
"Welcome aboard, sir." The young lieutenant saluted enthusiastically. Poor kid probably thought that the legendary Nick Fury had arrived with a plan to win the day. No such luck, Fury thought, sublimating the disappointment in himself with a long drag of his cigar.
"No time for brown nosing, son. We have work to do."
He marched down the solid steel corridors lined with pipes and grates with his closest subordinates in tow. The vessel was on high alert with a soldier stationed at each door. It did the warhorse's rusty heart good to see that someone managed to maintain the illusion of security. They stood at the ready as if their guns would do any good against this form of threat.
"Everything they ever taught you in basic training, forget it," Fury stated. Brusquely he arrived in the main control room where soldiers in tight blue and white uniforms darted back and forth in a flurried exchange of intel. "We're going to need some heavier firepower."
"How heavy, sir?"
"Heavy as they come, kid." He punched in a sequence of codes and upon the main screen appeared a tracking system following a number of satellites miles above the planet. "I know what you're going to say, kid. Those are Russian satellites. Drastic action number two in a situation like this..."
"Forget everything I ever learned about foreign policy?" he asked. Fury nodded in confirmation. "In my honest opinion, Colonel, I think they could forgive us considering the circumstances."
"They won't forgive us if we leave them blind and defenseless," Fury scoffed harshly. "But if this plan fails we'll all be dead anyway, so I don't give a rat's ass."
"If I might ask, sir, what is the plan?"
He sat, paused and watched the aerial view of the battle in London unfold as several lenses identified and focused on key figures on the ground. A window focused on a lonely black figure wrapped in a tattered black cape. Fury scowled at the sight of him. "This is what Integra Hellsing's been hiding from us this whole time: a monster that fights monsters. It's what she hopes is going to save the world from the combined might of two unstoppable teams of zombie heroes."
The lieutenant watched the monitor closely, hypnotised by the dark figure. "Sir, and then what do we do? Where do we come into it?"
"If she fails," Nick began, but stopped himself to let out a heavy sigh. He dropped the butt of his cigar to the floor and ground it under his boot. "When she fails... then we step in and blow them all to kingdom come."
The night was rank with carrion and the red mist mingled with blood. Colonel America and his fellow zombies could taste it's flavour: it was old and stale and served as a warning to those who would dare venture through it, as if old London town spoke 'abandon hope all ye who enter here' straight to the pit of their souls. It spoke only as a city could, not with sights and sounds but smells and hints as it's dark aura encompassed them.
Colonel America refused his sturdy countenance the betrayal of expressing fear. His heart no longer beat and beads of sweat wouldn't drop from anxiety. The only thing that could give him away was locked inside his own mind as the brave, experienced Avenger took control.
"Hold your positions," he ordered from the front line. His shield was held in front of him as he poised to charge the very second they came in range. Hold, hold: he cursed himself, impatient to get the death and destruction over and done with. This wasn't what they sought. What they sought was food and sustenance, not carnage.
The army before them numbered in the thousands. There were turks in robes and turbans, knights in heavy, bloodied armour, German soldiers wielding berettas, lugers and submachine guns and countless vampires from the ages, each an anachronism, a victim of Hellsing's sinister profession. They crowded before them, filling the avenue while the sounds of countless more flooded the sidestreets, filing onwards and around to box them in.
Every one of them shared the eyes of a killer. Every one of them sought honourable death for greater glory. Every one of them would not for a moment hesitate to deliver a killing blow, even at the cost of their own life. They were Alucard's army of the dead: every soul he had feasted upon and consumed, regurgitated and changed, now slaves to their new master's will. Judging from the ensemble cast assembled it seemed that nobody was free of his influence.
Atop of the rise there sat a sole figure different from the rest. He sat mounted on a black stallion and from underneath his own dark, tangled mane the older man looked down upon them all with tired, melancholy eyes. His teeth gritted, shining from the rough black beard under his nose as he reached under his tattered cape and drew a heavy sword from his side. The steed neighed like a howl as it balanced on it's hind legs and the army cheered in an intimidating display of force and unity.
Miss Marvel gasped. "Is that...?"
Captain Britain nodded. "Count Dracula, in the flesh."
"Hawkeye?" Colonel America didn't need to say another word. The late Clint Barton pulled an arrow from his quiver and loaded it with his mouth while his remaining hand held the bow. He drew back, the string and arrow held in place with his jaw while he took careful aim of the enemy leader's heart.
Suddenly there came the sound of a loud explosion and the arrow misfired. When the Avengers looked back they saw that their teammate Hawkeye was very suddenly missing a head. What remained of his old one was separated from his lower palette and scattered over the pavement.
Colonel America was furious and he searched around for their sharpshooter. "Where did that come from!? Where did that come from!?"
"I don't know!" Captain Britain snapped as he took to the sky for a better view. "Wait, I think I see something."
From the mound's peak leading to the shallow basin where the assembled forces were gathered another figure joined the mighty count: a young blonde-haired girl adorned in a police uniform and bearing a rifle that a tank would struggle carrying. She smiled, pleased with the good work she had done and with red, hungry eyes seeking approval she turned to the dark horseman.
"Did I do good, Master?" she seemed to softly squeal.
The vampire's old face cracked a satisfied smile. "You have done very well, Seras Victoria. I am pleased with your efforts."
Her dead heart swelled knowing that she had made her master feel this way and she was left giddy at his acknowledgment of her name. When once he called her 'Police Girl' she was now addressed as Seras Victoria. He recognised and respected her and nothing could make her happier. "Thank you, Master!"
"I would ask but one last thing of you," he said. Dracula raised his sword above his head, encouraging a mighty and bloody roar from his army. He spoke with a deep tone that boomed over them all. "My minions! Gather together and advance! Go forth and kill! Kill! You will kill! Leave nothing standing! Send the dead back to the dirt where they belong!"
TO BE CONTINUED...