How does one describe somebody that you find both amusing and a challenge?

Around two and a quarter meters, maybe seventy kilos, dirty blonde, lanky, and extremely Scottish, that's how.

Paladin Alexander Anderson, the Vatican's Special Section XIII ace in the hole, The Iscariot Organization's answer to me. For all the good it does them.

I remember the night I met him. The Police Girl had been dispatched with a group of Hellsing regulars to a hospital to dispose of a FREAK that had risen again, killing London police officers.

I was wandering about the manor, looking for some trouble to stir up, since Integra hadn't deemed my actions in the realm of the needed. So she had no one to blame but herself for anything I caused.

Walter came into my field of vision while I stopped to gaze on a portrait of Lionel on the wall that contained such portraits of all the Masters of Hellsing through the decades. I could name the vices and virtues of each of them. I had known each of them, just I now know Integra. Without turning to him, I greeted him.

"What do you want, Walter?"

He shut his eyes somewhat and smiled. "Sir Integra wished me to inform you that she is sending you into the hospital as well, to back up the P-7 unit."

I eyed the aging human, my hair falling across my face as I did. "I thought that this mission didn't warrant my going, Walter. Why has she had this gracious change of heart?"

"She didn't see fit to tell me, Lord Alucard," he said, a note of annoyance in his voice. "But she made it clear that you are to proceed there immediately."

I smiled. "Perfect."

Arriving at the hospital, I sat on the cold stone steps leading up to the building and started to drink from the blood pack that had been left by my coffin earlier that night. I had taken to tucking them in my coat so that they would warm up slightly. I reached out and touched the Police Girl's mind, not deeming it worth my time to actually step inside just yet.

When you fire, don't forget to aim for the head and chest, Police Girl.

Master?

I finished the blood pack, crushing it in my hand. Those people didn't choose to become ghouls, and once they've been turned, the only option left to them is a quick death. Don't hesitate!

Yes sir, Master!

I sighed. It would probably be over by the time I stepped inside. Oh, how I was wrong.

I phased in after a flash of shock and pain from Draculina, seeing a slight figure wrapped in a sheet facing off against a robed man that nearly towered over me. The robed man had a sword in his hand; one shaped more like a bayonet than a proper sword. The Police Girl was on her hands and knees behind him, another of those blades through her throat, and Gareth lay dead beside her.

I never liked him, for some reason. Something about his blood just irked me. But that didn't mean that I would let some Catholic bastard kill him on my watch.

Hmm...he smells familiar. Where have I met him before? Ah well, first things first...

I thrust my hand through the FREAKS chest, just as I had that ghoul in Cheddar. He dissipated with a scream, and I gazed at the tall man across from me. He looked at me with undisguised hatred.

Not unexpected, of course. I get it a lot, especially from hunters that I steal the kill from. Time for formalities and greetings, however.

"You shouldn't have come here, Catholic," I said.

"Master," wheezed the Police Girl.

"Don't try to talk, Police Girl, your body is weak." Sigh, she was always getting into some sort of trouble at this stage of her unlife, like a child that wanted to stick a fork in a power socket.

He sneered at me, bayonets held ready. "You must be the Hellsing family's pet abomination," he said.

I cocked an eyebrow, understanding. "You're from Iscariot, I see,"

"Iscariot was ridding the world of sacrilegious monsters like you centuries before the Hellsing family ever existed!" he shouted, leaping backwards and crossing his blades. Pages floated out from beneath his robes and small knives flew out, pinning the pages to the walls. I felt the gut wrenching lurch of the spell as it enacted itself, hearing Seras grunt as well.

Holy Writs.

That son of a bitch.

As I stood, I growled. "You defile this place," I spat at him.

"I purify this house, so that the monster can't use his cheap black magic." He crossed his blades again. "Our mission is to punish anyheretic that would deny the work of God. We'lldestroyyour unholy corpse and salt the Earth with your dust, Amen."

Heh, trust an Iscariot pig to think that he was better than anyone else, let alone my equal. Time to shatter that notion. I pulled the Casull from my jacket and pointed it at him. "Somebody better put you in your place, human!"

We stood like that for several moments, just facing off against each other. Then, with a growl, he rushed forward, blades flying at me.

He was fast, to be sure, but not as fast as I was. It was dreadfully easy to avoid the strikes, so easy that I barely moved at all, making a mockery of his attacks. I tired of the game after a few strikes and held still, placing the barrel of my pistol against his forehead as the tip of a blade pierced me, narrowly missing my heart. It stung, as silver would.

At least he was well informed, if not the brightest bulb in the box.

"You've put a blessing on that blade," I said.

He grinned maniacally, arm tensing to rip the blade about to widen the wound.

I tightened my finger on the trigger. "This bullet was made for a vampire, but it'll do to send you to Hell, Father!"

He flew backwards with a grunt.

Sigh.

The good parts were always over so quickly.

I turned around, pulling the blade from my chest, grunting as the blade slid out. "Weird little toy of his actually hurt. Those kinds of weapons can be dangerous, even for us, Police Girl." I held out my hand to help her up, but her eyes flew open in fear. I turned in time to be stabbed by eleven more blades. I staggered backwards as the priest stood, a smoking hole in his head.

Holy shit...

"A regenerator, a human regenerator?"

He cried out in a voice that rang of insanity. "I take an eye for an eye! This technology, God's divine gift, gives me tools to fight inhuman monsters like you!"

I stood there, angered and shocked like I haven't been in years. How dare he speak of inhuman beings. "You're less than inhuman. A pitiful defect, a failed science experiment. Sending you back to your Maker would be an act of mercy!"

I pointed my pistol at him again, ignoring the bite and burn of the blessed blades in my body. "Your regeneration powers are impressive, but I bet if I put enough bullets into your skull you'd stay down for good. So let's cut to the chase, start begging!"

He sneered. "Empty threats of a cowardly vampire that hides behind the weapons of man."

He didn't back down. Nor did I.

It was about time I met someone that was willing to go toe to toe that might actually give me a run for my money. I know I'd still win, but I love cutting loose from time to time. I might actually release the Control Arts Restrictions for this fight, just for fun.

We were about to go at it again when a voice came up the corridor.

"That's enough, Paladin Alexander Anderson!"

We both turned and saw Integra standing at the head of the hallway, the sawed off Remington in her hands and the sabre sitting on her hip.

Just when things were getting to be fun. Trust her to interfere with my fun. First the punch at the party, then the Police Girl, now the priest. Couldn't she leave me be for once?

"You don't have the right to command one who is a true servant of God," he said.

Huh, he must have thought the same thing I did. Then a second thought tagged my brain. How dare he disobey my master? It was all I could do to keep from tearing into him again.

They argued for a moment or two, and then he stalked off, clearly unhappy.

Hmm...

I can't get it out of my head that I've seen him somewhere before. Sometime long ago.

Hmm...He's from Italy, the Vatican...

A memory nibbles at the edge of my mind, a vision of me on a street, swathed in a heavy coat, but it's still indistinct.

Integra gave me a lecture about vampires that got pummeled by regenerators.

Hhmmppph, pummeled indeed. If it wasn't for the mental thought of worry I felt I would have been upset.

I'll need a bigger gun for next time, I remember thinking as I left after a failed attempt at offering the Police Girl my blood.

A challenge and a workout are only good for so much, after all. Although, he and I have crossed paths several times and even worked together on occaision. He and his master Enrico Maxwell figure prominently in several key arcs of my time in Hellsing.

Hmm...Berlin, 1943...

It bothers me that I can't place that dog's face. After all, you'd think that I'd remember someone like that. I'll speak more on him and his boss Maxwell later, as I've had frequent encounters with them.

I'll think about it later. Right now I have a reporter to deal with.

She smells delicious. Type AB for sure. Not a virgin, but still sweet and fresh.

Ah, this will be fun.