Disclaimer: Is this thing really necessary? I mean, such a pain in the ass to say over and over, "It's not mine", "I have no right", blah blah blah. Disclaimer formula for headache. But you know, I guess you can have fun with it. I mean, it's a chance for me to just... say whatever. People don't read this... do they?

Oh, and this story's illegal. I have no right to write it. Ha. Right to write. Write to right...

FW: WHOOOOOOOO, college! Ok, so, this time I'm strapped in. I've had my boiled eggs, my carrot sticks, and my Oreos. Mmm, the breakfast of champions. Brain food in full effect, ready for word crunching. Let's see... Well, in today's episode, we get to see a real action scene! An epic showdown, six-shooters at the ready, only one will walk away... get ready to draw. Actually, very little use of the firearm in this chapter. Instead, our newfound character Saint will make his stage debut, with what I hope is a first in a handful of increasingly well-written battles. It's always tough for me to sequence and literate action, but here it is, in...

Vampiric Lone Wolf Blues

Chapter 3: Lightning Storm

The snap-crackle whip of a lightning bolt struck down across the London landscape. Static fizzed in the air, and the dead silence following the blast was only an invitation for more. From the tallest tower in the city, one could see the scattered flashes of this high-powered storm. No rain had come, though. The dense clouds rolling across the sky were rough, jagged, and menacing, but lacked the dark and murky substance of a raincloud. It made excellent weather for a vampire, but it also meant that the electricity that touched down would be that much more powerful, without a wet conduit to the ground.

This is nuts. I can't believe I'm standing here. What am I doing here? Why can't I leave?

The light from the frequent sparks could be seen reflected off of the jagged edge of the silver blade. Irregular in it's shape, it looked like a serrated tooth, ready to bite down at a moment's notice. It's twin, being held in the other hand, was a bit longer, a bit smoother, and it held a curve to it that almost made it seem tame. The two were a rag-tag match, but it is not the weapons that make the warrior great. It is the wielder that makes his arms legendary.

Three months ago... I would have never thought this sort of thing existed. All of the cloak and dagger bullshit... It's an excuse to satisfy a power-hungry wolf. I can't believe I'm a part of that. I refuse to cooperate.

His hair clung together at the ends, giving his jet-black wild head the appearance of dreadlocks. They waved in front of his eyes, to and fro, hazing his vision. He didn't bother to brush his locks away. They only provided more cover. As if he could hide now. Standing alone, in the dead of night, on a desolate bridge, in an abandoned sector of the town. There couldn't be a less populated area anywhere. Just the two of them. Staring each other down. He tried to sink deeper into his disheveled mop.

She told me I couldn't win. That this man, this human... is more of a monster than me. I find that hard to believe, but... I won't back down. She is counting on me, after all. Who would I be to just run away? As if I had a choice, anyway... His blood smells good. His flesh is soft. He's only human. How hard could it be?

He crouches, ready to spring on his prey.

He's mine.

And Saint bangs his blades together as a gesture of war, and charges at his enemy.

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­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Earlier

A mellow little piano tune flitted out of the radio. Saint thought he recognized the artist and the song, but besides the fact that it was blues, he couldn't quite identify it. Graceful, rolling, and thick with skill, it brought a temporary peace to his wandering mind. The weak red rays peeking over the horizon were a bit too much to look at directly, but the tint that the sky held was soothing, and Saint couldn't help but savor in the glow.

A commotion began in the courtyard, and Saint glanced down to see what it was. An armored car had just pulled in through the large iron gate, and come to a screeching halt in front of the mansion entrance. The double doors burst open, and a troop of Hellsing soldiers crossed the threshold out into the evening, with Seras, the odd 'man' out, covering the rear of the group. They piled one after the other into the car, and after Seras had finished out the loading, the door was closed, and the transport took off, making it's way with great speed into the heart of London. To any bystander, it was an exciting thing to watch, although no bystander ever saw. To Saint, however, it was becoming routine.

The second month living at the Hellsing Institution brought nothing but a sense of resignation. It was a new experience getting used to a brand new lifestyle, especially one so radical as this one, but with the second month winding down to a close, nothing new was brought on. It was the same as the previous month, only without the novelty of it all.

The sunset was dwindling off to the west, and Saint held his eyes as steady as he could towards the horizon. He could handle that small amount of light, but hardly anymore. It made him sad to think that he could no longer enjoy basking in the summer sun, as was once one of his favorite things to do, back in his own country, so each drop of the golden sun he could get was priceless to him. Still extremely young as a vampire, he willingly retained many of his human thoughts and perceptions, and the sun as a virtue and not a vice was one of them.

As the last sliver of sun fell over the edge of the earth, he raised his blood-red bottle in toast to the stellar entity. His drink was just another becoming shift in his way of life. It was all that could sustain him, but it filled him fully and completely. Seras had described the process of becoming accustomed to blood as very difficult, but that adjustment had come relatively easy to him. Maybe it was because he was not so childish as she was that she thought blood as squeamish and nauseating, where as he merely thought of it as another drink, albeit strange and a bit unnerving at first.

All of these were signs that he was fitting more and more into this quiet lifestyle. Maybe it wasn't so bad. After all, it was almost like retirement. Keep in shape, 'eat' healthy, stay informed of current events. It was just that... for Saint, it was the fact that he was bowing down to the will of Integra. She wanted to keep him down, keep him quiet, whereas he had come to London to travel, to experience, to live. And, ironically... he had died.

So, slowly but surely, he went through the motions, trained with the humans, trained with Seras, and researched throughout the library of the Hellsing Mansion almost everything there was to know about vampires, and demons, and holy powers. He slowly developed his own new potential, his heightened senses, his new physical abilities, and very recently had started practicing the mystical abilities that he had seen Alucard perform. Teleportation, transformation, disengagement of the body, illusion, and other things among those. He had received his signature weapons from Walter the Butler, two daggers bearing angelic names and blessed blades, Remiel and Duma. Remiel was the Angel set above those who rise, and Duma was the Angel of Silence, he found out after a bit of reading. Maybe they had significance, those two names, maybe not, but whatever the case, they were fitting. The blades themselves were a silver alloy, for durability, and the edges were lined with a mixture of silver and mercury, giving them a soft, piercing quality. The handles were engraved with layers upon layers of angelic symbols, holy incantations, and prayers. Walter had assured Saint that the powers within such writings were subtle, but potent. Perhaps, but Saint had yet to feel such power in those blades.

It was the life that had been thrown into his lap. It was not such a bad life. He was treated fine, and he lived a relaxed life, and he was able to keep busy, but... at this point in his life, he was expecting more. Before his...accident, he had been preparing for a stint of travel, and London had only been the first of a series of places which he wished and was going to see. However, London had become his home, and who knew of the people he had left behind, in contact and in race. London was the resting place of the human Victor Saint Walker, and the birth of an identity-lacking being with the name of a dead man. A strange conundrum, but Saint was used to it. He was a vampire, and as he bore the semblance of a young student ready for great things, he felt unfulfilled. But these were the thoughts he had everyday, up here, and as the lays rays of sun were drawn in below the horizon, he downed the last of his meal, and rose from his perch to enter back inside the Mansion. His day had just begun.

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"So you see, our move has been matched. I firmly believe that this new conscript will be raised in response to our own recent acquisition."

"How arrogant of them. I don't see how they think that any human, no matter how 'blessed', could be considered an equal to one of my brethren. It's insulting."

"Which is why I am giving you leave to take care of the matter. No matter how insignificant he may be to you, a regenerator with the potential to be anything like Anderson is a threat, and it would be prudent to take him out before such a task becomes impossible. Strike him in his infant stages."

"Yes, how prudent. So, I have explicit permission..."

"You have explicit orders to hunt down and terminate this new regenerator. You may use any means necessary... within reason."

"Within reason?"

"I'll leave that to your discretion."

Alucard flashed that devilish smile of his, the feral grin of a wolf, and exited Integra's office.

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Seras had had a long night. She had left early on an extended drill out in the middle of nowhere, leading a group of trainees on a mock-stakeout. It wasn't that taxing on her, but it was incredibly time consuming. Compounded with the fact that she had to lead a bunch of inexperienced rookies, half of which wanted to sleep after the first hour, and all it meant for her was a major headache. God, if this is just a fraction of what Integra has to deal with... I don't even want to know. Finally, the target arrived in the specified zone, and Seras was able to rally her squad and neutralize the target with relative efficiency.

After the training exercise, Seras didn't even get a chance to get back to her room and rest, for she was place on patrol duty for the night, which meant she was to walk around in plainclothes uniform and watch for any vampire-related activity for the rest of the night. It usually wasn't too bad, just a report here and a sighting there, usually of vampires that weren't doing anything...yet. However, within half an hour, she caught wind of a vampire-related murder that had the cops attention. She followed sirens and cop cars until she reached the crime scene.

By the time she got there, the first wave of officers had already left, and the follow-up investigators were slowly combing the scene, like on TV. Unlike TV, Seras had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't find much. Instead, she placed herself in the mentality of a homicidal-vampire on the run, and it wasn't hard to figure out that he had taken to jumping rooftops to evade the authority. Seras climbed to the top of an old apartment, and scanned the area. There were so many places he could have gone... Seras closed her eyes, and stretched out her senses, trying to pick up on anything the criminal might have left behind. Scent, clothing, blood most likely. Maybe she would even be able to pick up on his mental activity, if he was still close by. She opened her ears. Nothing. She focused her mind. Nothing. She exhaled and then inhaled, taking in recent scents.

There. She could smell the trail of blood in the air from where he had passed, and without hesitating, she took off running. It was a strange feeling, using her senses to hunt like this. Every time she did it, every time she picked up on a target, she felt a rush, like she was being drawn towards the danger of it. To know that you were stalking a target that didn't know you were stalking it... to peek out of the shadows and not be seen, to sneak up and not be heard, and finally to make the capture, was a process called hunting, and every time she did it, Seras enjoyed it more and more. Maybe this was the feeling that my Master avidly describes all of the time. The thrill of the hunt. It's part of our nature, he says, to hunt. I didn't believe him, but... every day I can see more and more why he says it. At least, I think I'm beginning to see.

Seras closed in on the vampire, as she knew because the scent was growing stronger, and finally leapt off of the final building, into the alley where the vampire lay. Literally, where he lay, dead, in a pile of silver dust. Someone had beaten her to the end. What's more, this someone knew of the target's nature, which was an unnerving thought. It meant that there were people involved in this incident who had access to such knowledge, and there were very few organizations around nowadays who could know such a thing. Aside from that, there were fewer still who were involved directly with the supernatural, and the group who stood out the most in Seras' mind was... Section XIII, Iscariot. With that psycho Anderson.

Seras took her eyes away from the scene of the crime, and extended her senses to the surrounding area. If it was a holy man that had done this, he might still be in the area, and if it was Anderson... then Seras was going to have a hell of a time. Finding no one nearby, Seras only took a moment to decide to radio in for support. A squad of Hellsing specialists would be able to thoroughly investigate the surrounding area, for the attacker, and clean up the mess before the human world found any indication that the supernatural had occured. Remembering that Iscariot was employing a new warrior, Seras decided that it would also be prudent to summon Saint to the area. She wouldn't be able to handle a regenerator alone, even a rookie, and if it was Anderson...

A crack of lightning snapped Seras out of her thought process. The skies had darkened in the few minutes she had been investigating. Clouds had floated in, smudging up a clear, moonlit night. How sad. The moon was comforting. Seras regained her composure, and picked up her cell phone.

"This is Seras... yes, there's been a murder, freak-related... yes, I found it's remains... yes, dead... no, I don't know who, but I suspect... that's why I called. Send backup... well, if it's Anderson... I know there's another one... I'll check the area again then. And if I find one... I'll need Saint... fine, have him on standby... yes. Seras out."

Seras breathed a sigh, and leaped down from her perch. The Hellsing squad that was on its way would not be able to find her on some random roof, so she decided to head out into the street, and see if she could figure out where the holy man, which ever one he was, was. She smelt the air again, but there was no trace of the killer. She couldn't hear anything, but with the increasing rumble of distant lightning bolts, and the occasional snap-crackle of a near one, she doubted she would be able to hear anything. Instead, she reached out with her sixth sense. Tuning out the physical world, she... "listened" for a prescense. Like sonar, she pushed her sense outward until she detected life. Nothing, nothing, she couldn't sense anything. She pulled it back, and decided to just wait for backup. "After all, if it is Anderson..."

"Wha' about Anderson, lil' lady?"

Seras' spine felt like the lighting had just run down it. She felt cold, colder than ever. If she could turn any paler, she would have, and she could even feel her eyes dilate. That voice... that accented foreign voice... it was the voice of death, of oblivion to her. It was the voice of Father Alexander Anderson, Paladin of Section XIII of the Vatican.

Seras flexed her hands, but couldn't even bring herself to move her eyes. Oh my God... This can't be happening. I need... I need to call Integra. She'll know what to do. With shaking hands, she fished her cell phone out of her pocket, almost dropping it in the process. She had to flip it open twice, because it wouldn't open the first time. She almost misdialed the number, twice. But she managed to punch it in, hold her phone up to her ear, and wait.

"Aww, come now. Don' go callin' fer yer mommy. Stay, an' play wit me, lil' girl!!!"

That got Seras' attention. She swallowed the gigantic lump in her throat, and swiveled her head slowly, ever so slowly to the left. She closed her eyes, until she was facing him dead on, and opened. There, on the other side of a bridge spanning the canal, was Anderson. All cloaked in white, smiling, snarling really, the brief flashes of lightning reflecting from off of his glasses. All the while, the phone rang, and Anderson stared Seras down. She couldn't move a muscle. It was to her blessed relief that Integra answered once again.

"Yes, Seras, what is it?"

"..."

"Seras...?

"... It's... It's... Anderson."

"Where? WHERE!?"

Anderson smiled, and another crack of electricity silouhetted his tall figure.

"Time ta sleep, lil' girl... Ahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

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Saint had been sitting on the roof for hours now, waiting for his call. His blades, Remiel and Duma, hung off of an intricate shoulder holster, that had many more slots to fill. The only addtional weapon he had recieved was an original, handmade copy of an old Colt Peacemaker. Modified, of course, by Walter to be far more reliable, powerful, and modern. There were eight bullet chambers, instead of six, the gun was incredibly large, a mix of titanium with a bit of steel for certain parts, and a beautiful chrome finish that shone so bright Saint could see his nose hairs in it. He had it loaded, and enough bullets to reload about four more times.

Integra had ordered him about two hours ago to stand on call, as there was reason to believe some holy man was out on the prowl. Saint didn't understand the details, but from what he gathered, there was a secret hitman brigade that went around and killed vampires for the Pope. Sounded like a load of bullshit to Saint, but he complied with Integra's orders and got dressed for a night out. Whatever Integra said, Saint was not going to wear the god awful uniform that was waiting for him when he returned to his room earlier that day, and so he simply switched the Hellsing seal from the jacket to one of his own leather jackets, wore that over a black ribbed shirt and a pair of cargo pants, slipped on the boots (because he did like the boots they gave him), and went up on the roof to await the radio call. But so far... nothing.

Just great. I look forward to a peaceful end of the night, just to get a glimpse of the sun, and they stick me out here, and have me sit around doing nothing. The night's ugly anyways, with the moon gone and all. Although that lightning storm look pretty cool. No rain, either. Must be some heavy stuff...

"Saint!" The walkie-talkie at his hip blasted his name, and he snatched it up in frustration.

"Yeah, what do ya want?"

"It's Anderson. The Paladin is there, in London, with Seras. She need backup, but Alucard is far out in Vatican City, investigating, and it will take some time for him to come back. We need you over at the Baron Shiel Bridge that runs over the Southeast Canal, now!"

"Is that an order, boss?"

"... I swear, if you don't get moving in two seconds, you're going to be sucking on Alucard's hand cannon, and I don't mean his gun, so unless you want to eat silver for the rest of your unnatural life, you get your sorry ass over to the bridge. That is an order!"

"... Yes, sir. I'm on my way."

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Seras had worked up enough nerve to stand straight up and face the approaching Anderson. She had put her phone away, and rested her right hand on her pistol, which was on the inside of her left vest pocket. She still hadn't said anything to Anderson, and she definitly hadn't stopped shaking. Seras just... waited, unmoving, trying to keep Anderson from attacking. Fortunately, he loved to talk, to threaten and to taunt, and all he needed was an ear to keep on going. Until he got bored of that and wanted a response. Or, maybe he just really wanted to kill.

"Well, missy, I'm gettin' tired of waiting. I'm hungry for demons, an' your gonna make quite tha feast. Hehehe..."

Seras choked on her own breath. Oh God, what do I do? I need... I need to fight back. I am a vampire, after all, and although I'm without my cannon, I can still do damage. Seras mentally counted to three, and wrested her pistol out of her vest, took a stance, and pointed it directly at Anderson's head.

"Don't move, Alexander Anderson."

"Hehe. Oh, what a threat! I'm shakin' in me boots. Ahahaha!"

"Grrr..."

"Listen, lil' vampire, Ah've got no keen intresten in ye. Ye just a lil' grunt. Ah've beaten ye before, an' I'll do it again. An' this time, ye've got no precious Alucard ta come flyin' in here an' ruinin' tha party!"

Seras tightened her grip on her gun. Anderson was still approaching, but it was at a rather slow pace. Taking his time, savoring in the moment. She knew he could attack at anytime he chose, so she made a decision. She closed her left eye and took careful aim. She wasn't aiming to kill, because she knew she couldn't kill him with only what she had. Instead, she aimed at his thighs, and hoped that she could at least slow him down by knocking him down, and making him wait until his wounds regenerated. She aimed... aimed... and fired.

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BANG, BANG, BANG... BANG BANG!!!

Saint heard distant shots, and he quickened his pace, weaving through streets and alleys at incredible footspeed. He remembered well where he was going, but the shots helped to confirm his direction. It wouldn't be long before he reached the battle.

It was a rush, to be running head on into a fight. The thought of blood and gunpowder and steel made his fangs drop and his mouth water. He was ready for the fight, as ready as he ever was going to be. Integra had warned him about Anderson. He's invincible, at least to you. Don't try to win, just try to stall until Alucard shows up. That's what that bitch had said to him, but he was going to prove her wrong. He was the vampire, and Anderson was only human. Saint believed that he could win it himself, and he wouldn't let old Alucard take all of the fun. If this was going to be the only excitement he ever got... then he was going to make it sweet.

As he rounded another turn, he heard more gunshots, closer now. As he ran, and ran, and a minute or so passed, he thought he could hear... laughter. A maniacal laughter coming from what must be that bastard Anderson. Well, fine. Time to let him have what's what. And as Saint rounded the last corner, he saw the back of a white-clad man, holding a pair of bayonets, advancing on Seras, who was clear across the bridge. He could see that she was terrified, and cowering before the large man.

Saint positioned himself on the end of the bridge, remembering that he could not cross the running water of the canal, unholstered his Colt, pointed it at the head of the priest, and yelled.

"Hey, Anderson!!!" And he waited... but he didn't have to wait for long.

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Seras unloaded another round of shots into Anderson's legs. He collapsed once again, but quickly got back up, and the bullets were forced out by his regenerating flesh. Anderson flashed Seras a smile. "Nice try, but ya doin' it all wrong!" Seras cowered at his war cry, and began taking steps backwards. She was in shock from the terror. She knew it was the end. This would be the last moments. Backup hadn't come. Alucard hadn't come. And Saint...

"Hey, Anderson!!!" Seras heard the familiar voice, and she had never been so relieved to hear that voice then she did just now. Anderson frowned, and turned his head to face the newcomer. Seras peeked around Anderson's large frame, and saw Saint standing there, with what appeared to be a revolver, pointed straight at Anderson's...

BANG!!! BANG!!! The first shot hit Anderson square in the chest, and the second in the forehead, first doubling Anderson over, and then knocking him flat on his back, forcing him to lose grip on his swords, which skidded harmlessly away. This snapped Seras out of her fearful daze, and she took off into the nearest building, and made her way up onto the roof, where she could observe the action safely, and call in again.

Anderson was a bit slower to get up this time around, but as expected, he rose to his feet and picked up his bayonets again. He was just straightening up when shot after shot rang out, and six consecutive torso hits pushed him back into the wall of the building that Seras had run up. Anderson hit the wall, and slid down as if dead. But once again, the bullets fell out, and his wounds closed.

"Now, that's a mite rude don't ya think? Ye best put tha pea shooter away, lest ye get me riled up, and ya wouldn't like me like that."

Saint popped open the cylinder, pulled a handful of bullets off of his holster, and loaded them in, one after another. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry. I've heard all of your horror stories, and they don't scare me." He finished placing the eighth in, and raised the loaded gun up to Anderson's eye level. "So, can it, and die..."

Anderson disappeared from Saint's view, and in a flash, two slices went up and across Saint's chest. It felt like fire, like an unnatural acid was searing the wounds. A crushing slam drove Saint back into the paved road, and a crater was formed where he impacted into the ground. He coughed up blood, and could feel an enormous gash in the back of his head. While the head wound began to heal, the slashes across his torso did not. His weapon had be flung god knows where, and as his vision cleared, he could see the Paladin, whom he now had a newfound respect and fear of, towering in front of him.

"Ah, son, ya've been a good sport, but ya've missed tha most important part... yer just a filthy daemon, and as God's witness, I will slay any tha oppose..."

Saint had tuned out the priest's monolouge, and instead put his focus into his daggers. He envisioned his next few moves carefully, like a chessmaster looks a few moves into the future. The key was that he would need to be quick, extremely quick, to unsheath his daggers and toos them at Anderson. He relaxed, focused on the daggers, on the throw, and on the follow-up. He chose his moment to attack... and flung.

The two daggers twirled in th air. Duma, his smooth, sickle-like blade, hit backwards, and bounced off Anderson's chest. Remiel, his longer, jagged dagger, dug smoothly into the Irishman's chest. Anderson was cut short in the middle of his speech, and staggered backwards. Saint pushed off the ground with his hands, and sprinted forwards. With his left hand, he scooped up Duma as he leapt forwards and landed on Anderson's chest. He yanked out Remiel and with both legs kicked with all his might. Anderson was flung back again, and almost fell over, but caught himself as his regeneration came into effect. Saint kipped up to his feet, and faced Anderson.

There he was, face to face with Anderson. The priest with his bayonets, and he with his daggers, held in reverse grip. The storm continued to grow in the sky, and the eriee scenery created a movie-like air around them. The faceoff held for a few seconds, and finally Anderson spoke.

"Ya startin' ta anger me, kiddy."

"Shut your mouth, old man. I can take you here, anytime."

"Ya think so, kid?"

They held their gaze, steadily, neither one of them blinking. Saint remembered what Seras had said about Father Anderson.

"You can't win against him. He's got years of vampire-killing behind him, and he's also a regenerator. With his blessed blades and his incantations... there's really not much you can do. So if you ever see him... run."

Ha. Run. I'm no coward. If I'm gonna work for this institution... I'm not gonna be the first to flee at the sight of this Irish oaf. Besides... he smells good.

"I'm gonna drink your blood from a chalice, old man."

Anderson just grinned. Saint barred his teeth, crouched low, and prepared for attack.

"Let's do this."

Saint clashed his daggers together, as he sprung forward, straight at Anderson.

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Seras watched with a sunken heart as Saint began his duel with Anderson on the other side of the canal. Saint would step in, stab, parry, move around, and slash in, but Anderson effortlessly knocked away his attacks, and then came in with his own. Anderson's techniques were quick and strong. With each passing deflection, Saint would lose more ground, fall behind in blocking the volley of bayonets, and take a cut to the cheek, or the arm. Then he would back up, circle around, and dash in again, and the battle continued on as such. Slowly but surely, Anderson was winning.

Seras yanked her radio out of her vest and dialed in Hellsing HQ.

"Yes?"

"Sir Integra, it's Seras. Saint has arrived, and-"

"Seras! Is Anderson there?"

"Yes, he is. Saint has engaged with him, but-"

"Dammit! You know as well as I do that Saint won't last the night against Anderson!"

"Yes, sir, but what am I supposed to do? The only person who can stand up to Anderson is my Master, but he's-"

"Seras Victoria!"

"Yes, sir!"

There was a slight pause before Integra spoke. "You are of Alucard's blood, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"That means that you are a warrior. You are a soldier with pride. Now, when I hang up, you are going to do your job, and face the enemy. Section XIII is our rival, and for the greivous acts they have committed against us, we are now at war. You let me worry about the backup, Seras Victoria. Just remember, you are vampire. That is all."

"..." The line went dead before Seras could muster up a response. And just like that, she was standing there, alone in a storm, with a heated battle unfolding in front of her. Yes, she was a vampire, but a warrior? She didn't have the heart, that killer instinct...

She could remember that one day. Surrounded by freaks. Nowhere to run. But she hadn't been afraid. It was at that moment when she had turned fear into retaliation. Her instinct shifted from flee to fight. And it escalated. She didn't just defend herself. She went on the attack. She let herself go. She became confident. With each kill she became more excited. Bloodlust and thrist for battle. That was what it meant to be a vampire. To be a true hunter.

Seras stared over at the battle on the bridge. Saint was still galiantly putting up his guard, but his energy was dwindling, and he was more prone to stumbling, to retreating. If Seras didn't do something now, the fight would be over too soon. Backup was coming. Seras just needed to keep Anderson from killing Saint a bit longer.

Don't worry, Saint. We can make it through this...

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Saint stepped in low, and delivered another left hook to Anderson's abdomen. His attacks were penetrating, but each wound simply healed over, and Anderson would continue the battle unphased. The Paladin's counterattacks were vicious, and Saint had received multiple gashes in his arms and torso that refused to heal up, due to the blessed silver in Anderson's bayonets. He was losing ground with every second the fight continued on. He needed to end it with a home run blow. Maybe a combination to the head would suffice. He had to set it up right, though.

Saint hopped backwards, giving him space to evaluate Anderson's positioning. Anderson very often kept his blades crossed, and then would charge forward, letting his blades fall down to his thighs, then bringing them across in a scissor-like attack. Saint saw that his best opportunity would be after Anderson unleashed his power blow. He would be the most off-balance, and the most open for attack at that moment.

Saint backed up, and backed up, trying to bait Anderson into a charge, but he simply advanced coldly, not giving Saint the opening he desired. They were moving away from the canal, into the buildings behind them. Saint considered fleeing into them, but then he would lose line-of-sight with Seras, which was important considering she was the one who could call back to HQ. Saint tried taking another step back, but his retreat was cutoff by a brick wall. Anderson had him pinned.

"Hehehe... so, lad, are ya done foolin' around? Cos if ya are, then I'll be finishin' ya off now."

Anderson flipped his blades around in his hands, and advanced in, keeping his guard up. Damn! Saint realized he would have to square-off with him... and there was no chance of victory there. But what could he do? No retreat, and no victory. There had to be another way to survive, if just for a few more minutes...

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Three shot rang out from across the channel, as Seras pulled out her pistol and took aim. Anderson slipped forward into Saint, and Saint found his golden opportunity. Saint kicked Anderson in the chest with all his might, driving him back, brandished his blades, and dashed at Anderson. He came in low, very low, and sliced his sickle across the back of Anderson's left ankle. Anderson's foot gave out, and he fell to his left knee. Saint circled around him, brought his serrated dagger to Anderson's neck, and started sawing viciously. This is it. I'm gonna behead this holy bastard. Saint pulled back on his head as he sawed, exposing some inner flesh, and watched as blood oozed from the open wound. His mouth began to water. The lust to kill was electrifying, and Saint began to saw faster. It would only be a few more seconds before...

THUD! THUD! Two bayonets were driven in between his ribs, one nearly piercing his heart. Anderson stood up, his ankle nearly healed already, and backhanded Saint. Saint went flying backwards, and skidded out onto the bridge. Anderson turned around, his neck open but healing over slowly. He looked like a zombie, all bloody and cut, but still moving. His neck finished suturing itself up, and Anderson put on the biggest smile yet. He had won, and he knew it.

"Nice try, daemon, but yer just out of luck, ta' day. Now, I'll be taking me blades back..."

Anderson reached down, and yanked the bayonets out of Saint's chest. The wounds bled immensely, and Saint's vision began to haze. Being so near to running water wasn't helping either, as it weakened him considerably. He was having a hard time even opening his mouth, but he did anyways.

"Take your cough, your bayonets and... and run cough, chickenshit..."

Anderson grinned fiercely, as he brought his blades up for the final blow. The first bayonet hammered down directly into Saint's forehead. His skull split and blood poured out from the gaping hole in his head. The second bayonet came lateraly, and severed the neck completely. Anderson lifted his trophy, still impaled on his blade, and held it to the sky, laughing manaically.

At least, that's what would have happened, had three craters not opened up in Anderson's back. Anderson, already bent over, lost his balance and stumbled down. Saint, seeing this brief opening, dug in and delivered his right foot into the gut of Anderson. Anderson was flung back, tumbled about onto the canal bridge, and came to a skidding stop on his face. He lifted his head up, to see who had shot him in the back.

Saint had propped himself up into a sitting position against the wall, and was finishing taking out the second bayonet. The handles singed his hands as he pulled the blade out, but he managed to remove both swords and toss them aside. The blood poured out of his various wounds, but no vital blows were delivered. He would live to see another day. Saint summoned what little energy he had left, and raised his head to see who had intervened.

There, on the bridge, right in front of where Anderson had landed, was Alucard. His crimson attire flapped in the driving winds as his large black pistol was angled down to Anderson's head. A crack of lightning illuminated Alucard's face briefly, and his sinister smirk could be seen underneath his reflective glasses and jet black hair. His presence had an overpowering effect on the area. Everything seemed... darker now. Like the thinnest of clouds had dimmmed the sun, just a hair. Anyone there who could see the scene as it was, would know who was in charge here.

Saint took in the scene like he would take in a still painting. He wasn't part of it, he was just watching it. Alucard, standing there like a statue, over Anderson's still body. Saint could see Seras on the rooftop, screaming into her radio. I wonder who she's talking to...

Just then, as the scene was unfolding in front of him, a bright light shone from the sky, and the swift chopping of helicopter blades descended upon him. Saint looked up, and could see Sir Integra looking down from the open side. Ropes were thrown down, and Hellsing soldiers came rappeling down. They opened up a canvas stretcher, grabbed Saint, and placed him on it. They gave the signal, and the helicopter began to rise, winching Saint up. As he was airlifted away, Saint took one last look at the scene - Alucrad versus Anderson, with Seras watching in the wings - and then blacked out.

AW: Ok, so, college is over, and so is another drawn out chapter. I think I did good, and I promise I will get into it better this time... HAHA, that's what I always say. Well, fans be patient, the next chapter WILL come eventually. Heh, ...he...