Oh man, I'm late again! Sorry guys. But I can promise that there will be another chapter soon (if I don't forget to upload again *cough*).
Here we are, the big finale, part one! I already know that, because I'm almost done ~ What a weird feeling. Aaanyway, without further ado, have fun!
Chapter 28: Lonely Road to Absolution
Airship "Deus Ex Machina", laboratory complex, September 22nd, 4.40am
Steps echoed on the metal, more quiet than one might guess from heavy boots in an airship.
"Do you smell that?", a rough voice asked.
A more high-pitched, smooth voice answered: "Vhat?"
"Blood. A human. I can hear his heart beat." The footsteps stopped, just around the corner.
Enrico froze, pressing his back against the icy wall. He was standing in a door frame, concealed by shadows. But shadows didn't concern monsters. They saw right through it. It was their home.
The metal let goosebumps run down his body. He could hear his heart pounding, fast and heavy, pumping adrenaline through his veins. No wonder the vampires could hear it. You didn't need to have enhanced hearing for that.
A drop of red entered his vision. The trickling caused an awful itching, like something crawling over his skin. The gash on his forehead must have opened again from the sudden motion. Of course, everything had to go wrong exactly when they could not afford any problems.
Enrico wasn't exactly keen on facing at least two vampires, all by himself. They would have him before he could draw the sword. And even if not, he was not that confident in his abilities. Vampires and familiars were two very different things. He had a feeling the sword might protect him again, but he was not arrogant and suicidal enough to look for a fight. Aside of that, he just had no time for it.
There was a sound like someone slapping on thick fabric. "Don't be silly," the first vampire laughed. "Ve've got it all over us. You are imagining zings. Let's go before ze Doktor sees us. I can imagine better zings zan helping him pack."
The footsteps continued. Enrico closed his eyes. He knew it was illogical. He had better chances at surviving if he could act fast. It was the only way he might survive an encounter. But a child-like part of him was in control now and it knew if he couldn't see them, they wouldn't see him either.
The steps turned a corner and came closer. His lungs burned, only seconds away from bursting. He hadn't even noticed he was holding his breath.
"So he really plans to flee? Vhat does ze Major say to zat?"
"Nothing. I suppose ze Major just doesn't care. He has fulfilled his purpose."
The vampires didn't stop or turn. Their steps and voices faded away and vanished. Enrico let out his breath, very slowly, as silent as he could. Although he needed all his willpower to do so, the act of drawing in another breath was conducted in the same manner. He opened his eyes.
No vampires waiting for him, laughing. He was alone.
The next breath was a mixture of a gasp and a relieved sigh as his body followed its ferocious demand for oxygen. His heart rate sped up to that of a sports car before finally calming down a bit. Enrico shook his head to clear it, wiping the blood off his face. It clotted his hair and he brushed the wet strands back impatiently. There was a reason he was wearing a ponytail most of the time.
Following the signs he figured out by Heinkel's translation and his own guesses, he sneaked along the corridors. This part of the zeppelin was different from the others. The floor was coated in a layer of what looked like plastic on a hospital floor. Everything was more smooth, more sterile, and the walls were white instead of dark gray.
More steps. Enrico dashed into a door frame, only to find the door he wanted to steady himself on ajar, and crashed to the ground. He barely managed not to scream out in pain as his ribs protested. If the vampires had heard him, they didn't stop to check. They laughed, but Enrico couldn't understand what they said. It sounded a lot like a joke about that Doctor.
They faded away and Enrico scrambled to his feet. Now that the pain in his chest died away, he noticed he had fallen right on the sword. That would cause bruises on his hip. At least that matched the pattern of those he had everywhere else already.
He looked around, curious. His fingers found a light switch. The glare of big neon lamps stabbed at his eyes after constant dimness. Enrico cursed, squinting. The room was full of tables, some of them with rolls at the feet, stacked with papers. At the far end was an operation theater, still covered in blood. At the right wall were – thank God – consoles and monitors. He had found what he was looking for. Now everything should be done in a matter of minutes.
Then again, when he was already here, he could just as well look around for a moment. What harm could it do?
He started at the right corner next to the door and went along the walls anti-clockwise, letting his gaze wander over the chaos, waiting for an impression to jump at him. Metaphorically, he hoped.
Most of the room was covered in papers, folders and the likes, not everything clean from smudges he didn't really want to investigate any further. Even the walls were plastered, filling every space that was not occupied by anything else.
Here and there, in between the masses of paper, equipment hid from the light of day, or light in general. There were also boxes with jars in them. Nothing indicated its usage, except for a general air of scientificness. Enrico didn't dare to touch anything and walked on. He stopped again when one of the pages on the wall caught his eye.
Like all of them, it was covered in tiny letters. The lines were perfectly neat, but the handwriting was a mess. Even if it hadn't been in German, Enrico could not have deciphered a bit of it. And people kept telling him about bad handwriting?
The text was only interrupted by drawing of various anatomic motives, organs mostly, some of which were in a state that could make your stomach turn. They didn't even need a caption. The doctor was brilliant, a genius in almost every field, it seemed. But that didn't make this any less disgusting.
The left wall was covered by a red velvet curtain. The installment stuck out from the chaotic lab like a sore thumb. It was a pompous curtain, like one would expect on a theater stage. It just didn't fit into this whole scenery. Under normal circumstances one could hide a door or something behind a curtain like that, but in here? That was so obvious no marginally intelligent person would do that.
There was a golden plate fixed to the curtain.
No. Anfang
HIM
The rest was just three lines of German text. The Nazi eagle with their symbol was stamped into the metal as well, giving the plate the official look of a monument.
Enrico was fairly sure "Anfang" meant beginning in German.
What could possibly go wrong?, Enrico thought and pulled away the curtain.
A skeleton jumped at him.
His startled cry came out as a pained whimper while he stumbled back, barely loud enough to be heard over the ship's coughing motors. The curtain, on the second glance moth-eaten and shaggy, ripped and fell to the floor, stirring up a cloud of dust. It itched in Enrico's nose, but he refused to sneeze, knowing it would only send another bolt of agony through his chest. His hand was already resting on the hilt of his sword. He stared into the gray cloud, waiting. Nothing moved.
When the dust settled, it revealed a skeleton, but none of the sort that could jump at anyone. As far as Enrico knew that was not possible in any case. He really hoped it was.
That particular skeleton was browned by age, but as clean as it could possibly be. It had belonged to someone of Lisa's size. Its arms were stretched out behind it, as if it was handcuffed, the chest leaning forward with the head lolling. The bones were knit together with thin wires. Leather belts were wound around its limbs and ribcage, resembling a straight jacket, letting it dangle a few inches over the ground.
Not moving an inch closer, he studied a smaller metal plate that had been screwed to the skeleton's head. And suddenly everything fell into place.
William Harker
No. 00000
The man the vampiress had desired over a hundred years ago. She had forced him to drink her blood and drank his in return. Abigail van Helsing had rescued the boy, but even so, he must have been unclean for the rest of his life. The vampire was bound, not dead. Some of the blood had to be in there somewhere.
That was how Millennium managed to create the vampires. It was nothing more than a rip-off, just what everybody had called them all the time, without so much as guessing at the truth in these words. Artificial vampires were just echoes of this one damned vampire, cheap copies.
Vladimira Draculea, the vampire queen of Transylvania.
"Hell...", Enrico muttered. And I thought it couldn't get any more weird. He looked the skeleton over again. The poor boy. But his journey would end tonight. It would all end. If his soul hadn't already passed on, it hopefully would when all of this burned. And it would. Iscariot would personally take care of that.
Enrico turned around in a sudden motion that made him wince in pain. He stalked over to the control panel. Time to get to work. There was no chair, but the panel was built high enough he could type in a relaxed stance, like for someone with legs a lot longer than even his.
For a while, it was completely silent while Enrico struggled his way through an interface he had never seen before. Of course, the Nazis didn't use one of the standard operating systems. No matter what else he thought, Enrico had to salute the scientist for designing this, probably all alone at that.
Which didn't change the fact that there were no passwords, nothing that resembled a security program even remotely. They had obviously never heard of the Internet.
Still, uneasiness had settled into his stomach. If all of this was self-designed, he had no idea if he could manage the coding. It could be in German, and not answer to the standard commands at all.
Worry about that when you get there.
It was easy enough to navigate through some kind of central data base. There were files about every last member of Millennium. The dead ones were already colored gray.
Interesting enough, there seemed to be past members that were not dead. The names didn't ring a bell. Enrico told himself to remember them for later, but he knew he probably wouldn't.
In another register, there were files about every person of interest, sorted by affiliation. Just to be sure, Enrico chose his own file. The screen went blank for a minute, giving him a small shock. Then the words "Passwort eingeben" blinked at him. That was clear without understanding a lot of German. Enrico cursed, but returned to the register. He could probably break into the system, sure, but that would cost him time he didn't have. Lisa was out there, alone, in the midst of these vampires. How could he have wasted time by snooping around here? Everything except for the steps leading to their goal didn't matter.
The shriek of tortured metal from far away made Enrico wince. He was startled out of his concentration. The sudden motion sent another bolt of red pain through his body.
He went still again and listened. It sounded like a fight - or someone trying to hang up a really huge picture and ripped a hole into the wall instead. Had Anderson killed the vampire and now gone to slay the rest of these beasts?
Enrico shook his head and concentrated on his task. Even if, Anderson was only one man, powerful as he was. It would take too long.
He stopped for a moment, frowning, his eyes fixed into empty space. Over the past minutes, he had constantly been thinking about time running out. Why? There was no deadline.
Of course, he wanted to be with Lisa as fast as possible, to check if she was alright. They would get rid of the Major and his battalion, once and for all. But why this nagging sensation? It felt, in lack of a better comparison, as if there was a storm coming and he had to get the laundry in before it arrived.
The screens flickered. They pulled the leader of Iscariot back into reality and he noticed he had leaned on the keyboard. "Merde!" Long columns of blue numbers ran over a black background, then a map unfolded over all screens. No, not a map. A blueprint. The whole zeppelin's construction, laid out on one plan. Curious, Enrico moved over to the screen depicting the command center. He frowned at the words, trying to figure out what they meant. One of it was brighter than the others, a greenish tone instead of blue. When he pressed one of the keys, the green jumped to another word.
A smile spread on Enrico's face. Of course. Here, all the signals from the chips ran together into one register. Every last information Millennium had was gathered in one big archive. The whole zeppelin, from the tiniest air vent to the biggest hatch could be controlled from here. The man who had built all of this had made sure he could get out in case of... something.
Had the Major ever known, even suspected, how much power his right hand actually had?
In the end, nothing could beat dumb luck.
Enrico zoomed in on the command center, frowning at the construction plan. "You sneaky little bastard!", he murmured and let out a chuckle. He worked in silence for a while. After a phase of getting comfortable, the system was easy to manage. Even this Doctor had used the standard codes for reference and included some of the usual technology – for example bluetooth, which Enrico found amusing for some reason.
"Vhat are you doing here?!" Enrico spun, his hand already on its way to the sword. The Doctor was standing in the door, untouched by the seventy years that had passed since the Vatican's files were collected. He was a tall man, taller than Enrico, but thin enough to look like the survivor of a concentration camp. His ribs stood out as fragile arcs under the skin. The edges of his face were sharp as razors. His glasses were thick and equipped with multiple lenses on both sides, giving him a faint resemblance to a spider. He wore a blood-spattered lab coat over some kind of long trousers and a jacket with a zipper, that left his belly uncovered. The blond hair was cropped to ear-length and hung down in two straight lines, without the tiniest ruffle.
The man was panting, sweat rolling over his face despite the chilly air. He was afraid, in a panic.
Enrico smiled at him. "Ah, hello! I thought you wouldn't greet me at all."
The man's eyes seemed to flicker to Will Harker's remains. It was hard to say behind the reflecting glasses. But despite his general jumpiness, he scowled, clearly unhappy his temple had been meddled with.
"Maxwell," he said slowly.
Enrico raised an eyebrow. "Already getting personal, are we? Well, anyway. I'm almost done here. Just one more little thing."
The Doctor took a step forward, unsure what he was supposed to do. Probably call for help. The door behind him slammed shut. He spun and rattled the door, getting increasingly panicked. It was locked. "Y-You! How did you?"
"Get into your systems? Oh, that wasn't so difficult."
The Doctor looked over the room, searching for anything of use, or simply to get an idea. His gaze was jumping back and forth, without any recognizable pattern, just swerving in indecision. He dug into the pocket of his coat, drawing out a remote. The least he could do was turn off the maintenance board and open the door. This arrogant child could not simply do what he wanted!
Steel crashed down on Avondale's hand, shattering two bones. He cried out in pain. The remote was knocked out of his fingers. It soared through the air in a graceful ark before shattering on the floor.
"Don't get any funny ideas," Maxwell said. The Doctor whimpered in pain, cradling his injured hand. Maxwell made a step towards him and he stumbled back against the closed door, falling on his rear.
Satisfied with the reaction, Enrico sheathed his sword and returned to the consoles. "You see, aside of your general... attitude, your cooperation with these monsters to be exact, I admire your work. You really are a genius in so many fields, that much is certain." He typed something. The screens were shining too much to reveal more to the Doctor than faint shapes, but he had an idea what the archbishop wanted.
In a surge of desperate loyalty, the Doctor yelled: "Do vhatever you want to me, I'll never tell you ze password!"
Maxwell stopped and blinked at him. He did so for several seconds, a look of utter confusion on his face. Then he burst out laughing. "Is there some kind of handbook for cheesy villains? Keep the heroic quotes to the big boys. I wasn't going to ask you about that anyway."
The Doctor hesitated, but couldn't help it. His curiosity got the better of him. "You... You didn't?"
Maxwell smiled, but didn't look up. If he could catch him by surprise... The Doctor was taller, maybe ten pounds lighter, but stronger than one might think. Maxwell was injured, the Doctor had known it on the first glance. The pain would slow him down. All he needed was a chance.
"Don't even think about it," Maxwell said with a smile that reminded Avondale of the Major for some strange reason. "I thought you guys want to die?"
The Doctor snorted. "The vampires, maybe. I'm a man of science! We will advance, until we can do what small minds would call miracles!"
Maxwell made a sound of pensive agreement. He typed some more. "You're right. The world is progressing." He turned around and leaned against the consoles, his hand resting on the green stone of the sword. Why did it look so... special? Almost alive.
Avondale suddenly wished he could just squeeze out under the door. All his research – lost. But he could always recreate it. But he needed to get away for that. And he really wanted to all of a sudden. Hadn't Maxwell's eyes been green a minute ago? Of course they were, inherited from his mother. Not the electric blue they were now.
"You see, the Vatican can always use brilliant minds," Maxwell said. "You might be a heathen and heretic, but an universal talent like yours should not be wasted. What do you say?"
The Doctor scrambled to his feet, trying not to touch his aching fingers to anything. "You... you give me a chance?"
"Why, yes," the archbishop said. "You'd need to swear loyalty to us and.. well, would be somewhat restricted in your field of research, but not as much as you might think. You want to help humanity advance, right? Religion and science. The perfect partnership."
"You'd get me out of here?"
Maxwell laughed. "That would be required. Anyway, enough talking. Yes or no?"
"Yes," the Doctor said firmly.
"Great. Give me a minute." Maxwell turned back to the consoles. The Doctor's gaze fell on a heavy pipe wrench. He couldn't quite remember why it was there, just that he had put it on the table this morning. If there really was a God, scientifically inexplicable as it was, he seemed to be smiling down on the savior that was to come. Science could only progress through great minds. One could not simply bind such a mind. Not terminally.
Everybody underestimated him. He was a brilliant man, and like any genius he had his flaws, his problems and tics, but he was not as weak as he seemed. The Doctor's fingers screamed out in pain, but they closed around the wrench and he spun.
A sharp pang of almost physical redness hit his chest. Maxwell was about fifteen centimeters smaller, but having to look up didn't make him less scary. Human eyes were not supposed to glow in the literal sense, yet somehow they did. The white had a somewhat bluish aura, like the glow surrounding a lightning strike. What a curious phenomenon.
Avondale Napyeer slowly lowered his head to see the blade sticking out from his stomach, right under the sternum. He didn't feel any pain, just something hot and wet running over his belly and a nausea that grew stronger with every second. The sword glowed in the same blue. He wished he could have examined it.
"I thought so," Maxwell said and somehow managed to sound truly regretful. "Admirable, but still a shame. You picked the wrong party. Loyalty is a strange thing, isn't it?"
The Doctor almost answered. Yes. Feelings were a strange thing. The only aspect of humans he never truly understood, no matter how hard he tried. His body had become numb. He didn't feel his impact on the floor. The world had already gone black.
Enrico pulled the sword from the scientists body, wiping his eyes with his free hand. They felt weird, not really itching, more like the echo of an itch, a pressure that had no real source.
"I really thought you'd be cleverer," he told the body. He wiped the sword on the lab coat and sheathed it again. He would have wanted the scientist on his team. With Cristoforo and the others, Iscariot could finally become independent from spiteful idiots like Bernard or Makube.
Enrico finished the line of code he'd been typing and pressed enter. This was all. Now on to the final battle. What a ridiculous term. He was not a knight, although he bore a sword. He was no hero. He just did what had to be done, no matter what others thought.
That was the nature of Iscariot.
Airship "Deus Ex Machina", storage, September 22nd, 2016, 4.45 am
"Heinkel!" Somehow, Yumie had gotten to her feet again. Hot wind punched her in the face as she leaned out of the zeppelin, trying to catch a glimpse of her friend. She couldn't be dead! They were flying! Heinkel never fell. Never. That was one of her trademarks.
But all Yumie could see was London, the roofs not far away. She could easily jump down from here, land safely, and go looking. Heinkel could have caught herself on one of the roofs.
Smoke drifted along, flames licking out of the zeppelin farther back, blending into the mixture. The zeppelin sagged in a sudden jerk as a ripple ran through it. Yumie's free hand clenched around the jagged rim of the hole. For a second, she was floating, the universe trying to determine if she should fall or stay. She threw her weight back, another burst of pain exploding in her stomach, and landed on the metal floor.
A distant part of her mind already calculated how much time they had left. It wouldn't take long for the fire to spread. If the gas chambers were filled with hydrogen, the airship would go down in the matter of minutes.
A foot crunched on the spills of gold and silver. Yumie turned her head and looked right at the gigantic snout of the white wolf. It was barely inches from her face, the hot, meaty breath washing over her.
Yumiko? There was no answer. Yumie looked for her friend, but all she heard was a faint echo. A sigh, almost relieved. A wave of grief and rage rushed over her, a tsunami washing away her indecision and paralyzing fear.
No. It would not end like this.
Yumie screamed in fury and leaped to her feet, ignoring the searing in her chest. Her katana drew a red line over the wolf's snout and the beast stumbled back, as if surprised. Then he howled in a wordless challenge and his fangs clamped down on her. Yumie didn't try to evade him. Instead, she threw herself forward, ducking under the snapping fangs, her blade aiming at his heart.
I'll kill you! You don't deserve to live, you stupid monster! She didn't feel the tears on her cheeks. Red splashed on her face, hot and stinking blood, as her blade sliced through the wolf's stomach. It roared in pain and swiped one child-sized paw at her, rising on its hind legs, impossibly big and threatening. The cut steamed and hissed, where the silver edges of the katana had touched it. The wolf fixed her with his burning eyes and crashed down again, trying to smash her. Yumie dodged the paws, but the shock wave threw her back. It was accompanied by a deafening explosion somewhere behind them and suddenly the zeppelin tilted to the left.
Yumie tried to grasp for a beam sticking out from the rapidly steepening ground. It was dislocated, just another piece of rubble in this chaotic, destructive night. Yumie slipped and suddenly fell, somersaulting down a slope, accompanied by tons of gold and silver. The werewolf yelped in surprise when he lost his footing and tried to find something to hold on. His claws raked the floor, leaving huge gashes, but the metal was too weak to hold its weight against its intended use.
The left wall of the zeppelin was coming closer, now almost parallel to the ground. The precious metals gathered on the hull, stretching it to the breaking point. There was a bang and the hull exploded outward, wealth raining down on the empty city.
Yumie fell, small bits of metal hitting her painfully. Time stretched once again. Would she see her friends in Limbo?
There was another jerk and she crashed on a metal floor, bouncing off and flying again, this time in a different direction. The zeppelin straightened up, the rising side hitting the wolf in the flank. His bones broke audibly and he roared.
Yumie wasn't aware she was lying still until the noise faded after a while. Somehow, she was still in the store room, now riddled with gold and silver, but freed of the crates and piles. Her blurry vision cleared and she stared at a red, white and black flag. The submarine hadn't left its place, being fixed to the floor and walls, but had toppled over, stopping inches away from her.
Her body was a mass of pain, big and small injuries, too much at once to make anything stand out as the worst. But she could still move. Somehow, she could move. She had to. Revenge. She had to get revenge for her friends.
Yumie got to her knees. She had lost her katana, but from the ripped and tainted floor, one of Heinkel's Desert Eagles laughed at her. It had gotten stuck in a corner, shattering the wood of the hilt, but the barrel seemed fine. Yumie grasped at it, her hand closing around the loyal weapon.
A cramp hit her. She didn't have enough air to scream. A red wave rolled over her vision. The world stopped to exist in the agony in her stomach. She doubled over, coughing. She tasted blood. It dripped from her lips on the floor, where it joined the pool leaking from her midst.
No. Not yet.
"I'm impressed. Really, not bad for a human."
Yumie opened her eyes and got to her feet, slumping heavily against the upturned roof of the submarine. Hot blood was soaking the uniform, running over her chin, but she stood, her free arm pressed against her stomach.
Walter looked her over and smiled. Maybe Mira was right after all. Humans were really interesting. This woman... her strength and determination to avenge those she loved... He could smell her blood, mingled with the wolf's. Her eyes were still burning, despite all she had suffered.
The werewolf tried to get up, fixing his broken body bit by bit. Blood was dripping from his snout. Slowly, he turned back into a human, equally mangled.
"What are you waiting for, Iscariot?", Walter asked the paladin. "Finish him. I'm not your enemy."
The werewolf leaped at Yumie, still not fully healed yet. He didn't even attempt a trick, no dissolving into mist, just a plain attack.
He jerked back in mid-motion. The wires wrapped around his wrists and ankles, even around his neck, cutting into his skin, but not yet severing his limbs. Tiny droplets of blood ran over his skin, painting a complex pattern.
"So?", Walter mocked. "After such a long time, we meet again. Goodbye, arsehole."
Yumie had never been good with guns. She preferred the clean, beautiful art of the samurai. But beauty didn't matter now.
She raised the Desert Eagle and pulled the trigger.
The gun barked once, sending a shock wave through her hand. The muzzle stayed steady. A whiff of burning power hit her right in the face, accompanied by the click of a casing being spit out.
The silver bullet embedded itself in the werewolf's heart. He jerked back, the wires ripping into his bones with a horrible tearing sound, then loosening as he crashed to the floor in a spreading pool of blood. The hole was small, almost insignificant in all the carnage.
His dog tags shattered on the floor, too quiet to be heard over the strained humming of the motors outside.
The werewolf's eyes closed, opened again, slowly. A small smile crept over his face. Then he laughed, without a sound. Blue flames erupted from his body, sending out a wave of heat. The flag on the submarine caught flame. The fire rose into the air, forming the shape of a wolf. His last howl echoed in the zeppelin and out into the city.
Yumie lowered the gun, her fingers locked too tight around it to let go. She didn't feel her legs when she walked over to the hole in the wall, every movement stiff and automatic. She didn't even feel the scalding hot air.
The roof was in front of her, barely more than a step. She got out of the zeppelin and onto the street, though she did not remember how. She found what she was looking for and slumped to the ground. The Desert Eagle cluttered to the bloody pavement.
In the east, the sun began to rise.
Shakespeare's Globe, London, September 22nd, 2016, 5 am
He widened his fangs in a yawn and stretched every muscle. The spot was not exactly comfortable, despite the pleasant heat from everywhere. It was autumn, the air cold and wet. But not tonight. Tonight this city was his oven to warm on.
Schrödinger shook the lethargy from his limbs. The great theater to his left had been reduced to cinders, gleaming red and smoldering in a pleasant heat, the smell of burning wood creating the dry scent of a campfire. He hadn't had a campfire in decades, he mused. The other boys had done that so often, but him? He had never been one of them.
A flapping sound made him turn. He stretched out one hand and caught the scorched remains of an advertisement. ng Hen, one half said. Then the was a hole and three fourth of a V. Schrödinger returned the poster into the hot winds and saw it being swept away over the Thames, gleaming in all shades of red and orange.
Rip had always been into theater. Even the Doctor had called it "important" - for what, Schrödinger could not understand. Why should it be fun to watch people do anything if nothing went wrong? It was simply boring.
He stood up and flicked his ears. Somewhere there, on the other side, Alucard and Anderson were fighting, maybe Walter as well. It would almost be a pity to see him die.
Schrödinger giggled, remembering the fight seventy years ago. Finally someone interesting had turned up, even someone that was – or rather looked – his age. Too bad he couldn't stay. Then again, Schrödinger had been more than busy with getting the girls out of there alive.
His ears shot upwards when he heard a long, haunting howl. Schrödinger narrowed his eyes. So that was it. The Captain was dead, too. The whole Battalion was making its last exit tonight. Hopefully the werewolf found the peace he had wished for. He was one of the few that deserved it.
Or, as far as Schrödinger was concerned, the only one he really cared about. Who said cats and dogs had to hate each other?
He turned his eyes to the rising sun. Here, everything was darkness and fire. Soon the sun would be up and the play over, like the Major would have said.
"Vas it fun, Herr Major?", the cat boy asked. "Did you get vhat yu vanted?" Well then. Everybody else was gone. All that remained was him, that nobody ever took serious. That nobody would ever accredit anything to.
Schrödinger grinned. Ah, what did he care? He was just in for the fun. The Battalion, the war, it was all puny power plays and showing off. It didn't matter to him as long as he was entertained. Now that the Battalion was gone, he needed a new occupation.
There had been a time he would have thought different. When he had been bound to them by more than his desire to keep himself amused. All those faces swam past him, human, werewolf, vampire, and everything in between. Oh yes, it had been way different back then.
Schrödinger pulled the dagger out of his belt. Another little reminder, a gift from the great, self-important Max Montana to his pet. The hilt was warm from lying against his body and the blade was sparkling in the red lights of the fire.
Meine Ehre heißt Treue
"My honor is loyalty," he said softly, his eyes fixed on the swerving zeppelin. A great accomplishment of technology, about to crash and falter in these streets of the dead. With it the last traces of all their efforts. And the rest would be swept away by Iscariot and Hellsing when they recovered. They would, rather sooner than later.
"Life is cruel, isn't it, Herr Major?" Schrödinger dug the blade into his throat. The pain was short and boring. The warm steel cut through flesh and bones, severing tendons and muscles with ease. Hot blood splashed over his uniform, and fell to the ground like rain. Schrödinger giggled, feeling the rush of air rustle his hair like a gentle, caring hand as he fell.
Faces rushed past him and then he was one with the stream. A new sensation. This sure would be interesting.
Fleet Street / A201, London, September 22nd, 2016, 5 am
"This is Father Anderson to all paladins. Evacuate the vicinity o' the airship. Request back-up fae situation assessment. We need tae rescue the injured. Everyyin else reports tae Father Renaldo fae -"
"Father Anderson..." Anderson knew the voice. Chico Martinez, the one who always got nervous but was one of the best young talents they had. His voice was rough and shaken. "Father Renaldo is dead."
Anderson stopped abruptly. For several moments he was unable to say anything. "W-Whit do ye say o' me? When? Hou?"
"A building collapsed on the street. It- It got Angelo too." There was silence on the radio. Anderson was suddenly very aware of the sounds of the fallen city. Ghouls moaned while they stumbled along. Flames licked into the sky, consuming whatever got in their way. Lone shots and screams echoed in the distance. The stench of blood and innards tainted the air, of fire and smoke. Flickering lights illuminated everything in an eerie glow. The air was scalding hot, interrupted by cold gusts of wind from above.
"Ah see. Who's the next senior team leader?"
"You, Sir."
Has it already come that faur? "Make contact tae oor home bases and... jus' clean up this mess. Ah'll join ye soon."
He continued his path. Over him, smoke was curling down from a burning motor at the side of the zeppelin. The red and black chessboard pattern almost brushed the roofs of the buildings. An airship could not carry its own weight without the gas. It would crush everything in its wake, which was a lot for a thing this size. At least they didn't have to worry about that. It would rather burn to a crisp before.
Marco was dead. Angelo was dead. All the senior paladins were either fallen or missing, except for him. The whole crusade was destroyed. When had things turned so fatally wrong?
Anderson saw them from meters away. They were in the middle of the street, all alone. The occasional ghoul wasn't remotely interested. Anderson began to run, some cold part of him taking in the details without tainting them with emotion.
Heinkel was lying on her back, perfectly still. Among the smears of grease and blood she had borne before, her lips were dark where her own life's essence had seeped out, over her chin and throat. It had dried there, forming red arcs running towards her neck. She was pale, and lying very, very still with her eyes closed. One hand was twisted in a strange way.
Yumie knelt next to her, rocking back and forth in a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. Her arms were pressed to her stomach. She wore a mercenary's uniform, Anderson noted with a hint of confusion. The brown fabric was tattered and torn in various places. The chest region had been dyed the color of red wine, soaking her sleeves as well.
Yumie raised her head when she heard the approaching footsteps. She was lacking the usual alertness and care she displayed in a fight. Even her typical wildness had dissipated. She simply took in Anderson's presence without reacting to it in one way or another. There was blood on her lips and chin was well, as well as various tiny scratches and bruises all over her skin. Blood clotted her dark hair.
Anderson knelt down beside her and carefully lifted her chin with one hand.
Yumie's violet eyes were dull. She understood what was going on, he was sure of that, but it just didn't concern her anymore.
"Lassie," he said softly. "Whit happened?"
The young woman's disconnected expression didn't change. "She's gone."
Anderson shot a look at Heinkel and refused to give the ball of barbed wire in his stomach any more grip on him. "Who's gone?"
"Yumiko." Yumie's eyes went blank for a moment. Even more blank than they already were, if that was even possible. "She... vanished. She's dead. Wanted to help me... Just like Heinkel..."
A tear ran over her cheek, a single silver drop, gleaming in the red lights all around them. "In the mansion... The vampire got me... I wanted to help Heinkel... avenge Vicky..." Anderson was an old hand, experienced, used to hard decisions. He had gotten too many shocks in this night to feel this one with full force. Still, the barbed wire hooked another thorn into his insides. He didn't want to think what would happen once this was over.
Victoria. Heinkel's secret student.
Of course he had known. But he thought the training might do the girl some good. Now everything made sense. The cold fury in Heinkel's eyes. All the blood.
Yumie answered his unspoken question, almost apologetically: "Heinkel didn't bring her. On the contrary, she forbid her to accompany us. Vicky sneaked in among the others. That vampire bitch killed her and left her as a challenge. We got her, of course."
Anderson didn't clear his throat. He rarely did. Instead, he paused before speaking. "Whit aboot Yumiko?"
Yumie looked past him. Another tear slipped from her eye, but her voice was calm and factual. "She insisted to keep some of the pain away from me. So I could fight. We went with Enrico and Lisa. There was this werewolf. We fought him and he kicked Heinkel out of the zeppelin..." She blinked.
"She saved my life...", Yumie said softly, as if she only realized that now. One hand brushed tenderly over her friend's palm. "I killed him. The vampire helped me. That butler. And... when I looked, Yumiko was gone. It was too much for her." A shiver ran through her body and suddenly a sob erupted from her throat. Anderson laid an arm around her. The young woman slumped against his chest, burying her face in his jacket. She had no more strength left to uphold whatever protective wall she had built.
Anderson let her cry. There was no shame in it, after all that had happened. But the pool of blood around her worried him. How long was she already bleeding like that?
"Is Heinkel dead?", she whispered, her words muffled to a point Anderson could only guess what she was saying. "I didn't dare to check."
Anderson pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth, not daring to let go of Yumie. Tremors ran over her, so violent he feared she might just break apart any moment. She certainly would not survive much longer if she didn't get help for that bleeding.
He held a hand in front of his former student's face. It was a formal gesture, just for protocol. He almost jumped at the small spot of warmth appearing on his hand.
She was breathing!
"She's alive, but who know fae hou lang." Yumie didn't show a reaction. She had stopped crying. For a second, a bolt of panic shot through the paladin's thoughts, not feeling a movement or even breath.
But then she sighed quietly and rested her cheek against his chest, like she had as a little girl. Her eyes were fixed on her friend's body. Anderson activated the radio again, while searching for a pulse under the dried blood. He could feel her body struggling for breath, weak, but steady, and a slow, stuttering heart beat.
There was only static.
Shadows danced over them as the zeppelin swerved. Its snout was turning away from the cathedral. Anderson shook Yumie, a gentle push. She looked up at him with glazed eyes, like a sleepy child.
Yes, Sir?
"Can ye walk? We need tae get oot under the airship before..." Before it crashed down on them any moment. Enrico and Lisa were still up there. But he couldn't take care of everything at once.
Yumie nodded and struggled to get to her feet. She was standing for only a second, before she fell to her knees again with a bone-chilling scream. She pressed her blood-smeared hands to her temples.
"Yumiko...", she whispered. "No..."
Anderson swore under his breath. Calm down. One step at a time.
He got his hand's under Heinkel's limp body, trying to pick her up. He froze. Something was not right. He could feel an edge in her lower back, an edge that did not belong there. A spine should not move like that.
A gray wave of hopelessness swept over him, something he had last felt when...
When he had been searching desperately for Josephine in that loch. When his little angel had almost died because of that damned kelpie. It was the same blasted thing over again.
He was supposed to protect them! Curse that vampire, and curse that Major, and curse the Pope for making them go to war like this!
Even if she survives, do you really think she wants to live like this? Heinkel would rather die than be useless. You know that.
There is another way. Anderson winced.
"Marco?" He looked around, but of course he was being foolish. Marco was dead. He had probably already passed over into Limbo. Nevertheless, he had a point.
Ah dinnae want tae burden her wi' something like tha'. It's ae gift, but also ae curse.
His hand wandered to one of the many pockets of his coat. It was still there, unscathed despite the events of this night. His hand closed around the syringe. This had to be a sign of God. The girl had saved him from a big mistake. It was his duty to save her, if he ever wanted to find something resembling peace after this night. He couldn't just let her die.
Yumie was still muttering to herself. Anderson shot her a glance. She would hold out longer. Hopefully.
A low, humorless chuckle escaped him. Vladimira was probably waiting. It was a one night show. His only chance to slay that inhuman monster. Was it justified to give his feelings a priority over his duty? Maybe sacrificing many for those two girls?
As far as he knew, the serum was a test object. It could just as well kill her. Hell, he almost hadn't made the transformation.
He peeled the layers of her sleeve back from Heinkel's wrist and plunged the needle in. The serum was the color of lilac and seemed to have a mind of its own, vanishing in her veins in seconds. The paladin pulled the needle out and tossed it away.
It's ae curse. Having tae see yer friends and family age and die. Ae monster tha' denied God, ae monster tha' affirmed God. It's a' the same shit.
Heinkel didn't stir. Of course not. Even the best science didn't do miracles.
If she would end up like Kenzy?
Either way, it was too late for doubts now.
The motors of the zeppelin roared overhead and then the last vampires began to fall. Those who had not had their fill yet, or those who didn't want to die after all. Their leaders were gone, and they saw their chance to flee. Anderson looked up, wondering if it was worth the bother.
It wasn't.
There were whiffs of flame, accompanied by surprised shrieks. A new wave carrying the stench of burning flesh brushed over the humans and was carried away. Coated blue and yellow, the remnants of the Last Battalion fell, glowing comets reduced to ash before they hit the ground.
Anderson rested Heinkel's head on his knees and pulled Yumie into his arms. There was nothing else he could do but wait and pray.
Soft gray flakes began to fall like snow, covering everything in a fine layer. They danced in the wind, illuminated by the soft, searching fingers of morning.
The pale rose-colored stripe of sunlight over the horizon was getting wider every minute, sending its pale vanguard into the blackness, turning it to a smooth, dark blue.
The night was almost over.
St. Paul's cathedral, London, September 22nd, 5 am
Caitlyn was picked up. There was a rush of air and suddenly she sat on the ground on the other end of the battlefield, her head spinning. A dark shape vanished and lunged at Mira again.
Mira laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. "Always the good butler. Of course." She evaded the wires and charged at Walter, drawing her guns. The Jackal fell to pieces right there.
"Don't forget who got you that weapon. I thought you might need it against Anderson, but... I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."
Mira discarded the pieces with a contemptuous growl. She couldn't believe he had planned this from the beginning. It had been so shortly after she had met Anderson for the first time... Then again, in the wake of a storm there was plenty of time to plan.
The wires wrapped around her and threw her into a building. Stars exploded in front of her eyes. This was interesting. She didn't really want to fight anymore. Not for now.
Are you getting a mid-life-crisis, or what? She was thrown around and felt flesh rip, but didn't pay attention to it. She would win, yes. She always won in the end. She always came back. But at what price. In the end, she was always alone. How many years did she have with her husband? Around ten. With her family, her father and Mircea and Radu before he became a traitor? With Walter?
You idiot shouldn't have interfered!
Baskerville's howl shook her out of her thoughts. The dog opened up like a book, its halves falling to both sides, without doing the slightest damage. Mira sighed. Another familiar, gone. Her last. But he had always been just a trick, something Abigail had thought up to give her power a better shape. In the end, it didn't matter.
"Fight!", Walter demanded. "Come on, give at least a little resistance before I kill you!"
Mira got to her feet, staggering. He had the form of a child again. Well, then it would be best to follow suit.
Walter snarled at her. "What are you doing?"
"This is barely more than the rebellion of a spoiled toddler," she said. "I should have known. I changed you too early. You weren't ready." She closed her eyes. There was no attack. "I shouldn't have dragged a child into this."
Still, nothing. Only the sounds of the city. Caitlyn was shaking audibly, shifting around on the rubble. She was probably not the enemy the Major had expected or wished for. What a pity. Her talents would be better used to rebuild. She would get through it. That was the beautiful part of humans: They recovered. They rebuild. They laughed again.
Mira opened her eyes. Walter was standing there, the wires forming a glistening net behind him. He stared at her, without the anger that had driven him to his betrayal. There was regret in his features and... sadness? No. Disappointment.
The blood began to move at its own accord. Mira looked down. It floated towards Walter, gurgling like a clear creek in summer, purling away happily. Fountains erupted from the corpses, joining the stream. It flowed over debris and everything in the way, merely covering and uncovering it. The power was drawn in from the whole city, all those dead and dying, thousands, millions of lives.
Right. She had almost forgotten how strong he had become over time. He was not one of these ridiculous fakes, and he had not yet become tired of his immortality. That happened. One in a hundred years, maybe. They were different.
"You obviously don't see me as a real opponent," Walter said. A contemptuous smirk corrupted his mask. "Well, if we're already done here, I suppose you don't mind me getting my share of the buffet."
Feedback? :)
I'm so excited about this fanfic. Hell, I've been working on it for months now ~ I didn't even expect there was so few left to do during my hiatus.
What do you think? How will it all turn out? Who wins, who dies? (Did I forget anyone?)
Hehe, see ya soon!