Witcher in Hellsing ch 2
When Sir integrated had said that England was flooded with artificial freak vampires, she was not exaggerating. Within the first twenty-one days of taking Hellsing's coin, there had been twenty-eight vampire attacks throughout her majesty's isles. Even with two powerful vampires and a Witcher, we were hard pressed to keep things under control. The fact that Seras was apparently still training and not allowed to deploy on solo missions also complicated things. And their conventional troops were even worse off. While they were generally safe when they deployed in support of Alucard, when they had to go out as the main effort, they rarely if ever returned without casualties. And vamps and ghouls rarely left wounded behind. All told, Hellsing was down to less than fifty percent of their authorized strength.
That was the situation when I was sent to Badrick, Ireland. Solo. Apparently, that little town was a little too close to some treaty border that Hellsing had with the Vatican. No sweat, one maybe two vamps, at worst a score or so ghouls. Simple.
Yeah, right. You ever heard of a chap called Murphy?
The job started out as advertised. I was able to put down my new ward stones without issue. They set up a field that contains any undead at enters the boundary. To steal an old advertising slogan, the dead check in, they don't check out. Seras hated the things, mostly because I had a test set in the basement hallway. Alucard was apparently somewhat upset that his fledgling was late for training. That is until he found her trying to punch her way out of the trap. Then he fell over laughing. Fortunately, I arrived soon after, and was able to explain what happened before things went out of control. Alucard then decided to try his luck. Amazingly, the ward was able to keep him contained. Until he figured out that the field was stopped by physical barriers. So, he phased out through the floor. Good test data there.
Fortunately, there was nothing to make me, or Hellsing's intelligence analysts, think that the vampire I was hunting was anything other than another freak-chipped wannabe.
So, with my perimeter set to contain any escapees, I made my final preparations and entered the old school that this vamp had made into his headquarters.
Just a score or so of ghouls my ass. There was closer to a gross of the dammed things. The good news was that Sir Hellsing had agreed to a 'pay per kill' contract above my retainer. So, each ghoul was worth two pounds sterling. Unfortunately, the paperwork for keeping an accurate tally was a pain in the ass.
Just as I was down to the last five or so ghouls, I heard the sound of knives slicing through the air. A quick dodge before three silver knives passed through the space I had been occupying and embed themselves into my erstwhile opponents. From the way that the ghouls started smoking and collapsed, I think they had been blessed in holy water in addition to being pure silver. I also noticed that the handles were offset from the chord of the blades. In fact, the design reminded me of mid 1800's bayonets, except where the collar would have attached to the muzzle a handle of wood was fitted instead.
The slow heavy tread of someone who doesn't fear what he's walking into told me where the blades had originated. Back down the hall I had filled with headless ghouls, I saw a tall (around seven feet at least) thin man with short blond hair. He was wearing what looked Like priest robes and white gloves. Of course, he was monologuing as he turned towards me, ending with an 'amen'.
Removing the head of the last ghoul in the immediate area filled the time until the priest's speech ended. Honestly, I've never understood monologuing. Most of the time, it's done by some dumb fuck who just lives to hear himself talk. Sure, you might hear something important, but most often it's a waste of time to listen. In this instance, there was exactly one word worth listening to, that last 'amen'.
That word told me what I was dealing with. It wasn't a happy exclamation often found in a southern Baptist pew, or a solemn congregation wide acknowledgement of the Lord's word. No this was the almost orgasmic cry of a true zealot.
Now, my personal view on religion is that it's between a person and whatever god (if any) they choose to worship. I think if the whole world would agree to that, here would be a lot fewer troubles around.
Zealots however, are the exact opposite. They believe that their god is the only one that is to be worshiped, and they will kill to make it so. They also have a very disturbing (to me at least) habit of replacing facts with faith. And they will kill to get their way. The most extreme ones will actually get high while performing their perceived holy duties. Needless to say, they are not my most favorite type of people to deal with.
Unfortunately, this particular zealot was going to have to be dealt with. Hopefully without bloodshed. I'm not being paid to kill zealots (yet) and if this priest is from the Vatican, then Sir Hellsing would probably not be happy if I take his head.
Assuming I can, that is. This priest was presumably out hunting vampires alone. That means he must be tougher than average. Plus, he doesn't smell right. Like he has been modified in some way. Well, I can't exactly hold that against him, can I?
Anyway, the best chance to get through this was to get the priest to engage his brain, rather than just follow his zealot high directed instincts. And the best way to do that is to do something unexpected that requires thinking.
"Those three count as mine." I said. As I had hoped, the priest stopped his advance. So far, so good.
A\N I'm shitty at writing accents, so my apologies in advance. It's supposed to be Irish, just so you know./
"What 'er you on about? I'm about to wipe the walls with you, you damm…ghoul?" He trailed off at this point. I think it had just registered with him that ghouls don't talk.
"Okay, first. I'm not a ghoul or any other kind of undead. Second, my contract pays me by the kill, and since you've just come from upstairs, I'm guessing I won't be getting the payment for killing the vamp."
"Ye take pay for doing the Lord's work?" His tone was confused. Apparently killing ghouls and vamps was good, but being paid for it was not.
"Some of us don't have insanely rich sponsors to back our hunts. I'm getting a set rate for the ghouls and vamp, plus a bonus for completion. But if you've already dropped the vamp, that bonus is gone. So, I need all the ghouls just to break even."
"Oo would be payin to get te Lord's work done?"
"Sorry, padre. I take confidentiality seriously. Look at it this way. All you and I see in this hall are a bunch of dead ghouls. Nothing to worry over. But when the locals find this mess, they'll see a bunch of dead people. They don't know about vampires and ghouls, so they'll investigate. They'll see 'John Doe, cause of death decapitation' and go looking for the killer. The fact that he was dead before I took his head won't matter in the slightest to them. And if I'm taken in, the last thing I want to be doing is blabbing about who I was working for. That's just bad business."
I could see that he was coming off his fervor high now. Great. A few more minutes and I might be able to walk out of here.
"Ay, I ken be seeing that. Fer a moment, I thought ye'd be one 'o that Hellsing jezebel's pet abominations. I'ma sure she's be whining about violating some damm line onna map."
'Nah, I'm freelance. Still, the more hunters, the better. More dead freaks that way. And if there's set territories, then there's less fighting among them over who gets the hunt. That'll make life easier for…LOOK OUT!"
Alas, my warning was too late. Apparently, I had been too successful at calming the zealot down. One of the ghouls had been shielded behind him and managed to nock his knee down and get a bite of the priest's neck. And like that, all the work I had done to calm him down went up in smoke.
The second or two that it took for the priest to dismember the ghoul saved my life because I got to see his trump card. This priest was a regenerator. Some madman had made a true regenerator. Just my luck. Not even the Wyvern school was crazy enough to build that much regeneration into someone. Witchers have documented a lot of serious drawbacks to that kind of enhancement, including: insanity, mental disassociation, lack of self-preservation, aggressiveness, bloodlust, and berserker tendencies just to name a few.
That's not to say it's a bad ability to have. Just that it's not a good ability to have all the time. Ah, potions, a Witcher's best friend.
A quick assessment of the upcoming fight clued me into the several advantages I held over the priest. And I would need them. He already had the reach, strength, and endurance cards in his hands.
But I had experience in fighting evenly matched opponents. Downloaded when I arrived, but there nonetheless. My instinct was that he had not fought a life-or-death battle against a peer in a very long time if ever. His body language was that he expected an easy win. Not on my watch.
The next ace I had was equipment. Silver weapons are great against most of the monsters that I hunt, but not against humans. Silver is soft, so it doesn't hold an edge. Even my silver weapons have a core of steel. Furthermore, given the fact that the ghoul had taken a bit of the priest's collar along with his neck, I'm pretty sure his robes were nothing more than cloth. Unlike my own magic reinforced leathers.
Magic was another card I held. All the Witcher schools had worked to refine many spells down to the point that they could be used in combat without needing long incantations or debilitating amounts of power.
And finally, I had potions. Before entering, I had downed several in preparation. I was pretty sure I wouldn't have needed them, but I tend towards over preparation when I'm working alone. So, I had Petri's Philter (to boost magic), Swallow (for my own regeneration), Maribor Forest (for adrenaline boost), and Kiss (decreased bleeding) flowing through me when the main event began. Come to think of it, all those potions may be why the priest thought I was some kind of undead. All that toxicity really does a number on my good looks.
Overall, it was a hell of a fight. My .45 was empty, broken blades littered the floor (seriously, how many of those things can one priest carry), the edge of my steel Kukri was ruined, and the two of us were rolling around like children in a school yard tussle.
The end came in the form of the last ghoul. The noise of our fight had lured it down from the upper level, and it proceeded to do what ghouls do. Fortunately, I was underneath the priest at that moment (not a phrase I am comfortable with) so the ghoul effectively pulled him off me. At least enough for me to stuff a potion vial into his mouth, then smash his mouth to break it.
Now, most Witcher potions are lethally toxic to normal people, but he was anything but normal. So, I made sure to feed him the most toxic potion I had. Luckily, the Black Blood's effect would not aid my opponent in any way against me. But it would (hopefully) force his regeneration to focus on clearing it out instead of healing his wounds.
While he was gagging on the vile concoction and wrestling with the ghoul, I was able to get an Aard sign off to get some distance.
The ghoul and the priest then finished their discussion while I grabbed my sword and got up.
What happened next was straight out of a samurai movie. I looked at the priest holding the longest of his broken blades (it had only lost about an inch from the tip) while he looked at me holding my sword. Pure samurai standoff. Then we charged past each other. My jacket got another deep scratch along my shoulder and pectoral, while he collapsed screaming on the burning stumps of what used to be his legs.
If I had had any doubt about whether this priest was a zealot or not were settled as he began crawling towards me still clutching his blade. That put me in a bit of a dilemma. I hadn't lied about wanting more hunters out and about, not to mention the political implications of killing off one of the Vatican's best agents (probably). But I wasn't going to let him continue to try and kill me either. So, I chose a middle ground. I cut off his arms at the shoulders.
Finally, it was over. The priest passed out while his limbs continued to burn. His regeneration was keeping the fire at bay, but nothing else. And the fire was still burning, feeding on the energy that was trying to repair the damage.
As I sat leaning against the wall, I realized that I needed some help to clean up the loose ends. Fortunately, the overheard conversation about banishment rituals had inspired me to learn one or two. You know, just in case. But I needed to know where to send him. A quick call to Sir Hellsing answered that, so by the time a Hellsing cleanup crew arrived, Mr. Zealot Priest was on his magical way back to his boss, some Bishop named Maxwell.
On a brighter note, Sir Hellsing was impressed enough with my victory to pay me a bonus, even though I technically didn't complete my mission as directed. After all, I wasn't the one to kill the vamp that caused all the trouble in the first place.
Later, I heard Integra laughing her ass off after receiving a call from that Maxwell guy. He was apparently accusing Hellsing of capturing and torturing a member of Section XIII. Sir Hellsing informed him that by the time her troops had arrived, there was nothing in the building except the remains of 147 ghouls, one dusted vampire and about three dozen broken bayonets.
That was all true, I'd been outside disabling my ward when the support arrived. Gotta love plausible deniability.
Integra's Vatican contacts later reported that Maxwell went to the pope himself to try to get authorization to retaliate, but couldn't provide any proof that Hellsing was involved. In fact, he was reprimanded for violating the treaty in the first place.