"You must have scared Makube to talk about your replacement like that."
The two women were sitting in the back seat of the car again. Sir Integra, pensive, stares out the slightly tinted window. Outside, the cars are not yet moving. In the midst of the plain, dark patches formed by the long lines of vehicles, so numerous in Marylebone on this late autumn morning, shine the corner of a shop window, the star of a hood, the silver frame of a lamppost, the braid of a chauffeur. At last, the first cars clear the way and, one by one, the whole line soon begins to move slowly. A thousand dancing lights glow, as if awakened, rapid flashes cross the wheels, sparks fly from the car bodies. On the ground, on the trees, broad reflections of glass panes run. Seras is about to repeat herself when the director's voice cuts her out.
"You're the one who's worried, Seras."
Seras is poised to say something, but the words die on her lips. A gesture from Integra perhaps provokes her displeasure and she stammers in a subdued voice: "Please put that snuff-box away, that's the third cigarette you've smoked in an hour."
Integra has a soft laugh, but complies. "I don't have any good news about my health to give you. The disease is progressing, quietly."
"But, Sir..."
"Humans are mortal, Seras, accept it. You cannot say I didn't ask for it."
Then she falls silent, her lips pursed, her gloved fingers tapping nervously on the armrest. The car takes Cromwell road, heading for Kensington. The rolling, cadenced thud of moving cars passes like a mournful wail down the crowded alley.
"Are you concerned about your fate when I'm gone?"
"I'm concerned about you, Sir."
"There's no point in you worrying about things you can't do anything about. As for what comes next... I plan to pass the Hellsing inheritance into the hands of the Crown. It won't be much different from when you were in the police, you'll be working for the Ministry of Defence. What a face you make…"
"It's just that, I don't know how Master will take it."
"He has probably already thought about it. Now, he will hate it, especially since Her Majesty's death. You'll have to look after him, as you do now."
Seras shrinks and shudders as if her master has pressed a naked nerve. "When the moment comes," says Seras, summoning courage at last, "I sometimes think that -" She hesitates.
"That what?" asks Integra sharply, "that he's going to betray us too?" but those last words never pass her lips.
"Well, that he will disappear. That he'll disappear, with the power he's obtained."
Integra remains silent after Seras has uttered her last sentence, risking an upward glance at her master. Sir Integra's eye expresses at once a stern surprise. "Perhaps this is for the best," she says, "he has borne his cross already."
The sun was setting in a light gray October sky, streaked on the horizon with thin clouds. The last rays caress the thatched cottages of Wells village, reminiscent of medieval times. All the ocher undertones of the homes, alleys, pavilions and low walls are revived, as though dusted with gold. The cathedral, large and majestic, faces the declining sun, bestowing upon itself its superb bronze finery. A westerly breeze wafts through the hills surrounding the village. Smell it, dear reader, how sweet it is with scents of heath and rush. As we enjoy this beautiful scenery, the sun casts its last fiery glances into the pond that encloses the church and the Bishop's gardens.
The streets are barren, or nearly so, in this late afternoon. What attracts the English to pubs and nightlife on a Saturday night rejects them the next; so, reader, it's no surprise to find these places deserted on this Lord's Day. All in all, from the outside, everything seems normal; to start raising eyebrows and asking questions, one would have to enter the houses. Then we would see that most of them are empty, or occupied by policemen, who are hardly the heart of the village's professions.
Seras Victoria climbs out of a four-wheeler in civilian clothes and strides down one of the village's main thoroughfares. She stops in front of the faded blue stone façade of a pub. Already lit flames flicker in the two lanterns flanking the entrance. Night will soon fall. She steps inside. Nothing could be more typical than this inn, with its faded woodwork and country furniture, and the great rustic bea²ms supporting the roof. A game is being played on the screens. A group of men seated in a circle quickly turn on her as she enters. Civilians only in their attire. Of course, the reader will know that pubs are not the most unpleasant of places for mercenaries. The young woman's gaze shifts to somebody else.
"Ah, master, always cheating," Seras exclaims, squinting like a disgruntled cat at the vampire sitting in the corner of the room. The man gives her one of his expanded, genial smiles, noticeably content with her presence. For him, it only took a few seconds to get over a hundred miles from London.
"I'm not cheating," he says, "thirty years is reasonable enough to gain a new ability. That's almost how long it took you to become a full vampire."
"Yeah, sure, that's right," the young woman replies wryly at the dig.
"The weapons are in the back room," Alucard points out, watching her with some amusement as she makes her choice. "I think it's going to be quite a fun night, don't you?"
"It's only you who's amused; me, I'd like a holiday, a bit of holiday!"
The vampire has a short laugh. "You're the one working tonight though, I cannot release my seals again or our master will kill me."
"Oh, no kidding, that's strong! Here, take a gun, then!"
"I don't want it."
"You're too much! Why come, just to make fun of me?"
"I've come to observe..." He falls silent, looks expectant for a few moments. He quickly resumes: "How was the lecture with the Bishop this morning, Seras?"
She cannot help but smile. "I find he's been much nicer to Sir Integra since you came back, master." The two exchange a knowing glance. "Even though she was quite adamant about not having Section XIII here tonight."
"And right she is. This evening for sure is all about intimidation." Saying this, he goes to open the window and listens. "It's only the wind rising, but I expect them in a few minutes."
Seras blinks at him briefly. At present, she senses no foes yet. "What do you mean, master?" she inquires.
"There will be quite a few of them." He pauses, then shifts his gaze back to his fledgling. "They must have taken exception to us being in their way lately."
As he finishes his sentence, the mercenaries' and policemen's radios buzz to life. The men beckon to the two vampires, one of them saying: "Some action at last, fangfaces. A few dozen coming from the South."
"How you guys speak to us!" grumbles Seras. "Master, you let 'em talk like that!" A few laughs erupt in the mercenary troupe.
"I have little to respond to men who use such language against a woman who does all their work." Only silence answers the bass voice. "Let's get on with it, Seras."
Indeed, they both leave the pub alone. The mercenaries are content enough to lurk in the windows of the village houses that night, or to simply use their radio transmitters. The young vampire displays a smile on her lips, and her skin radiates a rosy hue - but not as a result of the cold. In a moment of reflection on her master's slight change of heart, Seras's senses go alert at once and she instinctively raises her rifle with supernatural speed. In one motion, it spears its assailant by the barrel, followed by a quick squeeze of the trigger. The tide of blood and brain dispersing before Seras's eyes sparks an animal instinct within her that supersedes her initial feeling of disgust. A thrill courses through her veins; she finds it almost entertaining how this beast has caught her off guard - because to her, these vampires, with no history or soul to speak of, were nothing more than savage beasts. As the corpse returns to dust, a trampling sound is heard from the other end of the street.
"Good shot," says a male voice, different from her master's however.
The two vampires turn to face the man, Alucard still silent. A dark figure stands about ten yards from them, dressed in a bistre suit that almost harmonizes with the hues of the town. All his studied charm suggests that this gentleman has as little soul as his minions, for his aura indicates to the two Hellsing agents a power far superior to the small fry of recent months. The three of them stare at each other silently in the dark. Finally, the stranger speaks again:
"I will warn you guys only once. Leave these premises and there will be no collateral damage to civilians… nor to you."
He barely has time to finish his tirade when a hoarse, sarcastic laugh cuts him off.
"I'm always amazed at your hubris," Alucard replies dryly, "it's as if you never learn." And with a swift movement, he draws his Jackal and shoots the stranger in the head. The man makes no effort to dodge the bullet and his head shatters on impact, his whole body toppling over and falling lifeless to the ground. Then, and more surprisingly for our two partners, his entire body dissolves in a thick amalgam of blood, eventually melting into serpentine shapes and spilling unnaturally along the cobbled street.
"Neither your weapon nor your girlfriend's will be enough to kill me!" shouts the same voice, but from nowhere. Although his master does not react, Seras gasps in disbelief. Once again, it was the decomposing power she witnessed earlier in the week - only this one is doing it with so much more ease! She has barely had time to recover from her shock when a horde of vampires emerges from the top of a stone warehouse and rushes right at them. She aims and slaughters the first two in mid-air; the last one has time to land in front of her, she kicks him away and shoots him in the heart.
"All you do is hide, though," she says. Exasperated, she realizes that the first shot did not kill them; she puts a cartridge back and fires again, right through the heart. Seconds later, their agonized sighs resound louder.
"Doesn't your little toy work anymore, Seras?" asks her master behind her with undisguised satire.
"Oh, you tire me!" And as he chuckles, she finishes off the three vampires with the shadows of her arm.
"I will see for myself how many there are," Alucard says.
Seras has no time to turn around before the man has already disappeared. "But he's no better than the mercenaries! I hate this ridiculous ability," she protests. She decides to keep her weapon strapped to her back, just in case, using a filament from the black mass protruding from her shoulder; and so she runs, dashes, jumps, with perfect balance, landing on the roof of a house where she has felt a presence. Her instincts have not deceived her: there are a handful of them waiting for her, and in a flash, she decimates them. Her carnage complete, she leans forward to catch a squirt of blood from one of the bodies on her outstretched tongue. For her pleasure only. She savors it, licks the last drops from her lips and heads off again, further west.
"Hope you're enjoying yourself, Seras, but," Alucard's voice echoes in her mind, "hurry back south. They're a hundred strong, I will lend you a hand..."
"Yes, sir," she replies eagerly, feeling her master's shudder as if it were her own. The decaying darkness of her arm envelops her, and with a powerful bend of her legs she soars into the air. Since her master has acquired Schrödinger's power, she still has trouble sensing his presence, and instead smells intensely the creeping, nauseating stench of the vampire army swarming over the village. "Where are you?" she asks.
"On the rampart beside the Bishop's gardens..."
Seras approaches it precisely, she has just landed on the bus station with a loud shattering of glass; inexplicably, her heart speeds up abruptly, she feels a great blow to her stomach and stumbles, almost falling to the ground. Yet there's nothing around her, she feels nothing but an inextricable anguish - and then she hears it, the unleashing of an excruciating wail in her head. It lasts only a moment, but all her blood has frozen in her veins. She stands still.
"Did you hear… that?" Her heart beats wildly as she waits for her master's answer. "Master? Are you all right?"
"Yes, everything is fine. Get over here now." His tone is pressing.
The young vampire spares no questions and hurries towards the battlements. The trees have not yet shed their leaves and she has to run from house to house to get a clear view to the south. At last, the shrubs give way to simple, dense bushes, and in the distance she sees the misshapen mass of vampires crossing the plain towards the village. Opposite her, fifty yards ahead, the red-clad man is crouching on the wall, and waves to her briskly. He then turns around sharply and in the next second, a flash of light passes behind him at breathtaking speed, heading for the meadow. The missile crashes into a cluster of vampires with a resounding thud, the scene soon obscured by thick smoke.
There's a momentary flutter among the vampires as they scatter, disorganized and probably slightly frightened, before a shower of even faster but smaller-caliber missiles falls upon each of them. In utter confusion, Seras leaps to join her master. He has risen, and despite his opaque glasses, she can make out a tight, suspicious expression on his face. "Wasn't Section XIII supposed to stay in its kennel tonight?" he asks.
Seras stammers, her heart pounding: "Yes, well, I thought so." At the same moment, she hears the voices of the mercenaries on her radio. She grabs it, her palms sweating through her gloves. "Guys, what's that?"
"Do you copy Seras? Excellent fucking question, but it's not Section XIII, they just confirmed it. It's the first fucking thought we had." Seras glances at her master, who is now staring behind them, towards the cathedral, dimly lit by the moon. She follows his gaze. The church is barely half a mile from where they stand. "They're coming, by the way, Section XIII is coming. What the fuck is this shit?"
"Keep me informed, okay?" she says, not taking her eyes off her master. What a dark glint in his eyes, so bemused is she by his expression that she does not hear the mercenary's rambling reply.
"I wonder..." Alucard says quietly to himself. His face tilts slightly towards Seras, as if he has just remembered her presence. "Seras, open your senses. Do you see what I see on the cathedral?"
The young vampire swallows, then gathers her wits, feeling a murky force thicken and unfold within her, like tiles sliding over each other. "I see two people, on the right tower. They're going to shoot again." She holds her breath as new bursts of fire pierce the now dense night, and it's a breathtaking sight, like a thousand spears lighting up the sky with a harsh glare. Her eyes follow the frantic race of the bullets, all of them crashing down without fail on their victims, and yet they are - were fast. "Master... what on earth is that?"
His expression is still tense despite the smile that springs to his lips. "A fun night, yes... Come."
At once, the man leaps for the cathedral; Seras attempts to catch up but his shadow is already far gone, soon melting into the draperies of the night. A sharp, incisive impatience has awakened in her master, a forgotten sparkle has flashed in his eyes. As she reaches the low tower facing the cathedral, a quick flash catches her eye; she sees the vampire, her master, half crouched on top of the church's right tower, weapons drawn, struck by a rocket of at least 40mm calibre.
In that brief moment when the cathedral is aglow with the glare of the shot, she also spots the weapon in question. She is astonished - much more so than to see her master shot, who has certainly put himself in that situation very willingly - to see a veritable war machine, the barrel of which is of gargantuan proportions and she quickly discerns massive modules attached to it. Then it all dies down, the great nebulous hands of the night close over her vision, and she hears and feels her master fall to the ground, cushioning his fall. She joins him on the vast green expanse at the foot of the cathedral, and there he is, covered in blood, his body struggling to recover from the blow he has taken. The shot was not particularly well-aimed, only his arm suffered, half torn off. Seras is dismayed to see him laughing.
"Master, are you... well?"
At first, he answers nothing, only his massive shoulders are shaken by a silent laugh, then he rises to his full height, a carmine glow lighting up his eyes fiercely through his glasses.
"Perfect, I thought so, ah! ah! That little nun - mh! Excellent..." His voice then rises, distorting, resonating deeply in the clerical enclave. "Now! show me what you've got."
Appalled by his enthusiasm, Seras feels her master's entire aura swell. In the distance, she can hear the whirr of a helicopter approaching. "A nun? So this is Iscariot?"
The man does not answer; the next moment, he fades into his own amorphous shadows, which begin to creep eerily along the cathedral, emerging at its summit in a swarm of darkness and upturned red eyes, weapons aimed at what Seras senses to be two people, two humans. Then her ears ring, she loses her balance; it is that horrible wail in her head again; before her dazed eyes, a deflagration blossoms from the top of the church, setting the night ablaze until it becomes day.
A searing vision flashes through her mind. A bloodstained spear on a marble floor.
Her instincts conjure her to run. She sees her master redecompose himself: he is dodging the blow or, rather, fleeing.
All this happens in a matter of seconds, followed by the deafening sound of the sound barrier being breached, and then the blast of an explosion, already a long way off, raising wisps of twilight on the horizon. Fury seizes Seras, and ignoring the danger, she dashes towards the cathedral and climbs to the top of the left tower. On the opposite one, illuminated by the faint penumbra of the nearly full moon, she first sees the monstrous machine still smoking from the shot it has just fired. The gun itself is typical of a machine cannon, albeit accompanied by modules whose purpose Seras does not understand, but whose noise alone she perceives, its giant breathing, panting with fever, opening its blowpipes, releasing swirling streams of white vapor. A haze rose from it, unfurling like a shroud.
There are two figures cloaked in shadow; the first, visibly male, half-reclining, manipulating the cannon, is faintly visible; the second is that of a woman, her face partly lit by a selenic glow. The opalescent sheen of the night accentuates the pallor and weariness that mark her features, yet she is very beautiful, the delicate lines of her figure admirable, and even more so her jade irises that scrutinize her. The nun - this was clear to Seras now that she was standing up, her chasuble fluttering in the wind - faces her, her attitude peaceful and aloof. The Draculina holds her weapon hesitantly in her hand. It is the other who speaks first, in a slow, quiet voice, and with an ironic inflection:
"Nice weapon you have, I wonder who made it?"
Seras has no time to retort as the sound of the helicopter she heard earlier startles her; it is indeed a few dozen yards from the cathedral and soon blinds her with its headlights. The nun turns away in its direction, a slight smile spreading across her lips, her head tilted, her eyes squinted and dazzled. Reader, what a phantasmagorical allure she has! - her dark dress and veil flapping in the wind, her expression both attentive and jeering. With a word to her companion, she slips out of the light projected onto the towers, down the hatch leading to the stairs. The helicopter seems to mimic her as it begins its descent to the ground, where Seras herself stood a minute ago. With mingled surprise and amusement, she notices her master on the lawn as well, perfectly neat and unscathed. He nods for her to join him.
"So, your bets, Seras? Iscariot?" he says in thought as she leaps from the top of the tower to his side.
"The nun told me she made my gun," she replies aloud once she has landed. "Is she the… dead gunsmith from section III Matthew?"
"I suppose we are blessed to have both. Look at Makube getting out." And indeed, the Bishop steps out of the helicopter, waving to the two vampires with an agitated expression on his face. Rarely does Alucard speak to him, but tonight it is too tempting. "Good evening, Monsieur l'Évêque, it's a beautiful night, isn't it? A night that brings the dead back to life... even the religious."
The Bishop's jaw twitches as he prepares to throw a good sally himself, only to be interrupted by a creak from the church porch. All eyes turn to the double doors, which slowly open to reveal the nun's shadow in their frame. Her quiet, steady steps take her to the bottom of the perron where she stops, her hand resting on the railing, her gaze fixed on the Bishop. The two clerics seem to lock eyes in hostility for a moment, until the curve of the Bishop's shoulders softens.
"You look horribly thin," he says.
"Your hair has become more salt than pepper," counters the other gently.
"That's what five years will do to a man," Makube replies, his tone stiffening involuntarily. He pauses, searching for the right words. "Five years can be a long time." The nun's features soften at once at his words, her eyes growing both brilliant and gentle. The man gestures away his embarrassment and continues: "Anyway, I imagine all this is more the shady ways of Section III than your own."
"I cannot contradict you, Father."
"Well, well! So they are sending you back to us? Frankly, why not join Iscariot directly? Come over here. How thin you have become! Is that one of your agents up there too?"
"He is. Where are yours?" She glances briefly at the two vampires watching the scene from a distance. "Did you replace them with Hellsing's?"
The Bishop jerks slightly, as if remembering their presence. He stares at them, unsure of the reaction his words will provoke. Please understand, dear reader, that this is a delicate situation for our Bishop. It is out of the question for him to put his protégée in danger, but after all, she did shoot the Hellsing agent, and what is more, the Vatican was not supposed to act against their common enemies that night either.
"I will invite Sir Integra to our quarters tomorrow to discuss what happened tonight. Feel free to come," is the placid solution he chooses to present to them. 'Sir Integra' is after all the magic word to bend the backs of these monsters.
The man in the red coat nods and offers him a royal silence in response indeed; he turns on his heels and walks away quietly, an odd smile on his lips.