A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you for the favs/follows/reviews! I love them all and you all so much!

I apologize for the delay in this chapter. Like I said, I work in the healthcare industry so its been mad busy. I hope all of you are safe and taking proper precautions/measures.

Here is the next chapter! Please enjoy!

Twenty minutes after Olivia's hasty departure, Manali found herself kneeling on the drawing room floor, sweeping the remaining shards into a dust pan. Pushpa had wanted to stay home, but Manali insisted she go to class and focus on her artwork. There was no point in upsetting her daughter even more.

After double checking that the floor was clean, Manali sat down and dropped her head in her hands. Olivia was probably confronting Walter in private right now—she would demand answers from him first before even considering broaching the topic with Sir Hellsing. Olivia obviously loved and trusted Walter, especially since they grew up together, but her frantic reaction and the doubt in her eyes proved even she wasn't blinded by nostalgia.

Yet, just because she could see the possibilities didn't mean she would take action.

Manali could only hope Olivia would take this accusation seriously and allow the hammer of justice to fall, regardless of the head it fell upon.

Her scar burned with memories of betrayal and heartbreak as her ring finger became dead weight. She was 12 when she'd met her husband. He was the rickshaw driver three years her senior who drove her father to work. He had warm, hazelnut eyes, dimples when he smiled, and always greeted her with a little trinket he found. It was love at first sight—at least that is what Manali deluded herself into believing—and they decided to get married after knowing each other for 3 months. Naturally her parents opposed the union, reminding her that her future husband was theirs to choose and if they caught her sneaking off to meet him again that she would casted out to the streets. But Manali continued to rendezvous with her beloved, cursing her parents for being so cruel, which eventually culminated in her stealing her mother's silver and eloping to Delhi with him.

And the red flags unfurled immediately.

His abrupt drinking, his frantic gambling, the way he treated her in general—berating her for the tiniest things that never bothered him before. Yet, Manali ignored the signs because this was her beloved—the boy who gifted her flowers and crooned sweet love songs as she embroidered saris. He said their love was one of a kind, that he would move the stars for her. So Manali just had to be there for her husband, and soon they would be lovebirds again.

Just like her mother had taught her: Be good to your husband and he would be good to you.

What complete horseshit.

And what a foolish child she was to trust in that 'advice' so wholeheartedly.

Five months after eloping, Manali discovered she was pregnant and the miracle finally happened. Her husband was once again that sweet, romantic boy, and Manali wept with joy that her beloved was so thrilled to be a father.

If only she had the hindsight to realize he fawned over her growing bump not as his child, but as his investment.

Children were worth so much on the market, and newborns were considered the cream of the crop.

So, Manali continued to live in her fantasy world where love conquered all and there was no such thing as deceit.

Then, not even a week after Pushpa was born, Manali's rose colored glasses were shattered.

She awoke to Pushpa's wailing and her husband missing.

And when she raced into the nursery, she found her husband—her beloved who could do no wrong and loved her—tying up their baby with rope and trying to gag her with a dishcloth.

Upon reflection, Manali liked to believe her love for Pushpa tore the wool from her eyes, fueling her still weak body with the power to launch herself at his back and sink her teeth in his neck.

And, for the first time in her life, Manali fought.

Even when he bucked her off and burrowed his heel into her chest.

Even when he brandished that knife and ordered her to be silent or he would gut her like a fish.

Even when he made true on his threat and the knife's teeth sliced through her skin.

She fought—kicking, screaming, clawing, biting, anything to protect her child.

To be honest, Manali wasn't aware she was bleeding out until her husband's corpse laid before her, that knife jutting from his throat, as she held a wailing Pushpa in her arms.

"It's alright, little one." She cooed, kissing her tears away, her knees giving out and her vision dimming with every passing second. "No one can harm you now. I'm here, I'm here."

Even now, Manali still had no idea how she survived.

Yet she did, only to be alerted by a 'well-meaning' nurse that her recovery didn't matter in the end because she would be put to death for murdering her husband.

Perhaps that adrenaline from on high was still coursing through her veins. How else was Manali able to escape from the hospital with Pushpa and sneak onto a train to Vrindavan while missing 28% of her blood supply?

A mother's love defied all the odds, she supposed.

The temples of Vrindavan were a sanctuary for widows, forever dressed in white and spending their days in prayer in return for food. So the temple corridors were where she stayed, clutching her baby to her still raw chest, as her heart became steel.

In terms of symbolism, Manali, the naïve little girl, had died that night and from the ashes rose Manali, the mother who vowed to never trust and to never be vulnerable again.

But, as a widow, she had no power. She and every other woman—widow or not—had no control over their own destinies. They existed for a predetermined set of reasons, and when they failed or wore out those conditions, they were left to rot in the dirt.

But Manali wouldn't let that happen.

Society told her to know her place and keep her head to the ground? She would reply with "Fuck you" and spit in its face.

No longer would she be a meek lamb, but a fierce lioness who would obtain power to protect her cub from any harm.

And the quickest route to obtaining power was to first gain knowledge.

Day after day, Manali squatted outside the school window, listening to the lessons while nursing Pushpa. Her pencil was her finger, and her notebook was the dirt. By the time she grasped the basics of both the Hindi and English alphabet, her nails were cracked to the cuticle and dirt tattooed the ridges. The British occupation of India meant learning English was imperative to survival as well as hoping for a chance to climb the bristled status ladder.

So Manali continued to study while performing her 'obligations' as a widow, her bitter heart growing with every passing day as more widows—some younger than her—entered the temples. How cruel the world was, casting aside the weak and vulnerable instead of condemning the wicked and vile.

What a rotten world we live in.

Then, shortly after Pushpa's first birthday, an opportunity presented itself.

A British aristocrat strutted into the temple, inquiring about a nanny for his child. He claimed he was fulfilling (his) God's word by helping them out of this unfortunate situation, and whoever volunteered would be paid accordingly. Oh, how presumptuous of him to assume the widows could understand him.

Regardless, Manali stepped forward, aweing the aristocrat with her English that she was offered the job on the spot, with that condition that his child's needs came before Pushpa's.

And she agreed, the lie sweet as honey on her tongue.

Manali was given a meager room in the aristocrat's estate, but it meant Pushpa finally had a bed so that was all that mattered.

The aristocrat and his wife put her right to work, using her to clean up after, feed, and nurture their seven year old son. In return, Manali used their son for knowledge.

While the child slept, Manali stole his school books and diligently study every page, absorbing all she could before silently placing the books back into his room in the morning. Mathematics, art, science, literature, and most importantly politics—Manali studied them until the aristocrat's wife grew suspicious about how worn her son's books were becoming.

Initially, Manali knew she wanted to obtain power.

Now, she had a plan on how to achieve it.

Slowly but surely, Manali would assimilate herself into the British culture, using this family as a stepping stone and carve a place out for her and Pushpa to live in.

How could she be so confident when she is a nanny for some aristocrats, you may wonder.

Ah, but this was no ordinary family she had found herself in.

These were relatives of the British royal family.

Yes, Manali would use everyone from the footman to the Queen herself in her pursuit of an untouchable sanctuary.

And when the aristocrat announced they would be visiting London for His Majesty's birthday, Manali almost howled in glee.

From the plane ride to the drive to the Palace, Manali couldn't find it in herself to be marveled by the new world surrounding her. No, there were far more pressing matters on her mind like who her next stepping stone would be.

While the adults conversed with each other and the children ran off to the playroom, Manali sneaked off to the archives and quickly began to pluck files off the shelf. My, my, Manali wasn't sure if palace security was that flimsy or she should've taken up the occupation of master thief.

She had gotten cocky though, hiding files under her apron with ease. Perhaps that is why she got caught.

Something tugged on her dress, and Manali whirled around to find a little girl in a newsboys cap and a homely pink dress gawking up at her with wide eyes.

"Why are you stealing from the Palace?"

Wide and insightful eyes.

"Because I can." Manali snatched her dress back and marched away, figuring it was time to hurry back to the aristocrat's son before the child alerted one of the guards or worse—the royal family. "And its borrowing, not stealing, so don't accuse me of a crime I'm not guilty of."

The little girl was silent for a moment before latching onto her dress again and tugging her back.

"What?!" Manali scowled down at her. "I just want to read them, and then I'll put them back!"

"You are missing the file about Grandfather." The little girl pointed out, tugging on her dress to follow her back to the shelves. "If you are going to read, then you have to read everything."

"G-Grandfather?" Manali's skin blanched as she stumbled after the girl. "Then…..that means—?"

"I'm Elizabeth." The little girl removed her cap as golden locks tumbled across her shoulders. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Shit, how could she not have recognized the princess even if she was wearing commoner's clothing?!

"Are you planning on calling the guards?" Manali gulped, sweat pooling at her brow as she struggled to maintain her composure. "Or do you have an ambush awaiting me the moment I step through the door?"

"No," Elizabeth shook her head before holding up the file. "Take it. Just promise you will bring it back. Mummy and Daddy will pitch a fit otherwise."

'So eloquent despite her age, she truly is of blue blood.' Manali eyed the file warily, wondering what game this little princess was playing at. "I don't trust you."

"That's okay."

"What if I plan to use this information to manipulate your family and use them for my benefit?" Manali wanted to smack herself out the window. 'You fucking twit! What are you doing?!'

"Then, as the future Queen, I suppose it's my duty to know the name of the person who aims to overthrow the monarchy," Elizabeth held her tiny hand out, her sharp gaze never wavering. "May I?"

Manali beheld that tiny, soft hand with nary a blemish in utter bemusement.

This had to be a trick.

Why would some spoiled palace brat who'd never gone to sleep famished or fearful of being assaulted offer her support?

How dare she mock her?!

With a hiss, Manali shoved the pile of files back onto the shelf and fled the room, leaving Elizabeth to watch her retreating form with her hand still outstretched.

Luckily she returned to her place by the son's side before anyone noticed she was gone and kept her head low, seething about this roadblock in her goal as well as her stupidity for admitting her plan to the princess of all people.

As the aristocrat drove his family and her back to their London estate, that fury rapidly dissolved into fear.

What had she done?

The Princess knew of her plan.

She could send her lapdogs to murder her and her daughter for daring to threaten the Crown—for daring to raise her head to someone 'leagues above her'.

The moment the car pulled into the garage and the child was preoccupied with his train set, Manali flew to her room and cradled Pushpa to her chest, vowing again and again that no harm would befall her. They would flee before the guards could reach the doorstep, Manali would alter her appearance and find work elsewhere. Her plan had to be put on hold until her daughter's safety was ensured and—!

DING-DONG

DING-DONG

Her throat constricted, each ring like a swing of the executioner's blade, and her knees gave out as the aristocrat open the door to the Royal Messenger.

'Is this where it ends?' Manali's hand flew to her mouth in a futile attempt to muffle her sobs. 'Pushpa, my baby, I'm so sorry. What have I done to you?!'

The door slammed shut, rattling the manor, and the aristocrat charged up the stairs, beckoning his wife and son.

And his voice….he sounded…..elated?

Peering around the doorframe, Manali found the aristocrat and his wife peppering their son's cheeks with kisses and waving a royal decree in the air.

A decree stating the princess' desire to strengthen their familial bonds and thus inviting the child and his nanny over for daily playdates.

Meaning the aristocrat and his family would permanently reside in London.

And meaning Manali wasn't going to be put to death…..at least, not yet.

'What the hell is going on?'

This question swirled around her brain on repeat as she stood in the royal playroom, observing Elizabeth playing tag with the son and other royal children. Her angelic smile and cherub laughter made Manali's eyes narrow, and she was tempted to grab the princess by the cheek and demand answers.

Soon it came time for a snack and all the children scrambled from the room—but not Elizabeth.

No, she skipped over to Manali's side and peered up at her.

"How old are you?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I am curious. I heard that you have a baby, but you look so young."

"You are very rude." Manali immediately bit her tongue, feeling like she was digging her own grave. "….I am 15."

"You are still a child then."

"How can you say that when you are barely out of swaddling clothes?!" Manali hissed, eyes darting to the guard observing her from the doorway. "…..Pardon me, Your Royal Highness. I am just…..confused."

"Confused about what?"

"You find me with what is not mine and declaring war on your family, yet you offer your hand to me and ask me such 'harmless' questions. What is it that you want? If you want me to grovel before you because you are royalty, then you are barking up the wrong tree."

"That is fine." Elizabeth shrugged while bouncing on her heels. "I didn't have you come here because I wanted an apology."

"Then why?"

"I want you to work with me."

"…..Did you hit your head on your ivory sink this morning?"

"I am not ignorant to the sins of my bloodline," Elizabeth carried on, ignoring Manali's question. "And I'm aware it's my country occupying your homeland, among most of the world. Though I am young—as you very graciously pointed out—I know if I want to use my God-given power for the best, then I need to learn all I can to be ready." Elizabeth held her hand out again. "And I believe you who speaks so plainly and knows of the world's truths so vividly came be my teacher."

"…..No God would give a human the power to reign over another." Manali scoffed, her eyes twitching at the smile Elizabeth gave her. "The world's power dynamics were crafted by humans alone."

"You see? That is why I need you at my side. No one else will tell me the truth, but you will. So, please," Elizabeth insisted, her hands still outstretched, "may I know your name?"

Manali found herself studying that tiny, pristine hand again. Yet this time, instead of fleeing, Manali grasped Elizabeth's index finger and gave it a light shake.

"…My name is Manali Yadav."

It didn't happen immediately and even when Elizabeth offered her the chance she'd been waiting for—the position as her advisor, Manali didn't lower her guard. She shared next to nothing with the aristocrat and the royals, but she did share their confusion about the princess' interest in her.

"What does Her Royal Highness want with her?" She heard the aristocrat's wife mutter when the Royal Guard came to bring her luggage to the Palace.

"What on Earth could a mousey nanny from the India slum teach our Princess?" She heard various royal staff members whisper to each other as she stood beside the princess in question.

The only two who weren't perplexed were the King and Queen themselves, stating 'if the Princess wants to make this girl her playmate, then so be it. She is young, let her get this out of her system.'

However, Elizabeth 'never got this out of her system' and as the years passed, she continued to look to Manali for guidance.

And gradually, Manali found herself voicing the injustices and cruelty she had witnessed by the hands of her own and Elizabeth's government. In truth, Manali didn't want to change the world, she just wanted to ensure an untouchable paradise for her daughter, and Manali was aware the royal family in the 20th century didn't have the same ruling power it did centuries ago.

But they did have influence and their words carried weight.

And when Manali expressed her abhorrence for the vile treatment of women, the damnation of the poor, the ignorance of the British colonizers who viewed her culture with contempt, Elizabeth listened—really, truly listened. Never once was there a "But Britain helped India with….!" or "Not all of us are like that!". No, Elizabeth didn't try to defend the actions of her people, she just listened and took Manali's words to heart.

"A gust of wind doesn't seem like much, but it is a gust of wind that can topple anything from a mere deck of cards to this very palace," Elizabeth explained, setting down her tea cup after one of their evening chats. "I hope to be the gust of wind that carries your voice as well as the voices silenced by my predecessors. I promise to do everything in my power to rectify the transgression of the past. It will take years, and neither of us may live long enough to see our work take fruit. But, I vow to plant the seeds and ensure the future does not replicate the past. Will you stand at my side and guide my hand? Will you….trust me?"

Like always when she asked that question, Elizabeth would hold out her hand.

And for years, Manali didn't reply or return the gesture, and Elizabeth never held it against her.

But, after years of voicing her views and opinions and having Elizabeth listen and actually take action, Manali felt the iron welded around her heart begin to rust off, revealing a torn yet still beating heart.

At long last, Manali had finally found her paradise where Pushpa could grow up without fear and would want for nothing. She slept in a plush bed every night and had people saluting/bowing to her in greeting. No one would dare to harm her and Pushpa now. It was everything she could dream of and more.

Yet, all Manali could feel was exhaustion.

She wanted to rest, to let down her hair after years of holding guilt, hatred, and malice in her heart.

So, ten years after their first meeting, Manali finally grasped Elizabeth firmly by the hand and breathed out a weary yet heartfelt "I will".

Elizabeth's smile rivaled the sun itself that evening.

And from that day on, Manali viewed Elizabeth no longer as a puzzling stepping stone, but a dear friend who she trusted and vowed to protect like a second daughter.

As for Elizabeth, whose curiosity had been ignited the moment she found Manali rifling through the royal archive, she was thrilled yet humbled that Manali had finally placed her trust in her hands. She was well-aware her pampered lifestyle shielded her from the world's cruelties, and Manali's initial abrasive nature was the result of experiencing those cruelties firsthand. That's why Elizabeth wanted to use her privilege to bring about awareness and change, so people like Manali didn't have to suffer anymore. So, knowing she had finally earned Manali's trust sent Elizabeth over the moon. She vowed to never give Manali a reason to doubt her and, deep down, Elizabeth hoped her actions would impress her. Elizabeth was well aware her dear advisor, mentor, friend, and first love would forever see her as family at most, but that was okay with her.

As long as Manali—strong, resilient, witty, courageous, beautiful Manali— was by her side, Elizabeth was content.

As for whether Manali was aware of Elizabeth's feelings, well….if she did, she never showed it.

Heaving another sigh, Manali's mind shifted from her journey to the past and back to the situation at hand.

She had been there during the 1943 Warsaw briefing, watching from the wings as Iscariot and Hellsing stood before the then seventeen year old princess. Afterwards, she had praised Elizabeth for her diplomatic skills yet the sight of the fifteen old year old Olivia and thirteen year old Walter weighed heavily on her mind. The knowledge that vampires and 'fairytale' creatures actually existed (and that the enslaved Dracula was taller than she thought) did not rattle her, but the reality that a grown man had placed the burden of his organization on the shoulders of children did.

When Manali questioned Elizabeth about this, Elizabeth stared at her lap with an ashamed expression before explaining that Hellsing answered to her mother only, who was Queen at the time. She insisted that she had voiced her displeasure, but Arthur insisted they were his best soldiers and her mother decreed as long as Hellsing did its duty, then the ends justified the means.

'Pieces of shit, the both of you!'

Since then, Manali kept her ears open about the ongoings of Hellsing and even used her old sticky fingers to dig up some intel on Olivia and Walter's past. Her disgust for Sir Hellsing grew with every page she read, and she wondered how those two kids could function properly.

Especially Olivia.

Walter may have been born into the role of a solider, but she wasn't. How wicked Arthur was to take advantage of a child who just lost her family and didn't speak a shred of English.

'Olivia Emese Song consented to joining Hellsing'? Bullshit, she was a child. Arthur should've done the responsible thing and taken her to child services where she could've had a chance at a normal life.

Yet, despite it all, Olivia apparently found love and married someone who adored her judging by the value of her ring. At this point, Manali suspected Olivia had married someone outside of Hellsing, and that notion thrilled her since it meant Olivia had some semblance of peace in her life.

Though her views on marriage and domesticity were still held in a dim light, Manali prayed Olivia's spouse would be good to her and sincerely love her.

Perhaps, like her daughter, Manali had fallen for Olivia's charms as well, feeling a sense of kinship with how protective she was towards her 'family' and her resilience in the face of adversity.

Regardless, she hoped Olivia shared in her ability to take action, even against a loved one.

CRASH

Manali shot out of her seat, a shard nicking the edge of her heel.

TAP

TAP

TAP

CRASH

Eyes locked onto the ceiling, Manali clicked the button on her brooch before removing a pistol from its holster beneath her dress.

Thirty seconds passed and neither of the guards answered her distress call, causing a rock to settle in her throat. Keeping her back to the wall, Manali inched towards the front door and parted the curtain.

The gate was locked shut, the grass swayed in the winter breeze, and the sounds of traffic could be heard in the distance.

And the guards were still at their posts.

'Is it broken?'

Manali pressed her brooch again, yet the guards remained in position despite the transmitters flashing at their hips.

"What the—?" She inspected her brooch for any defects when a shadow fell over her, and she gazed up to find the guards pressed against the window, the skin and muscle ripped from their faces. Their eyes were peeled outwards, blood pulsing out with every brea—oh God, they were still breathing! They were still alive!

Launching herself back, Manali smacked a hand over her mouth to stifle her screams as she could still see their silhouettes through the curtain.

"You rang, my lady? You rang, my lady?" They chanted in grating voices, now tapping the window with their nails. "Open the door! Open the door! Let us protect you!"

Without looking away from the window, Manali crawled to the parlor entrance way and peeled back a corner of the plaster, revealing a box of silver bullets. She quickly replaced the lead bullets with those and stood tall, willing herself to remain calm and collected.

'How ironic. I voice my suspicions of Walter C. Dornez committing treason, and now my home is being attacked. Fuck,' Plastering her back to the wall once more, Manali fished a silver rosary out of her dress, eyeing the red heart in the crucifix middle. 'I suppose I have no choice.'

"Should you ever find yourself in danger, press a kiss to this rosary and Hellsing will eliminate whatever dares to harm you." Arthur explained, handing her the silver string of beads the night prior. "Trust me, Advisor Yadav, we are at your service."

"I do not trust you, Arthur Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, yet what other choice do I have?" She pressed a kiss to the crucifix and immediately the guards' silhouettes disappeared.

All was silent.

Even the sounds of traffic had disappeared.

It was now that Manali noticed the dull pain in her foot and realized she'd left a trail of bloody footprints on the floor.

"Dammit," She knelt down to inspect the wound. "How could I—?"

A bubble rose from the bloody print directly beneath her, freezing her in place.

Then, a ripple followed by a barrage of bubbles.

"What the hell?!" Manali frantically scrambled away, watching in horror as a fountain of blood overflowed from the print and spread across the floor. "What the hell?!"

"So…..much…..fun…." A muffled voice giggled before a marionette arm shot out from the print, a small human hand welded at the wrist. Then arose the face, a fractured jawbone wired to the top half of a baby doll's head. "You….are...so…much…fun!"

With a petrified wail, Manali fired at the creature, only for bubbles to shoot out of the barrel instead of bullets.

"Wha…..?!" The pistol became visceral sludge in her grasp, and she flung it at the creature as it slithered closer.

"Play…play….play." The creature's arm sprung off its shoulder and latched onto her ankle, dragging her towards the fountain of blood. "We play…..play….play!"

"HELP ME!" Manali's nails snapped off as she furiously scratched at the floorboards, tears blinding her vision. "HELP ME! OLIVIA! OLIVI—!"

A maggot ridden hand slammed over her mouth, and the creature's laughter was the last thing she heard before being dragged under, leaving the silver rosary floating in the pond of blood.

At the Art Academy, Pushpa washed her hands in the 3rd floor lavatory while her mind wandered back to the evening's events.

What could have her mom said that would make Olivia—calm, sweet, elegant Olivia—act so frantic and unhinged?

And besides that, where did her portrait go? She made it a rule to never tear pages out of her sketchbook so how could it have gone missing?

Shutting the tap off, Pushpa wiped her hands on a towel and was about to leave when a familiar meow echoed throughout the lavatory.

"A cat?" Pushpa scanned the room before squatting down and checking the stalls, finding nothing. "Did I imagine it?"

But another string of mewls echoed around her, and Pushpa spun around like a mad carousel until she finally found the source.

"How the—?!" Pushpa gaped at the mysterious cat from the manor garden reflected in the mirror—No, a reflection required an object for light to bounce off it, the cat was inside the mirror.

The cat with its magenta eyes grinned at her, placing a paw on the mirror and meowing once more.

And, as if under an enchantment, Pushpa found herself copying the cat's actions, the glass oddly warm beneath her palm.

"Shall we go on an adventure, 'Alice'?"

Before she could even register what was going on, the cat yanked Pushpa into the mirror, her scream resonating throughout the room before dissipating entirely.

"When was the distress signal received?" Olivia questioned the solider as she stormed down the hallway, fastening her quiver to her waist while both the solider and Acelie struggled to keep up.

"Two minutes ago, Sir Hellsing issued the command to retaliate upon receiving the signal."

"Is everyone mobilized and ready to head out?"

"Yes, all members of our squad are accounted and ready for your orders."

"…And Walter's division? Are they ready as well?"

"Yes!...Well, somewhat."

Olivia screeched to a halt, nearly sending the duo trailing her crashing to the ground.

"What do you mean 'somewhat'?" The solider practically withered under her venomous glare, swearing they could spy smoke billowing from her mouth. "Are they ready? Or are they not?"

"W—W—Well, Mr. Dornez's division is ready but…no one has seen Mr. Dorenz since dinner."

It was all spiraling down on her.

Her dearest friend, who was nowhere to be found, was a possible turncoat, Sir Hellsing was being poisoned by his own brother, she was killing her husband with her mortality, and now Ms. Yadav was under attack.

She felt like she was losing her mind.

Perhaps she was.

"…..I see." Olivia's bangs shielded her eyes from sight and she cursed under her breath before continuing on her way. "Inform Walter's squadron that they will be taking orders from me."

"Until he is found?" The solider gulped, nearly tripping over their own feet if Acelie didn't reach out to stabilize them.

"No, not even when he shows his face." The trio paused at the top of the foyer stairway, and Olivia faced the solider once more. "Get everyone into the vans. We head out immediately." When the solider didn't respond, she gritted her teeth and pointed to the door. "Go!"

"Ye—Yes, sir!" The solider practically leapt down the stairs and out the door, the rage emitting from the usually mild-mannered commander sending chills down their spine.

"Mrs. Dracul," Acelie finally spoke up, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Allow me to accompany you. I know I can—."

"You are a guest in this manor, thus you will stay here and out of the way." Olivia commanded over her shoulder, storming towards Sir Hellsing's office and throwing the doors open to find Arthur in the middle of pouring himself a drink. Without hesitation, Olivia whipped out Sic Parvis Magna and batted the tumbler out of his hand, the glass shattering against the wall upon impact.

"What the fuck—?!"

"I will explain when I return, but you will not drink another drop of that poison." Olivia turned to Acelie who was frozen in place in the doorway. "Make sure he does not."

"Yes, Mrs. Dracul!" Acelie nodded, hurrying into the room and plucking the scotch bottle off the table as Arthur spurted in confusion.

"Who do you think you are, solider?! You don't give orders, I do!" Arthur shot up to his feet, slamming his hands down on his desk. "And I will be accompanying you and the troops to Advisor Yadav's home! I must—!" Arthur stumbled back into his chair as Olivia swung Sic Parvis Magna forward, the silver bow centimetres from his panting face.

"STAY." Olivia growled, a shadow casted over her eyes. "I do not have the patience to deal with you or anyone else right now." She then spied a rosary clutched in his hand, the red gem on the crucifix flashing rapidly. "What is that?"

"….It's the distress signal from Advisor Yadav. I gave it to her last night as a means of communicating with her."

Arthur and Acelie swore Olivia's eyes flashed red for a moment, and she ripped the rosary from Arthur's grasp.

"I hope this 'gift' won't cause her bodily harm, Sir Hellsing." Olivia held the rosary up high in her cursed hand. "Having your bones rearranged is not a pleasant experience."

"OLIVIA! HOW DARE—!"

"Make sure he doesn't drink anything, and find out the contents of that bottle." Olivia directed to Acelie over her shoulder as she marched out of the office, ignoring Arthur's orders for her to halt. "And if you see Walter, don't let him leave the manor."

Olivia flew down the stairs, snatched her coat off the hanger, and was about to grasp the doorknob when something grasped the tails of her coat.

Her eyes softened slightly at the sight of Alucard, and she reached up to place a hand on his cheek.

"Don't drink anymore of your wine. I promise to explain everything when I return, so please," Her voice cracked, revealing the fear she truly felt inside, "wait for me."

Alucard studied the hurricane swirling in her eyes and secured his hand over hers, angling his face so he could adorn her palm with kisses.

"Go. Decimate our enemies and orchestrate an aria from their screams." Alucard pressed one last kiss to her ring finger before allowing her hand to slip from his. "Return to me victorious, my Queen."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Olivia pulled him down for a kiss before rushing out the door.

Mounting her bike, she spared one final glance at the manor before revving the engine and tearing down the driveway with two armored vehicles close behind.

Upon reaching the Yadav residence, Olivia and the soldiers were greeted with the filleted corpses of the guards spread out across the lawn.

"Fucking shit." Olivia whipped out her bow as she immediately divided the soldiers into groups—Group A would secure the perimeter and keep civilians away, Group B was responsible for the guards' corpses, and Group C—which consisted of her six best soldiers—would accompany her inside the residence.

However, as she and her soldiers approached the entrance, briars shot up from the grass and entangled themselves around the soldiers' legs, rooting them into place.

"Livvy…..Livvy…." An airy voice drifted from the now open door, complete darkness awaiting her beyond the threshold. "Come play…..only you…..just you…..play…..play."

"Lieutenant General Song!" One of her soldiers called out, hacking at the briars with his knife only for more to take their place. "Wait! Don't go alone! Please, let us—!"

"All of you stay here." Olivia cut him off, slowly making her way across the porch. "And await my return with Advisor Yadav."

The moment she stepped over the threshold, the door slammed shut behind her as laughter tickled her ears.

"Come….find….us," The voice snickered, and Olivia felt water lap at her heels. "Hide….and….seek….ready….or….not….here…..we…..go."

Olivia closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

In her right hand, she was still clutching the rosary, its light pulsing like a heartbeat.

"Fine," Olivia wrapped it around her wrist before string up an arrow and taking a step forward. "Let's play."

A/N: Finally getting back into some action! Yes, Olivia is freaking pissed off and everyone better watch out! I hope to have the next chapter out soon, but please bare with me! Thank you guys always for your endless patience and love! Please leave a review! I love them all and you all so much!

Please be safe, and look forward to the next chapter! :D