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Blood, Ashes and New Beginnings	By : GoldAngelFish Category: Hellsing > General Views: 2967 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Blood, Ashes and New Beginnings
- 1
~Hellsing belongs to Kouta Hirano. Thou shalt not sue the muse.~
A scene lies before us. Shall we
look closer?

See...the
blood stained earth. Hordes of false undead lie in heaps across the torn soil,
impaled on spears that should not be. Corpses in the beginning stages of decay
lay, opened by bayonet or sabre. Bullet holes and slender cuts from monowire
filaments mark the damage of the dead, and bits remain from the damage wrought
by one developing Draculina.

Here is the
stage, set for the actors. See them standing about? The battle is over, turned
by the arrival of the wild card, the Count setting foot on the island he once
set out to conquer. The priest kneels by a dying woman, stroking her short
blonde hair, his cassock stiff with blood. A wild-looking woman, broken glasses
in hand, is sprawled in the rictus of death across another body, whose only
discernable feature is long blonde hair and one half-closed green eye. Two
bodies, both male and slender, were entwined in the last throes of fatal
wounds. One with black hair, a monocle lying shattered beneath him, clutching a
silent man in a tan uniform. Kneeling beside these bodies is a young woman, one
arm missing, blood-tinted tears streaming down her face as she touches the
black-haired man's arm gently. And our main actors stand apart from the
carnage, gazing at each other over a headless boy's body.

She,
upright and blood stained, her khaki coat stiff to the knees with the blood of
her enemies. Platinum-blonde hair tumbles to her waist, tendrils waving in the
soft breeze. Moonlight glints off of her locks, painting them silver. Her
glasses are gone, revealing large irises of cold blue, gazing fiercely at the
man before her. She is almost more handsome than beautiful, no feminine tricks
to soften her face and make it more attractive. Honey-dark skin stands out in
contrast to her pale hair, and the gloves that are only white at the cuffs now.
The rest runs crimson. She holds an unsheathed blade in her right hand, left
resting lightly on the grip of a Walther PPK tucked into a shoulder holster.
Olive-green trousers are also stained to the knees, and her jacket is long-since
torn to shreds. She looks down, implacable and cool, at the monster kneeling
before her.

He kneels,
silver armor tarnished and blood splattered. A black cloak fluttered behind
him, thick raven hair twining with the shadows, shining goatee marking the distinction
of his facial structure. Eyes of deep crimson glow eagerly, and his form
becomes indistinct as darkness swirls around him, flashing with gleaming eyes
and glints of fang. He is inhumanly handsome, with insanity showing clearly in
his face. Outrageously tall and muscular, the lanky, slender form gone behind
the bulk of his previous form, he holds a bloody sword. All around him are
lances impaling the enemy, blood staining the poles a deep red. He has a splash
of rich blood across his face, and his monstrously long tongue licks at the red
fluid, cleaning his dead-white skin. A beaming smile spreads as he bows his
head to the woman standing before him, murmuring softly in a strange language.

�Welcome
back, Count,� she says quietly, her voice chill, emotionless. Her eyes are
glacial as she gazes down at him, face locked into a mask of stern beauty. He
tilts his head up, crimson eyes meeting hers, gleaming, glowing with pleasure.

�I am back,
Count,� he replies calmly, everything in his posture shifting, becoming more
fluid. There is a moment of silence as each acknowledges the other. He notes
her stiff pose, the blood stiffening her clothing, a mark on her flawless honey
skin. She sees the absence of his gloves, the armor, the appearance which speaks
of times long past. They allow for the changes, recognizing what each knows of
the other. He rises, towering over her slight form, and surveys the battlefield
with narrow, sparkling eyes. �You�ve done well, lady.�

She
inclines her head in acceptance of his praise, turning her glacial gaze over
the bloody field. Unconsciously, she licks her lips, noting the gory scene.
Shattered bone, entrails and bleeding flesh lie in heaps, bodies discarded as
so much trash, leaking the crimson fluid of life across good English soil. He
moves silently over the moist earth, pausing occasionally to lick a drop of
blood from a piece of flesh. Closing his garnet eyes, he relives the battle,
relishing the scenes that flash behind his eyelids.

Blade
flashing in the light of war�s flames, she spins, moving lightly as a dancer,
slaying the chipped vampires. Their blood sprays across her face, matting the
platinum hair floating with her movements, staining white cloth and
honey-colored skin. Laughter escapes her throat, and a vicious smile touches
her lips, moist with the blood of her enemies. For a moment, she is the
Morrigan, or Kali: destructive goddess, battling to guard hearth, home and
honor. A duck, a dodge, and she impales another on her sabre�s blade. None
touch her, none mark her save one, the first to fall to her lethal dancing.
Beauty�true beauty of the feral woman, picturesque to those who revel in
battle�she is the epitome of the blade dancer, and the height of all he had
dreamt of.

She
watches, Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, as her former servant licks a
drop of FREAK blood from his bare finger, tongue lingering on the flavor. When
he, once Alucard, now�Vlad, turns to gaze at her, she feels the power of that
gaze piercing her. He saw it all, through the blood, and reveled in the
destruction. The Maiden of Steel admitted silently that she, too, had relished
the feeling of death. Had felt exaltation at being death to these
vicious creatures who would dare despoil her home, slay her only �family� and
steal all that had been dear. He turns with a movement she cannot follow, and
smiles slowly.

He had
heard it, every thought. The despair, the fear, the determination�everything
she had felt or thought while being the bringer of death came to him through
the blood. Now�the world disappears. Explosions in the background, the heat of
licking flames devouring cold corpses�even the sobbing of his
fledgling-come-Draculina leaves his mind. Now, there is only she. With long
strides that do not quite move his body, but eat up the blood-soaked ground, he
comes to her side, extending one hand. She has never encountered his bare flesh
before, and hesitates before lying one gloved hand in his. The monster raises
her blood-stiffened fingers to his mouth, and the tip of a slender tongue
snakes out to lick at the dried blood. He smiles down at her as he pulls her
closer, cape swirling with a sudden wind, driven by an explosion nearby.
Sensing shrapnel, he pulls her suddenly into his arms, cape and arm shrouding,
shielding her as flaming death rains down upon them.

Within the
circle of his arm, she is protected, even as she is threatened. The sense of
his predator�s intent heightens her awareness, pushing the pulse of her blood
and igniting survival instincts�which Integra forcibly ignored. Indeed, she
presses closer to the vampire�s chest and closes her eyes, one gloved hand
tightening on the creature�s forearm.

Why, we
ask, does she do this? Take a moment, pause�reflect. Consider now, what has
occurred. The lady, relying on her upbringing, has battled valiantly to save
all she was sworn to protect. A duty and an honor she accepted gladly is now
lying about her in bloody ashes, and the only thing remaining of her
once-glorious empire and reign is a monster who has crossed an ocean to return
to her side. He has slain her enemies, knelt before her, despite the breaking
of his bonds, and called her equal. He shields her now from the flames, meeting
the destruction of the known world with equal laughter and contempt. Her world
has vanished, and only this creature remains to stand by her. She is not less
for turning for comfort to that which is familiar. He is not humane because he
seeks to protect the lady. An understanding, long held in suspension, has now
come into play�and will soon blossom into fulfillment. Shall we watch?

He feels
the tightening of her hand, and presses her harder against him, crimson gaze
searching out the place in which to enact this ritual he has long desired.
There! A small place, clear of bodies yet soaked with the blood of her enemies,
sheltered from the flames of war and in full view of his weeping fledgling. A
vicious smile touches his thin mouth, and fangs glint in the sudden flare of
light. Let her see what immortality truly is�let her see what she can become,
what her infant steps will lead her to. Vlad the Impaler, Dracula as we must
call him now, lifts his lady into his arms and takes long strides to this patch
of red earth. She leans her head on his chest, pale blue eyes seeing and
unseeing as the world shifts by. She is lain on the moist earth, and gazes up
at the monster leaning down, smiling. Slowly, she reaches up to touch his face,
then strikes him viciously across the cheek. He laughs, touching the blood
forming on his lips, and bolts down, pressing his cold lips to hers. A painful,
grinding kiss, forcing his blood into her mouth, cutting her lips with his
fangs�thick blood intermingling, being swallowed by both. Flavors new and wild
to her, long-desired for he�both kiss each other with full intent of causing
pain, even as his bare hands strip off her stiff gloves and grip one slim hand
in a vice-like grip. Two animals, in full mating heat, are gentler with each
other than this maiden and monster.

He wrenches
her coat off, twisting her joints painfully, and licks eagerly at the blood
running from her mouth as he pins one of her arms to the earth. A shadow moves
from his writhing darkness, winding around the wrist and permitting its� master
free hands with which to ravish the maiden. She twists, pulling another hand up
to strike him, and her fingertips are bitten to blood. Suckling her index
finger, Dracula smiles down, grinding a fang into her soft fingertip, digging
through the callus from pulling a trigger. She does not wince, but struggles to
wrench her hand free, even as her body arches up to his, back curving to offer
herself up. His armor fades away into darkness as shadows swarm over them,
leaving only his upper half visible, and that disturbing. An expression of
manical joy shows on his face, her blood dark on his lips, and eyes glitter
with insane delight. She is torn bare, the olive-green cloth shredded by black
claws, and honey skin revealed to the air and the gaping Draculina kneeling a
few yards away.

Seras
Victoria, in complete shock, watches in horror as her master and father rips
the clothing from his master�s body, baring her to the sky. A flush suffuses
her face as she gazes at Sir Integra�s bare breasts�and another flush suffuses
her entire body as a pang of lust flashes through her body. She cannot pull her
eyes away as who she once knew as Alucard leans his head down, long tongue
snaking from his mouth, and licks a single drop of blood from his master�s
breast. She forces half of her fist into her mouth, biting down on her flesh,
tasting her own blood as she watches the ravishment of the Maiden of the Royal
Order begin.

A flash of
fangs�a muffled cry�and the sudden scent of maiden�s blood�

The Impaler
demonstrates his name with a single motion of his lower body, piercing the
Maiden to the core. Her body jerks at the invasion, feeling pain and pleasure
intermingle in a perverse desire. Her arms remain pinned to the earth, the
shadowy tendrils growing sharp, and a little of her blood leaks from the small
cuts. The scent appears to drive the monster wild as his mouth descends on her
breast, suckling and nibbling on the virgin flesh. She cries out, softly, her
back arching once more, as one bare vampiric hand trails down her side and
grips her hip in a near bone-crushing hold. Tears well in the glacial eyes and
are blinked away, banished back to when regret was an option. The monster
smiles at her, insanely, and licks her breast again, trailing his long tongue
over sensitive flesh, then biting with pointed teeth. Again�pain and pleasure,
matching the tempo of his brutal thrusts. Her lower body moves with his
motions, almost unwillingly, and yet she presses against him, nails digging
into the bloody ground. Tendrils of cold darkness slither over her body,
gathering the leaking blood and leaving shiny trails in their wake. He grunts,
quietly, and bows his head to her throat. Her head falls back, baring the part
of her body he has watched intently over the years. Fangs have lengthened, and
when they flash in the dying flames, they appear blood-stained. His head bolts
forward, striking as if a snake, and her cry is that of a lost soul.

The
Draculina feels the pulse between her own legs, pounding in time with the
movement of her master�s body. Watching him thrust into his master, his mouth
locked on her throat, is inciting feelings she can neither control nor
understand. Integra�s cry echoes in her ears, and the taste of her own blood is
suddenly repulsive to her. She whimpers, taking her fist from her mouth, and
looks about desperately for some kind of release. The priest�she notes that he
still moves, still struggles for breath as the regenerative powers come into
play. Clumsy with overwhelming desires, lusts, needs, she rises and stumbles to
the prone man of God.

There is
another cry. This is of pain, anger�even a vow of vengeance.

Integra
writhes beneath her monster, his mouth locked on her throat, draining her life
away even as he coaxes her to climax with continual, brutal thrusts. Moving
within her, holding her down, taking her body as he has always intended to do,
he allows more of her blood to soak into the ground beneath him. A brief moment
passes, of simple motion and groans, and the monster withdraws his fangs,
licking the blood from his lips. Integra takes that moment to move, her head
striking as quickly as his has, biting deeply into his wrist. Vlad laughs,
watching her bite into his flesh, and calmly shakes her loose, allowing his
blood to dribble onto the earth already soaked with the blood of countless
enemies�and hers. As all the blood mingles, there is a red glow from the soil
below. Integra�s body jerks, hips bucking as he increases tempo, biting into
his lips. Catching her chin with one hand, he looks into her eyes and grins.

�Say
farewell to mortality, lady.�

She bucks
once more, sensation flooding her body as the monster thrusts again, harder,
mouth on her breast, smearing blood over her golden skin. The once-maiden
struggles against the bonds of darkness, feeling with a sudden flash of
understanding how weak she is. How�bloodless. When the monster lifts his head,
his own blood smeared on his mouth, she does not recoil. Pushing her hips up,
she cranes her neck, and he dips down obligingly, capturing her mouth with his
own. Blood�she licks it from his lips, sucking on the shallow wounds in his
tongue, taking the vampire�s blood into her mouth, swallowing�

A
transformative scream�replete with climactic pleasure�echoed by a rough cry of
triumph.

The
Draculina straightens from the priest�s limp body, panting softly as she
hastily wipes the remainder of his science-enhanced blood from her lips. She
feels a shift in her master�s mind, and rises, turning to face the scene she
tries so hard to put from her mind. It is seared there now, and as the pair
walk to her, she feels that the world has changed more in the last thirty
seconds than in the former ten hours. Vlad the Impaler stands before her, and
beside him�his bride, with gleaming ruby eyes beneath silver lashes, pearly
fangs showing in a sly smile. He extends a hand to his fledgling, while dipping
his head to lick his bride�s throat. Former Sir Integra gazes up at her
creator, former slave, and lover with a cruel smile, one hand indicating the
burning wasteland.

�The world
is destroyed, my lord. Let us revel in the aftermath.�

He smiles,
pressing his fledgling�s hand for a moment before drawing his bride into his
arms, eyes scanning the destruction with something akin to glee.

�Indeed, my
lady. Revel we shall.�
- 1
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Blood, Ashes and New Beginnings