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Hellsing: Coat of Arms	By : KDKB Category: Hellsing > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1360 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We do not own Hellsing or any characters. We also do not make any money from this story.

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Summary, continued: A handsome stranger with disturbing news comes knocking on Hellsing's door, claiming to harbor the desire to aid the young girl against an impending attack. When Alucard's name is mentioned, he confidently states that the vampire king will not return. However, the young Hellsing descendent recalls her mother's confidence in the lord of the undead, and his inevitable return will change her life forever.

AUTHORS' NOTE: This story deviates from Hellsing canon about 12 years after the battle of London. It contains several of the canon characters, but also several necessary original characters. Don't let this deter you! This story is well worth an idle read, and it contains a little bit of everything Hellsing fans have come to love: action, gore, the disparity between man and monster, angst, and ignored love between master and servant. It delves into territories beyond the vampiric, for vampires are not the only force of darkness present in the world, nor are they the most dangerous.

Prologue: Death of a Titan

          Integra Hellsing sat in her study, mired behind a deskful of paperwork she had only begun to peruse. The creeping shadows of evening had long since faded into the darkness of night; only the dim glow of her lamp and the distant twinkle of city lights illuminated the mountain of desk work Hellsing had become. Her good eye darted idly across the heading of the case file at the top of the pile, and she allowed herself a short laugh.

          “'Suspicious activity in Bath',” she chuckled, raising a graying eyebrow. “'Local gang activity thought to be the work of vampires'. What rubbish.” Pulling the packet from the pile, she crumpled it easily in her hand and tossed it into the trash can at her side, then picked up the underlying file. “'Supposed Nazi survivor arrested on the streets of London. Thought to be planning the destruction of newly reconstructed Big Ben'. Unbelievable.” She had barely finished reading the title before the stapled packet of papers joined its predecessor in the rubbish bin. Turning her gaze to the window, she leaned back in her chair and pulled a fragrant cigar from the drawer to her right, placing it between her teeth as she returned her hand to the desk for her lighter. “The world is such a paranoid place since the battle of London,” she murmured to the shadows as she flipped open the lid of her Zippo and expertly flicked the wheel. “And yet our lives have never been less eventful.” A small flame sputtered to life atop the butane-soaked wick, and she held it to the tip of her cigar. Ribbons of smoke slowly encircled her careworn face, the burning tobacco reflecting dully from her glasses.

          It had been thirty years since the three armies had converged upon London. Thirty years since the anniversary of the city's destruction and subsequent rebirth into constant, unfounded paranoia. Thirty years since the disappearance of the most terrifying forces on earth.

          Thirty years since...

          She blew a ring of smoke into the stale office air. The memories seemed ancient now, almost ethereal. Life had changed so much since the vampire king had stood before her, ready to lead his legions of the undead into the burning fires of Jerusalem as it tumbled back to earth. Even so, his cold, red eyes were as embers in her soul, ever fading, yet ever burning.

          Though she was still convinced he would return, she had long since conceded the likelihood that it would not be in her lifetime, and had eventually come to accept it. The loss of her servant had certainly taken its toll, but the dawn of that day had turned to night, and time marched on.

          “And it has been a cruel march, indeed,” she muttered, running her fingertips along the lines of her cheek. “I am merely 52 years old, but I feel like I am over 100.”

          “No matter how many times you say that, I still say you don't look it.”

          Letting her thoughts filter to the back of her mind, Integra glanced up at the door. Seras Victoria stood before the ancient woodwork, a playful grin quirking her ever-youthful lips as she raised her right hand in greeting. “Sorry sir, I didn't mean to interrupt your little monologue. But I must inform you that talking to yourself makes you seem a lot older than you are.”

          “Oh, bite your tongue,” she snapped, though she couldn't suppress a small smile. “I don't need a lecture on the cruelties of age, especially not from you.” Snubbing out the cigar in the crystal ash tray to her left, she gestured Seras forward as she pushed her chair back from her desk. “Has Annabel returned from the college fair?”

          “Erm...yes,” Seras replied uneasily, eyes darting to the door and back.

          “...and?”

          “...she has...chosen a school.”

          “Well, what is it?” Integra demanded impatiently.

          The young draculina hesitated again, then let out a defeated sigh. “London's University of the Arts.”

          Integra raised an eyebrow, then slowly lowered her head into her hands, irritably rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers. “Are you serious?”

          Seras shrugged helplessly, unsure of what to say.

          “I swear, that girl never wants to make a damn thing of herself,” the older woman grumbled, suddenly wishing she hadn't put out her cigar.

          Shortly after the battle of London had been won, the Hellsing organization had found itself in the midst of an international cry for answers. Various anti-freak ventures from around the world were suddenly at her door, offering their 'constructive' criticism and demanding explanations for the 'obvious lack in judgment of the Hellsing family's prestigious leader'. Even as London struggled to rebuild, Integra had found herself scrambling to maintain some semblance of respect from her peers despite the fact that she had, with only a handful of men and monsters, defeated the Nazi forces while the rest of the world sat back and watched. They had called for her dismissal from her post, and despite her efforts to appease their angry demands, they had prepared to replace her with another member of the Round Table Conference. Eventually she was faced with no other choice but to cooperate with the leader of the American anti-freak operation and, in doing so, accept his proposal to permanently join their organizations through a hurriedly arranged marriage.

          The combination of two of the world's greatest anti-vampire operations proved quite fruitful. Technology, weapons and intelligence were greatly improved on both sides, and for a time, the two were content to go their separate ways. Their interaction was delegated to their subordinates, who kept the alliance alive under the distant supervision of their superiors. So life carried on.

          However, when her barely acquainted husband was diagnosed with stage III cancer, things became a lot more complicated. He insisted that his son, one Xavier King, be placed in charge of both organizations upon his death. Integra protested vehemently, stating that if Alucard returned, he would not listen to anyone who was not of Hellsing descent. Her husband scoffed at this; every piece of intelligence he had gathered from either operation stated that the vampire king was dead, and so a months-long legal battle ensued.

          Finally, after almost a year of debate, they reached an agreement. Unwilling to leave Hellsing to someone outside of the family, Integra agreed to mother a child, whom they believed would ultimately inherit leadership of both organizations. Within six months, she was with child.

           Her husband, however, did not live to see the baby's birth. By the end of her second trimester, the cancer had metastasized to his lungs, and he died two days before the birth of his daughter: Annabel Integra Hellsing.

           After years of conflict, things were quiet. Stunned by the death of his father, Xavier faded into the tapestry of American life, and Integra was left to command both organizations unopposed. Those who had raised objections about her position were satisfied by the fulfillment of the legal agreement, and she was free to raise her daughter to follow in her footsteps.

          Her daughter, however, had ideas of her own.

          A spirited child from the start, Annabel showed no interest in the world of supernatural politics. She seemed to shirk responsibility of any kind from an early age, choosing instead to engage in whimsical fantasies while ignoring any suggestions that she 'grow into things more suitable to her position'. By the time she was 12, Integra had all but given up.

          “Art school,” she muttered, curling her lip in disdain. “Go figure.”

          “In her defense, sir, she is really good,” Seras ventured hesitantly. “She could probably make a fortune on her current portfolio alone.”

          “I don't care how much money she could make painting portraits of tourists as they visit the Bailey!” Integra slammed her hand down on the arm of her chair as she stood. “She is a Hellsing! Her duty is to her family, her country and her queen! What makes her think that a degree in art is going to help her become a respected leader?!”

          Seras flinched as her master struck the old leather chair. “With all due respect, sir Integra, I thought you wanted her to attend college so she could grow up. I wouldn't think it matters what she chooses to go for.”

           Before the older woman could reply, an explosion rocked the estate on its ancient foundations. Integra managed to steady herself on the solid wooden desk and reached for the phone, quickly selecting one of the internal lines before enabling the speakerphone. “Officer Jonston, what is going on down there?!” she demanded, instructing Seras to stand by with a jerk of her head.

          Her question was answered only by static on the other end of the line.

          “Damnit.” She jammed the button again, disconnecting the call and leaning heavily against the desk, chewing her lip as she quickly ran her options through her mind.

          “Do you want me to go find out what's happening?” Seras asked, watching her superior with calm red eyes.

          “No. Whatever it is, it's already made its way past our primary defenses.” Pushing her glasses up on her nose, she adjusted her eyepatch as she made her way to the armoir on the other side of the room. Flinging open the dust covered doors, she pulled her sword from its hanger and began strapping it to her belt. “Just get Annabel and go.”

          “But sir--”

          “Do not question your orders, soldier!” she snapped. Having secured her blade, she swiped the blessed handgun from the bottom shelf and pulled the clip, making sure it was full before shoving it back into the gun. “Annabel is not prepared for something like this and you know it. She will be safer if she is taken elsewhere.”

          Seras seemed like she was about to protest once more, but quickly decided against it. “Be careful, sir,” she murmured, then disappeared in a cloud of mist.

          Stuffing a few extra clips into her pockets, Integra elbowed shut the doors of the armoir and made her way back to her desk, where she settled tiredly back into her chair to wait. “Now would be a great time to come back, Alucard,” she whispered to the night air, once more pulling open the drawer to retrieve another cigar.

          She felt the presence of the enemy before she saw them. The room grew cold, and the lamp to her right shattered with an earsplitting crack. Her jaw clenched as she readied herself for battle, the tips of her teeth sinking several millimeters into the butt of the cigar. “I don't care for cowardice,” she called to her invisible opponents, removing the safety and cocking the barrel of her gun. “So why don't you just show yourselves so we can get this over with? I'd like to get to bed before midnight.”

          “Brave as always, Integra,” came the leering reply. “Don't worry, though; you'll be sleeping much sooner than you think...for much longer than you ever anticipated.”

          Shadowy figures began to form around the room; there seemed to be dozens of them, and none of them were even remotely human. Grotesque frames emerged from the shadows, each a terrifying mass of razor sharp teeth and muscle. Integra's eyes went wide, the cigar toppling to the floor as her mouth hung open in shock. “Wh...what is this?!” she whispered as more of the monsters took form, eagerly awaiting their unseen master's command.

          “To quote your beloved subordinate, this is your death.” Throaty laughter rippled through the ranks as they began to close in around her, fixing her with hungry red eyes.

           The antique leather chair toppled to the ground as she shoved herself to her feet, holding the gun in front of her and trying to point it at each of her opponents in turn. “Attacking one human woman with an army of dozens,” she spat, firing a single shot into the heart of one of the creatures who had stepped ahead of the others. He fell, writhing, to the ground, then burned away in a puddle of tarry black blood. “How very courageous of you.”

          “We're not taking any chances. I'm sure you won't hold it against us.”

          Another creature lunged forward, and she placed a blessed bullet between his eyes. “What do you want with me?” she demanded, taking a short step back.

          “Something we cannot have unless you are permanently removed from the picture,” the disembodied voice replied idly. “I'm sorry, it's nothing personal, but I am interested in someone very close to you, and you would only get in the way. Now, I have other matters to which to attend, so I must bid you....adieu.” She heard the owner of the voice snap his fingers, and his subordinates rushed forward to attack.

          “Fine then!” Tossing her gun to her left hand, she drew her sword with her right and kicked the chair into the oncoming ranks, taking the opportunity to retreat to the far side of the room. Planting her back against the wall, she gave her enemies a short salute. “Have at you!”

          The battle lasted only a minute. Though she managed to kill at least a dozen of her attackers, dozens more took their place, slowly wearing down her defenses until a blackened claw pierced her heart. The metallic taste of blood spurted into her mouth, and she slid, choking, to the ground at her enemies' feet.

          “Hold!” Their leader's voice rang out once more, halting the onslaught of blows before they could finish her off. “It is done. Let her die in peace.”

           Integra's eyes fluttered as she watched her attackers retreat. Their disparaging remarks fell on dulled ears; she let her head thunk back against the stone wall.

           “Oh, Alucard,” she whispered, flecks of blood staining her lips as she forced a small laugh. “Seems you were too late. Please...if...when...you return, watch over my Annabel...” Heavy lids fell across equally blinded eyes, barely obscuring the tall shape of a man who stood, watching, from the door.
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Hellsing: Coat of Arms