Hellsing Note

Author's Note: I know I promised porn, but my muse refused to help me put any in this chapter. I do have two Yotsuba Group scenes planned out, at least one Alucard/Anderson scene, some Near/Matt (rare pairings anyone?), and possibly BB/L (these are in the next 10 to 20 chapters, there will be quite a few chapters). The problem is adding the porn without FUBARing the plot.

***Hellsing Note***
***Chapter 2: L’s Family Legacy***

He wasn’t always named L, but he disliked his real name so had found the only acceptable way of shortening it, and thus changing it. His father hadn’t minded calling him L, telling him candidly in one of their rare moments of goofing off that L’s mother had given him that name. Of course, before her death, his mother had said the same thing about his father. But of course his parents were shifting the blame because their son had a rage against that name that was beyond human comprehension.

His mother had been three years in her grave when his father decided it was time to follow suit. His father hadn’t committed suicide, he had suddenly taken ill and no amount of medicine helped. It turned out that he had been poisoned, but this wasn’t found until L, upon taking the reins of his father’s organization, had ordered an autopsy.

When his father died he had left him with a parting message. “When you find yourself faced with insurmountable odds. Go to the dungeon in the lowest basement level, there you will find our family’s greatest weapon. The sum of a century of research by our ancestors.”

L had understood, he had always been a bright child. Don’t go to the basement unless he absolutely had to.

Well he had to now. He had barely escaped death not twenty-four hours after his father’s passing. His uncle was out to kill him to take over the family. He had gone to bed the night of his father’s murder, but unable to sleep he had snuck down to the kitchen for a late night snack. Upon returning to his room he had seen a light and people moving about.

“He’s not here,” one of them said. He recognized the voice as one of his uncle’s friends.

“Where is that little shit?” his uncle asked. L had peeped into his room to see his uncle and the men with guns tearing his bedroom apart.

L was a genius, but it didn’t take a genius to decipher this situation. He backed away down the hall to his father’s bedroom. His father’s body had been taken to a local morgue until arrangements could be made. Arrangements that he had to make, that he had been planning on doing tomorrow. But now, he carefully opened the vent in his father’s room and noiselessly climbed in.

He had a bit of mysophobia, but if it was between dust and his life, he would take the dust. Luckily, the family had the ventilation shafts cleaned regularly. They weren’t the pretties things, but they weren’t filled with dead rats.

He carefully crawled his way back to his room to spy some more on his uncle.

For three days he spied on his uncle and the men. He didn’t sleep at all during that time, and was amazingly hungry and tired. They had someone guarding the kitchen, hoping that his stomach would draw him out. He had enough time trying to use the toilet.

He was dirty, he stank, he was hungry, and he was tired. All in all, he was miserable. But he wasn’t going to give in. If it weren’t for the guns he could have taken the men, his father had trained him in capoeira, amongst other things. His father’s words echoed in his ears. Insurmountable odds? Was this what his father met? No, he refused to believe that his father known of his brother’s treachery.

With a heavy swallow he began crawling his way on weak limbs towards the basement where hopefully salvation lay. He couldn’t help but believe that. His father wouldn’t send him on a wild goose chase.

He made it down to the lowest basement and found that while upstairs the vents were relatively clean, no one had been down here for twenty years and the shafts reflected this. He would need to bathe in rubbing alcohol before he felt clean. He’d be lucky if he didn’t catch plague.

Needless to say, having the basement ventilation shafts cleaned was on the top of his list of things to do when he could finally take control of father’s, no, his organization. There were several doors down here, but he instinctively knew which one was the proper door. It was plain iron with an occult symbol painted on in a rust brown color that he was willing to bet was twenty year old blood.

AIDS, Hepatitis, Syphilis, the list went on, but luckily the handle wasn’t painted and if he let his rational mind speak over his fears he would know that twenty year old blood kept in the elements like this would not be able to carry disease.

He opened the door and entered, shutting it behind him. He was surprised when he hit the light switch that it actually worked. He had expected, a bit foolishly, perhaps, the lightbulb to come on for an instant before bursting. Perhaps he had watched one too many horror films. Turning he surveyed the room trying to find the weapon that his father said would save him.

All he found was a dried up corpse sitting slumped against one of the walls. Mummification? In the dungeons? It seemed odd. This room was rather dry, though, contrary to popular belief about dungeons. He had expected moist walls and the sound of water dripping, but it was amazingly dry, like there had never been water down here.

Come to think of it, when he had seen the blue prints he had been told that this section of the manor had never had running water. The nearest water pipe was for the labs seventy-five feet away. Well there was a water pipe two floors up, but he was too tired and hungry to think about whether that was closer than the pipe to the labs or not.

“I hope you don’t mind the company,” he muttered to the corpse before sitting down next to it. His rational mind told him to turn off the light, that it would lead his uncle to him, but he was past the point of rationality, “I really thought there would be something down here to save me.”

He sat crouched for what seemed like hours, not quite giving up, but not doing anything to help his situation, either.

He heard them before the door opened. One of his uncle’s men broke the door open with the butt of a twelve gauge. “There he is,” one of the men shouted, their eyes drawn to the hunch figure.

Still, even in the face of great adversity, he retained his composure. He knew that his father would not be happy with him, nor would Watari, if it got out that he had begged for his life.

“You’ve been quite the bother, Lawliet,” his uncle said.

“Don’t call me that, Uncle Jack,” L said, in his same deadly calm. He had always wondered why the nurse hadn’t tried to talk his parents out of the name. Maybe it was better than whatever other ideas they tried. He mentally shook himself, he needed to focus, but it was so hard without an ounce of food in his stomach and no sleep for three days.

His uncle smacked him for talking back, usually he could have taken the blow in stride, but his body was weak with hunger. He swore that if he came out of this alive he would make sure that he was never hungry again.

Some of the men took a look at the corpse. Even though it’s face was dried up and it’s white hair was matted and in desperate need of some cleaning, somehow it still looked strong. It was perhaps because of the restraints which were still taunt over the body. He paid no mind because his uncle had leveled his heavily modified Colt M1902 at his head.

Watari modified all of Hellsing’s firearms. The Colt was a classic supernatural hunting weapon, and when Watari had found a Colt M1902 in perfectly working order at a pawn shop fifty years ago, he had taken it home and began work. The barrel had been lengthened slightly, a safety mechanism added, and the grip, ejection port, and the magazine modified to use longer .38 Special rounds rather than the .380 ACPs that it was supposed to use.

It was amazing what he thought of when staring down the barrel of a gun. He knew that he would be dead if he didn’t move, and while he was not going to greet death on his knees, he had no intention of greeting death standing still, either.

He moved just as the gun fired and felt a searing pain in his shoulder, he ignored it, aiming to kick his uncle in the groin. He was at the point where fighting dirty wasn’t just expected, it was necessary.

He didn’t think about where the blood went until a slurping sound gave them all pause. His uncle and his men turned to the corpse, and so did he. It was no longer a corpse. It had broken from the wall and licking L’s own blood off the floor. It’s white hair no longer looked ragged and dirty, but shiny and healthy. The nose, which had been devoid of cartilage was high and aristocratic. The tongue was long and pointed. The skin was pale, even though he was animated, it still retained a deadly pallor.

L knew what this former corpse was, a vampire, his family’s ancient enemy, was licking his blood off the floor. A vampire was his salvation?

The vampire looked up, his face shadowed by his hair, but a single hell-fire colored eye was visible beneath the long strands of white. Everyone blinked and the unknown vampire ripped apart his bindings. L was frightened now, as were the men, but for different reasons. L was frightened because he had nothing to fight off this vampire with, the men were frightened because they had never believed in the supernatural legacy of the Hellsing family.

“Lord Neylon!” one of the men shouted.

The vampire stood there, tall, unbelievably tall. He was easily seven feet.

“I don’t know either!”

“My brother never said a word...!” Jack Neylon said. Of course not, he was only L’s father’s half-brother through different fathers.

“Who cares just shoot it!”

“Give Lawliet an escort for his trip to hell!”

L growled, he hated that name. But before the orders could be carried out, one of men found himself without half his head, as everything from the nose up had been ripped off. The vampire stood nearby holding the still dripping head, and then he lifted it, holding it above his face and opened his mouth, catching the blood.

L watched in fright, this was not your average vampire. Yes, vampires were known for their feats of great strength and speed, but this was beyond all he had ever expected. Not only that, but this vampire had been starved for twenty years, and was still capable of such great feats of strength.

The vampire made a satisfied noise as he tossed the half-a-head aside and looked at the other men. Soon only Jack Neylon and L Hellsing were the only living beings in the room, vampires didn’t count among the living, after all.

The vampire turned to Neylon and caught each of the six .38 caliber bullets that were aimed at him, in one hand. Obviously, his uncle had failed to fill his gun with Hellsing’s special ammunition, or this vampire was immune to it (an even scarier thought).

“Lowlife,” the vampire said, destroying his uncle’s primary shooting hand. And then leaving him wallowing on the floor in pain.

The vampire turned to L, who had crouched against a wall to stay out of the way. Their eyes met and for a moment L had a fear that he hadn’t had at the end of his uncle’s gun. The vampire stood before him for but a moment before dropping into a kneel. “Have you sustained any injuries, Sir Hellsing?” the vampire asked. “What is your bidding, my master?”

His brain failed him for a moment. His family’s legacy was a vampire? A freakishly strong vampire? His family was supposed to be dedicated to wiping out the Midians, but here was one calling him master.

“Hellsing is mine!” his uncle shouted, using his other arm to fire another shot. His aim was true, but the vampire was faster, allowing the bullet to collide harmlessly with his arm.

“Your blood stinks. It reeks to high heaven. You’re unfit to be this family’s head,” the vampire said.

L reached over and grabbed one of the discarded guns, a Heckler & Koch P7. It was a little too big in his small hands, but he knew that he could fire it properly using this vampire’s extended arm to help against the recoil.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Your family has called me, Alucard,” the vampire said.

It wasn’t hard to figure out where this vampire came from, but he pushed it and all other thoughts out of his mind as he made himself the only living thing in the room.

~~~Hellsing Note: L’s Family Legacy~~~

Mello fired the Heckler & Koch MG4 at the target. Despite the changes, he had still expected more recoil when firing the machine gun for the first time. Overcompensation caused his first shot to miss. His second was true, though, if he was killing a human. He fired a full auto spray, blowing the head off the target, but unless he blew the head off, it would not kill a vampire.

Alucard shook his head, “You need to get out of the habit of shooting humans, vampires won’t die unless you destroy their heart or head completely.” Alucard demonstrated by cutting a target a kilometer away in half with his freakishly high powered semi-automatic. Shocking Mello that not only could he see that distance, but also just what a single round from that gun could do at such range.

A newspaper rustled nearby, L. He had been introduced by Watari to the head of the Hellsing organization and found him to be intimidating, but very worthy of respect. L tended to sit like a frog, have spiky hair, and bags under his eyes. But he had a determination that was beyond respectable.

L had not known they had any H&Ks, he left firearms up to Watari. He made sure that Hellsing was well equipped. But the H&K made him remember when he had first killed a fellow human, his own uncle. He hoped to never have to make such a decision ever again, he could kill vampires just fine, but humans were another kettle of fish.

It looked like Mello might be worth something, even if he had been Catholic before becoming a vampire. He was loyal. Of course, if he ever got out of hand, he could order Alucard to put him down, but it seemed that Mello was willing to fight vampires.

L took the lollipop out of his mouth. “Good shooting,” he complimented, he wasn’t beyond doing so. “But Alucard is right, you can’t be aiming for the head. Heart is the better option.”

Sometimes he wished bayonets were still good additions to guns, they would often serve the troops better than a bullet, even a bullet from Hellsing Arms. But they had to make due with what they had.

~~~Hellsing Note: L’s Family Legacy~~~

End Note: I do some research about the guns. Every gun listed in this story does exist, though, any modifications made, I am uncertain of.

Also, if you would like to correct my use of slang, please do, I’m American, not British, and even though I often swear “Bloody Hell”, I know that’s not all there is to it.

Also, I added the DN Mafia in this chapter...and quickly killed them off...I do have one character left from that group that may or may not make an appearance...