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Sacred and Profane	By : DanceswithElvis Category: Hellsing > General Views: 2727 -:- 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.

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The Sacred and Profane

Rain: Interlude I

By Docky (aka DanceswithElvis)

Wales: November 14, 2002, near mid-night, the slopes of Cader Idris.

It was a trap. Nicolas knew it as soon as he saw the lone figure standing at the end of the lonely sheep path. It was when he saw that slight shadow against the crescent moon that fear loomed up like a demon out of the darkness and all his instincts screamed for him to flee. Now Nicolas was running for his life down a steep rocky path on the sloping Cader Idris. A sudden sound and thrashing through some hedge at the edge of the path startled him, tripping and sending tumbling off of the sheep path and down the steep slope.
The world spun around Nicolas as his seemingly endless tumble down the mountain was effectively stopped when he slammed into a large boulder jutting from the surface of the mountain. Crawling to his hands and knees, trying desperately to clear the painful buzzing from his mind, he panted for breath hoping that his pursuer had given him up for dead.
"Oh, poor Nicolas; did you hurt yourself," asked a distinctly amused and feminine voice, followed by a soft throaty chuckle.
At the sound of that cooing voice, Nicolas froze. His breathing shallow, he stood and turned to face the voice�s owner. Blinking, he staggered back a step, unable to comprehend the horror he saw. A sudden, impossibly firm grasp on his left arm had him staring down into the glittering blue eyes of a young boy. Unable to form a coherent sentence, Nicolas just stared numbly down at the boy grasping his arm.
The boy shook his head and grinned, exposing elongated canines to the trembling man in his grasp. Smirking up at the man again, the child jerked down on his arm, sending Nicolas to his knees. Moving to stand behind Nicolas, the boy leaned forward and whispered into the man�s ear, "What�s the matter Nicolas? Haven�t you ever seen a nightmare before?"

*******

November 14, 2002, near mid-night, Northumberland, Temporary Hellsing Headquarters.

Moonlight reflected off of the clear pane of prescription glass Walter held up, checking for smudges and dirt before returning it to its resting place over his left eye. Sighing he returned his attention to the books resting on the desk in front of him. The room was dimly lit by a desk lamp that hadn�t been new when Churchill was in office and the office chair that he was currently sitting in was perhaps even older. Green eyes flickered to the far wall where the light switch was barely visible. Deciding he was too old and too far into what he was doing, the Hellsing Angel of Death shook his head and began reading again.
Several minutes later he was still engrossed in the ancient tomes of Vatican lore when he uttered a strangled oath and stood up so quickly he sent the ancient office chair toppling behind him. Not even sparing the chair a glance Walter grabbed what he had been studying and sprinted out the door calling for Sir Integral.

*******

Vatican City, the offices of the Iscariot Organization, Division XIII.

Father Enrico Maxwell caressed the illuminated manuscript lovingly as he turned the delicate pages. Briefly skimming the pages, he smirked at the archaic text. Most of the so called "formulas" and "spells" that were the basis of the ostensible Vatican Magic were useless; but buried deep within all the superfluous script was the information that controlled one of Division XIII�s most formidable weapons.
Finding what he was searching for, Maxwell cleared his throat and read the first passage on the intricately crafted page, "Who art driven from the loftiest azure heavens and forced, burnt to the pasture below. Bruising thy heel and bleeding thine hands on the rock and thorn of earth. Embracing the kiss of evil, yet shunning its master; thou art castaway and fallen, forever forsaken."
"And this is what we shall use should he ever find out?" asked an incredulous Enrique from across the brightly lit office. The elderly man�s face drawn in habitual concern as he paced in front of the large paned window; occasionally he would glance out at the thin moon and frown. He had a bad feeling about this mission that Maxwell had sent Anderson on. A very bad feeling.
Glancing up from the gold-leafed manuscript, Maxwell gave the older man a cold, disdainful look and remarked snidely, "Stupid old man. Yes this is exactly what we will use. Father Anderson is still bound by the Vatican�s powers and will be for eternity." Standing abruptly, Maxwell leaned forward on his paper strewn desk and gave the older man a dangerously feral smile, "You worry too much, Enrique; remember that we are God by proxy here on earth."

*******

Rome: 1949, the Vatican.

"Come children! This way�" called Sister Daphne as she lead a group of about twenty children of varying ages through the great hallways of the Vatican. Her companion, Sister Josephine was bringing up the rear, making sure there would be no stragglers to get lost in the enormous building. The hallways were filled with the laughter and chatter of the children as they followed Daphne out into the main courtyard.

Slightly flustered from the ordeal of taking a tour of very curious and rambunctious children through the most sacred building of their religion, Daphne and Josephine took a moment to catch their breath and straighten their habits before taking a final head count and heading back to the orphanage. After composing themselves, the young nuns called role once more, only receiving nineteen answers.
"Oh dear�we�ve lost Alexander," exclaimed Josephine. Blinking, the young woman exchanged worried looks with her companion, and then looked back at the enormous building they had just left. This could be a problem.

Alexander was lost. He had just bent down to tie his shoe and by the time he was finished, the other children and the sisters were no where to be seen. At first he had been slightly panicked and had dashed down a hallway hoping it would lead him back to his group. That had been a couple of hours ago, truly an eternity to the ten year old as he walked through the increasingly older and darker hallways. The panic that Alexander had pushed to the back of his mind when he first realized he was lost was now creeping back to the fore with each passing minute.
Green eyes darting nervously to and fro, Alexander moved swiftly and quietly down the corridor, trying not to dwell on the eerie shadows that were cast in the dim lighting. Hearing a shuffling noise behind him, Alexander whipped his head around half hoping that someone had found him; half fearing that it was some monster rising from the gloom to claim him.
Seeing nothing, he turned back and started walking faster, breaking into a run when he spied a door at the end of the eerie corridor. He just knew that it would lead him back to the Nuns and his peers. It had to.
Slamming into the door, he searched the ancient wooden slab for the latch that would allow him to push it open. After a few seconds he found it, and heaved the heavy wood door open, basically throwing himself through the entry. Blinking, Anderson realized the pitch blackness that surrounded him now, was not a way out. Instead, it was likeuffouffocating presence trying to draw him in and erase the memory of his existence.
Frantically turning to race back out the door, he was brought short of his destination by a nauseating wave of dizziness. Holding his head, Alexander took a step backward, screaming when his foot met with only air, sending him tumbling backwards down an unseen stairwell.

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Sacred and Profane