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Hunter	By : DavidHawthorne Category: Hellsing > General Views: 3810 -:- 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-Hunter
- 1
Hunter
By David ‘Psaiyan’ Hawthorne

Father Alexander Anderson stared listlessly out of the window of the high-speed EuroStar train as the walls of the Channel Tunnel whistled past in the near darkness. Removing his spectacles, he breathed gently on the lenses and polished them with his sleeve. He rubbed the corner of one emerald-green eye with a gloved finger before replacing the glasses on the bridge of his nose.
He smoothed back his unkempt blond hair and rested his head against the padded seat, his cheeks puffing out as he exhaled strongly. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a few moments of quiet contemplation, the regular clack-clack-clack of wheel on rail beneath his feet lulling his tired mind and body into a state of semi-slumber.
Before him on the formica table were an empty plastic sandwich packet, a crushed Fanta can and a rumpled and well-read copy of Le Monde, the folded over page open on the half-completed daily crossword puzzle. Beside these, Alexander’s hand rested upon the small, battered and very old hide-bound Bible that he carried with him always, the red ribbon bookmark buried in the middle of the Book of Revelation.
His long legs were cramped beneath the table – he would be glad for the chance to stretch when the train reached London. For a moment, he considered how good it would feel to kick off his boots and lie down with the full length of his body across the double seat. A smile rose at the corners of his mouth, exposing his sharp canine teeth and he restrained a chuckle as he imagined the other passenger’s reactions at seeing a priest behaving in such an unseemly manner.
Beneath his feet, partially hidden under the seat was an oversized scratched and battered aluminium briefcase, secured with double padlocks. Alexander made sure that his heels were in contact with this at all times. The last thing he needed was for his Holy mission to fail due to some two-bit baggage thief. Looking at his watch and seeing that the train was still over an hour from London, he decided to relax a little and permit himself a brief snooze. He had been awake ever since he left Rome – almost 24 hours ago. His eyes burned with fatigue and he could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on (an after effect of being shot in the head with a silver bullet some months previously). Hooking his toes through the carry handle, he turned his head once more towards the window, resting his cheek upon the cool glass.

--

"Thank you for travelling with EuroStar!" the young orange-uniformed stewardess cheerily intoned to all the departing passengers at London Waterloo station. Alexander, at 6’7 towered over her by at least a foot. As he exited the train, he flexed his broad shoulders, grateful for the opportunity to stand tall.
"Welcome to London, father." The girl bowed slightly at the sight of him.
"May God bless you, my child." His voice was warm and friendly in his soft Scottish accent. He raised his sold silver cross to his face and kissed it, smiling warmly at her.

--
AfP>After exchanging a wad of Euro notes for British Pounds, Alexander grabbed himself a coffee and sat for a while at the station café, listening to the garbled tannoy announcements and watching the evening commuters walking (and rushing) back and forth as they went about their daily lives.
These people knew nothing of the darkness that lay beneath the surface of everything they knew and took for granted. They felt comfortable and safe in their ignorance, content in their jobs, their families and their possessions. The heresies of science had explained everything, removed the need for God in their lives, given them their blissful little world and banished monsters to the realms of mere stories that parents told to misbehaving children. They were little more than flocks of human sheep – ‘sheeple’, lost and wandering aimlessly, heedless of the packs of hungry wolves creeping amongst the long grass.
He ran a finger along the shiny scar upon his left cheek - a permanent reminder of an ancient wound taken for his faith. Alexander liked to think of himself as a shepherd.

--

The taxi ride to hotehotel was uneventful, Alexander staring out of the window at the familiar sights of Central London.
"So, what brings you to sunny old London then, guv?" the flat-capped cabbie turned his head and smiled.
"Church business. It’s a bit boring really…" he stroked the stubble on his jawline, listening placidly as the man then proceeded to embark upon a long rant about his disdain for homosexual priests and asylum seekers. It was getting dark and Alexander was please to arrive at his destination.

--

He checked in to the five star hotel and immediately retired to the privacy of his room, kicking off his boots, removing his cassock and hanging it behind the door.
Opening the mini-bar, Alexander took a small bottle of Glenmorangie and poured it into a tumbler. Perching himself at the side of the bed, he swilled the glass around and inhaled the rich scent of the malt whisky before taking a small sip, savouring that taste of the fiery, tingly liquid.
He removed a sheaf of papers and photographs from his case and spread them out across the duvet, regarding them carefully, drink in hand.

Majeta Djorovic – AKA. Georg Kovacs, Rudolf Katz, Jens Krause, John Wilson. Currently Edward Rosenberg.
Born 17th December 1878, Belgrade, Serbia.

"And still going strong, it would seem…"

He compared a grainy photo labelled 23rd June 1946, Marseilles with an equally grainy long-distance photo taken two weeks previously in Westminster itself. The same tall, willowy black-haired man in an ordinary businessman’s suit appeared in both.
"Monster." Alexander spat venomously.
Djorovic had managed to hide himself from Iscariot for over fifty years, but it would seem that not all his present associates were truly loyal. The informer – perhaps even a vampiimseimself, would have been richly rewarded for his treachery and a blind eye turned to his own misdeeds. Alexander was under no illusions as to the fact that necessity sometimes forced a man to swallow his principles - that the ends always justified the means.
His heart quickened at the thought of what lay ahead. True Nosferatu – unholy evil of the worst kind. Even from the picture, the priest could sense the malign energy emanating from the figure, could feel the glare of his demonic eyes burning into his soul. He crossed himself and turned the photos face down upon the bed.
He studied the blueprint of the TV studio in which "Rosenberg’s" office lay, his eyes blinking like camera stutters recording every last detail of the layout to his photographic memory.
It had been many years since he had carried out his duties against a foe of this magnitude – not as powerful in terms of the Dark Arts as Hellsing’s housebroken pet monster, but much more dangerous and unpredictable. He feared that hunting bugs was beginning to make him soft. Every night he had prayed for an opportunity – earnestly offered his services to the Lord in ridding the world of such true demons. It would seem that He had repaid his faith with such providence.
"Enjoy your heathen pleasures this night... They will be your last." Alexander chuckled to himself and swallowed the remainder of the whiskey in a single gulp.

--

Deciding against any further activities that evening, he knelt at the end of the large double bed and silently recited the Lord’s Prayer. Placing his cross and spectacles on the bedside cabinet, he lay down fully clothed and stretched out his arms and legs across the full width of the soft, comfortable mattress. He stared at the unfamiliar ceiling for a few moments, before taking out the Good Book and reading a few of his favourite verses.
He was fast asleep in minutes.

***

"Abomination!" Anderson snarled at the top of his voice at the glowing red eyes and in the darkness before him.
"I am God’s messenger! I carry out His work upon this Earth!" there was a tangible presence of evil that made the hairs on the priest’s neck stand endwise. He grimaced, his eyes narrowto sto slits as he very slowly slid his blessed knives from their hidden sheathes.
Mocking, high-pitched laughter.
"Unholy monster! I will give you death and eternal damnation!" Alexander used his blades to form a cross before him, attempting to reflect light from their highly polished surfaces onto his target’s face. The shadows remained as impenetrable as ever.
Laughter.
"My blessed steel shall purify thy black heart." His muscles tensed, wound tightly as he prepared to pounce. Echoing footsteps reverberated in his ears as the eyes came closer and closer, growing larger and more malevolent by the second.
Laughter.
"May the power of the Lord annihilate you! AMEN!" Alexander roared a terrible war cry and made to engage his foe…

It didn’t work.

He was unable to move his legs.

The eyes were getting closer, the darkness encroaching from all sides. A tide of gloom.

He could not turn his gaze from those phosphorescent crimson orbs.

Coldness throughout his entire being. A deathly chill.

He raised his baptised blades in a fighting stance as a wide razor blade smile split the shadows, mere inches from his face. His feet vanished into the blackness.
"I will kill you." Alexander snarled.
Tendrils of black pulled at his arms and encircled his neck. It was a sensation of slowly sinking into ice-cold water. More laughter. His weapons seemed to be flickering and shimmering, losing their lustre and fading from existence, crumbling to dust in his hands. Those fangs filled his entire world. All his struggles were in vain.

Alexander Anderson prayed.

The last light was extinguished.
Alexander Anderson screamed.

Then Alexander Anderson stared in confusion as the lights came on.

***

"Father Anderson."
Everything was white and empty for as far as the eye could see.
"Father Anderson."
The world was lit with the power of ten million floodlights.
"Father Anderson."
There was also warmth here.
"Father Anderson."
His eyes focussed upon the figure before him. His mouth fell open in shock.
"Father Anderson."
"You…!" his mouth fell open with incredulity.
Seras Victoria smiled sweetly and reached for his spectacles, pulling them from his face. Strangely, this caused his vision to sharpen somewhat. She looked upwards, her deep crimson eyes staring deeply into his own.
"Father Anderson."
Terror gripped the pit of his stomach as he willed his body to turn and run.

It didn’t work. He could not move a muscle.

His heart pounded in his chest, the blooding singing in his ears. His teeth were grinding as he began to pray for his deliverance.
"You must be feeling so uptight…" her voice was so soft, so quiet, so gentle…
"Do what you will, demon. I am unafraid." He became aware of the fact that she was totally naked. Despite his efforts, Alexander found himself unable to avert his eyes from her smooth, pale, flawless skin.
"You’re such a strong man…" she ran her hands through her short blonde hair, thrusting her full, heavy breasts forwards as she did so. He could not help but stare; they had to be at least E-cups – round, soft, high, perfectly symmetrical and gravity defying. Her stomach was flat, smooth, toned, leading to the gentle swell of her wide, womanly hips.
"You temptations will fail, O Daughter of Lilith."
"You must feel lonely sometimes…" she cupped her breasts in her hands and squeezed gently, causing her firm, pink nipples to snap to attention. Alexander found himself drawn to her voluptuous hips, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and the secrets of her velvety womanhood. She licked her lips seductively, giving him a glimpse of her elongated canine teeth.
"She-devil…" his further protests were silenced as her mouth engulfed his own.

Warmth.
Such incredible warmth.

Her hands caressed his body through his priestly vestments, exploring his firm, strong muscles, her touch raising heat as it passed.

"Your body is honest." A feminine voice in his head.
Alexander attempts to pull away were in vain as Seras’ small, delicate hands massaged his crotch. He felt the fire beginning to rise in his loins.

"You want me, don’t you?" her saliva ran down his chin.

"Deliver us not into temptation…"
"Deliver us not into temptation…"

"Deliver us not into temptation…" he repeated the phrase like a mantra in his head as his unwilling hands found her soft, yielding buttocks and brought her body against his. He could feel her sharp fangs teasing his tongue.

"You want to become one with me."
"You want to show me your true nature." The kiss was deepened. Alexander was screaming inside. He could feel a hardness forming in his trousers.

"Deliver us not into temptation…"
"Deliver us not into temptation…"

She pulled her mouth away. Alexander realised that it was he who was trying to prolong the embrace. She smelt so good.
"I like you, Father Anderson. I like you a lot…" she rested her head against his chest as her hand found the zipper of his pants.
He opened his mouth to denounce her, but there were no words.
She sank to her knees, his hands sliding through her soft hair, massaging her scalp.

LoweLower.
Lower.
Lower.
She kissed her way down his strong abdomen as she lowered his trousers around his ankles. Blood was dripping from his bitten lips.
"I’ll give you everything you ever wanted…" Seras Victoria engulfed his length with her mouth.

Alexander Anderson screamed once more.

***

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo! No! No! Nooo!!!!!!!" he clawed at the air above him, arms flailing wildly. His teeth gnashed at thin air, seeking to rend the flesh of the undead whore who defiled his body.
The digital alarm clock read 05:36.
He fumbled in the dark to switch on the bedside lamp, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. The duvet was soaked with sweat and Alexander could not stop himself from trembling. He groaned weakly and slumped back against the headboard of his bed.
Nightmare.
He held his silver cross against his chest and recited the Lord’s Prayer once again, as though to ward off the phantoms of his dreams, wiping the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. He fixed his eyes on the post-modern rendition of something that occupied the picture frame on the opposite wall as his breathing returned to normal.
Looking at his outstretched palm, he could see four distinct bloody gashes where his fingernails had sliced into the skin. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times until the shaking ceased.
It was only at this point that Alexander became aware of a warm, wet spreading stain on the crotch of his pants.
His sticky essence coated his hand as he withdrew it from the waistband of his briefs, spiderwebbing between his fingers and dripping onto his shirt. His underwear was practically glued to his body. Moaning in disgust, he kicked off his trousers and throwing them into the corner of the room. He did not have a clean pair.
At that very moment, Father Alexander Anderson, Holy Paladin of the Roman Catholic Church solemnly swore that the next time he laid eyes on Seras Victoria, he would tear her limb from limb with his bare hands. There were some things that even a devout Catholic could not forgive…
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