So, this is probably going to be the last update for a few days. Writing this chapter kicked my ass and, apart from a few plot points, I’m totally unsure of how to continue at the moment. I’ll probably be working on Part 5 sporadically throughout the week but hopefully I’ll have it up by Friday or Saturday.
I’m not normally the kind of person to reblog my own stuff, but I’m actually really proud of some parts of this chapter.
So, this is probably going to be the last update for a few days. Writing this chapter kicked my ass and, apart from a few plot points, I’m totally unsure of how to continue at the moment. I’ll probably be working on Part 5 sporadically throughout the week but hopefully I’ll have it up by Friday or Saturday.
Sunday morning. The Hellsing Organization and Wild Geese had been at full combat readiness for nearly two weeks. Full combat readiness meant constant patrols, each patrol shift pulling more than twelve hours constantly on watch. It was wearing on everyone. Normal humans simply weren’t meant to keep vigilant and alert for that kind of time each day.
It was especially wearing on Claude. He hadn’t had an opportunity to really talk with Pip since their previous interaction. “One night zis week” got quickly pushed back to “Possibly next week.”
More worrying to the blonde soldier, as he wandered the halls, was the effect the whole situation was having on Sir Integra. It had been at his urging that she hired the Wild Geese and pushed to fortify Hellsing Manor for what could be a siege situation. He had already passed by her door to hear her saying that she shouldn’t have listened to him. Claude knew it was just the stress, but that still stung.
Which is why it almost came as a relief when, nearly sixteen days since the Wild Geese arrived, a spotter on the roof saw the buses pulling up at the front of the manor.
Claude assumed his position in the ground floor. The mercenaries had taken positions up on the second storey, defiladed through the windows, with heavy machine gun nests set up at three points. The Hellsing troops had been spread throughout the manor, and Sir Integra and Walter took refuge in the basement.
There was a brief moment of anticipation as two tall, lanky, very differently-dressed individuals walked up to the gatehouse, exchanging a brief word with the guards before opening fire.
The whole world seemed to pause, as if taking a breath. Suddenly, it was like the gates of Hell itself opened up. Nearly a hundred guns throughout the mansion opened fire. The two men at the gates jumped, taken by surprise. They moved faster than anyone could possibly keep track of, scattering and moving out of the firing arcs of the mercenaries on the upper levels.
The buses accelerated, making a charge for the front door, tires tearing deep tracks in the ground. One of the buses suddenly split in half, torn to a hundred thousand pieces by an explosion as it rolled over an anti-tank mine. The remaining three buses slammed into the front façade of the mansion, breaking through the walls and sending soldiers scattering.
More explosions as the doors on the buses opened, spilling forth soldiers replete with riot shields, all crudely labeled with “Boo doo, people murder people.” The Hellsing soldiers hid behind barriers, but still found themselves falling under the crushing advance of the armored ghouls.
Squad 17 had been split across the first floor, not one member was within easy reach of each other. Claude had the good fortune to be placed near the stairwell, a half-dozen men and women under his direct order.
The radio on his hip crackled to life.
“This is Belmont, in temporary command of Squad 6! We’re falling back to the Southeast stairwell! All troops, masks on! Thunder Children, load your guns for area denial!”
Claude looked around as everyone around him snapped on simple painter’s breathers and goggles. “Area denial.”
The Karmina shotguns were of a large enough bore to launch custom grenades. These had been designed by Alucard and Walter in a joint venture to give humans weapons to make life very unpleasant for vampires and ghouls. A frangible outer shell made out of cold iron, boasting a very light explosive charge. The real meat of the grenades was their incredibly finely-powdered silver, each individual speck light enough to float on the softest breeze. Each grenade contained several hundred grams of this powdered silver.
As Squad 6 rounded the corner in full retreat, pursued by a charging formation of ghouls, Claude dutifully shouldered his gun and fired over the heads of his comrades-in-arms. The grenade rounds kicked more than usual, so his gun knocked the hell out of his shoulder. Its explosive projectile sailed high, smacking into the shield of one ghoul before bursting open in a flash of light.
It suddenly became much harder to see in the hallway as a million rays of light were reflected by the particulate silver floating in the air. The ghouls, clearly newly-turned, continued to breathe instinctively. That was their mistake, as they caught lungs full of powdered silver. As their lungs screamed in pain, their skin blistering from exposure to the precious metal, some dropped their shields. Some dropped their guns. All of the ghouls seized in pain. A lung full of silver wouldn’t be enough to kill a vampire, not even a ghoul, but it distracted them. Which was exactly what was necessary, as the Hellsing soldiers ripped the small crowd apart with concentrated fire.
The soldiers in that small hallway let out a cheer, but it was short-lived. The other sides of the Manor remained unsecured, a fact they were painfully reminded of as another member of Squad 17 called out over the radio that Squads 2 and 8 were wiped out.
One of the two lanky bastards from before the attack had broken in through an uncovered window in the back of the mansion and caught the two groups by surprise. His other tall associate had met up and charged together into the lower levels before splitting up again.
Integra, dead. Seras, dead. Alucard unable to save them. Pip dead. Claude unable to save him.
Claude gripped at his head, grabbing his radio, fury running through every vein in his body. He keyed the channel for the rest of the radios they used.
“This is… This is Claude Grey to all Hellsing soldiers and the Wild Geese mercenaries. Everyone on the second storey secure the stairwells at all costs! Don’t let any of those bastards up there! Level the fuckin’ stairwells with C4 if you have to! All forces on the first storey and below, do whatever you can to get to the basement! They’re aiming for Sir Integra!”
They’d probably be fine. But was he really going to risk it? He had a dinner date with Monsieur Bernadotte to look forward to. Integra was like a mother to him. Seras almost like a sister already.
I’ll be damned if some vampire asshole’s gonna take everything away from me again.
Everything had transpired over the course of a few seconds. Before anybody else had a chance to react to what he said, Claude bolted for the stairwell and stormed downstairs. Abandoning his command like this would earn him a royal chewing-out later, but he didn’t care. He knew the basement was shielded against radio transmissions. Even if Integra had a radio, she never would’ve heard what he said. He had to get there first, and one man could move a hell of a lot faster than seven.
The basement level of the Hellsing Manor was a labyrinth the likes of which would have made King Minos green with envy. It sprawled much farther out and much deeper than the already palatial mansion sitting aboveground. Twisting tunnels which doubled back, dozens of dead ends, fake doors, electronic shielding, all designed to hide the lowest dungeons and the deepest, darkest secrets of Hellsing and the Council of Twelve.
It was also where the vampire Alucard made his home, meaning it was somewhere Claude Grey rarely ventured.
He probably knew as much about the basement level as the vampires now trying to navigate their way to find Sir Integra.
Every corner had the potential to put him face-to-face with a being much more powerful than he was, much faster than he was, far harder to kill than he was.
He wasn’t particularly scared, not really. Dying was something he hadn’t been scared of in years. At the end of the day, Claude knew he was expendable. The Hellsing Organization would move on if he died, but Sir Integra was vital to their survival.
Claude was also fairly sure he was lost. Every corridor in the basement looked the same.
Voices came from the hallway to his left. The soldier hugged the wall and listened closely.
“You dumbass! Those cocksuckers were waiting for us and you knew it, didn’t you?!” How was he communicating with someone? That shouldn’t be possible. “I don’t give a shit what he told you or not! We walked into a trap you kraut fuck!”
Kraut?
Claude’s attention was taken as he heard further gunshots from down the hall to his right. That… That had to be where Integra was. He pushed away from the wall, breaking into a dead run, not caring about the noise he was making.
“Oh shit… Hey, come back here, asshole!”
Claude could hear the man behind him, footsteps moving far too fast for him to outrun. He reached to his battledress, grabbing a grenade. A flashbang. Just something to use as a distraction.
Claude pulled the pin, hearing the footsteps getting closer. After less than a second, he threw the grenade behind him and covered his ears. There was a tremendous BANG, amplified by the walls of the basement. It rattled every bone in his body, even shook his teeth. Even after covering his ears, they rang fiercely, he could scarcely hear.
A door at the end of the hallway stood open, and Claude could see the white-suited man from earlier seated against the wall, bloodied. The man turned to look at Claude, chest heaving from multiple bullet wounds. Alucard still stood, holding a gun aimed at the seated individual. He raised a second gun that Claude had never seen before. Under the ringing in his brain he could hear the vampire yelling.
“Get down!”
Claude dove for the floor, landing awkwardly on his gun. Oof. That was gonna bruise later.
There were further gunshots, though they barely registered through his already weakened hearing. He felt an impact as the vampire chasing him fell to the ground and slid along the floor.
The soldier panted, out of breath from the sprint. He clambered to his feet and trained the Karmina shotgun on the black tracksuited vampire on the ground.
“H… How’s it feel… Dickhead?”
Mr. White Suit turned, grunting. He coughed, blood spattering from his mouth.
“Jan… You should have left when I told you to…”
“Urgh… Sorry, big bro… Wasn’t gonna let you have all the fun. I wanted to take at least a few more of these assholes with us as payment for all the trouble.” Jan looked up at Alucard, and Integra as she emerged from the room behind him. “How’d you… Ungh… How’d you bitches know we were coming?”
“That’d be me.” Claude spoke, feeling vindictive. He stamped his foot on the bullet wound in Jan’s leg, prompting him to shout. “I heard you talking to your boss. Called him kraut?” He twisted his foot, digging in harder. “Let him know, it doesn’t matter what he does. I’ll see it coming. The Hellsing Organization will never let you win, whoever you are.”
Claude got a strange feeling as he said that. The little voice in the back of his head screamed at him. Jan laughed wickedly.
“Oh, trust me. He knows now.” The vampire sat up, flipping off Alucard and Integra. “He’s been listening to this entire conversation!”
Oh shit. DEFINITELY should not have said that.
“I’ll bet you wanna know who sent us, then! It was…” There was a flash of heat, catching everyone off guard as Jan and his brother erupted in flames. “M I L L E N N I U M…”
There was practically a chorus of “Millennium?” from Claude and Integra. Questions fresh in their heads, they emerged from the basement to find the ghoul army neatly cleaned up. Seras had left the basement from another stairwell as the two brothers went down, and began cleaning up the leftovers of their forces.
Hellsing had, despite their readiness, taken fierce casualties. Twenty-six killed, nearly forty injured, along with eight injured Wild Geese. Claude shuddered to imagine what would have happened if they were not as prepared as they were.
After a firm dressing-down by Integra for so recklessly running headlong into the basement and abandoning his command, Claude was allowed to rest. It was night-time by now.
Fully exhausted, he flopped onto his bed, not even bothering to strip out of his battledress, or even to put his gun away. The second his eyes closed, he was out.
There was a soft phump, then another. Claude’s eyes fluttered open slowly, unsure of how much time had passed. He looked to the source of the noise.
In the dim light of the room’s lamp, he could see a very short… Boy? Did he have… Cat ears? Claude’s eyes adjusted, and then widened as he another, much taller… Was that a woman? With a scythe? He quickly looked at the sleeping figure of his roommate. Blood… Blood on the walls.
The catboy turned to him, tittering quietly.
“Oh? You’re certainly qvite a heavy sleeper, nein?”
Without a second thought, Claude grabbed his sidearm and moved to fire it at the boy. But the woman was quicker. She was across the room before he could blink, and delivered a series of tremendous punches to his chest and stomach. Even through the bullet-resistant battledress, they knocked him utterly senseless. He gasped, struggling to breathe through the pain of what had to be several broken ribs. Thrown off balance by the impacts, Claude rolled off the bed, crashing to the floor and bringing his guns tumbling with him. Hitting the floor did nothing to alleviate the now eye-watering pain.
“Tsk… Vas zat really necessary, Obersturmführer Blitz?” The woman rolled her eyes, chomping down harder on the cigarette in her mouth.
“You vould razzer he shot you, zen? Or me, more importantly?”
Claude struggled, trying to lift his shotgun, but the catboy merely walked over and stepped a foot onto his chest, eliciting a gasp of pain.
“Ah-ah-ah… Now zat’s not wery nice.” The catboy picked up Claude’s shotgun with almost no effort. He wasn’t dying, but the pain of the Nazi Youth-dressed individual standing on his chest certainly made Claude wish he was dead.
“Mein leader visely decided to stop… How you say… pussy-footing around. If our plans vere getting foreseen, vhy not capture ze individual who foresees zem?”
Why do I ever open my big goddamn mouth?
The catboy giggled again, now standing with both feet on Claude’s chest.
“You’re going to be coming vis us.”
He bent down, cutely tapping Claude’s nose with a finger.
The world around them disappeared entirely.
(Not gonna lie, this chapter was a LOT of fun to write, but it certainly gave me guff trying to figure out how to allow Hellsing to find out about Millennium with all of the advantages they had in the battle. I also love how Medz and I, on our own, both formulated nearly identical ways for our characters to get captured!)
This part is going to be quite a bit longer than usual. It’s also where I’ve got the first divergence from canon events, mostly because I wanted an excuse to write an interaction with everyone’s favorite Frenchman. Hopefully you all enjoy!
Claude didn’t get enough sleep these days. He had been awoken at half past midnight by Walter shaking him awake.
“Mr. Grey…” The butler’s hand gently grasped his shoulder, shaking him again. “Mr. Grey, Sir Integra requests your presence.”
Claude begrudgingly opened his eyes.
Standing before him was a young man, a twisted grin on his face, hands grasping at a bundle of monofilament wire. Spattered with blood, eyes staring into his soul. The young man had Walter’s voice, his grin never leaving as he spoke.
“Something the matter, Mr. Grey?”
Claude blinked.
The young man was replaced with an older man, unmistakably Walter. Far more intimidating, clad in black, sans all of the wrinkles that the Hellsing butler had gathered over the years.
The soldier froze in place, looking at the figure. As he blinked again, the young man disappeared, replaced by the form of the elderly assistant to the Hellsing Organization. Claude let out a sigh of relief.
“No, no Walter. Everything’s fine, thank you. You…” He looked up again. “Integra’s asking for me?”
“That’s correct. It’s an emergency. She said to tell you it has the potential to be a ‘repeat of Belgium.’ She said to bring yourself, armed, to the helicopter pad as soon as you please.”
The soldier was justifiably alarmed at this. He threw the sheets away as though they were trying to kill him. He bolted to the closet, within which lay his uniform and guns. Not even caring about Walter’s presence, not worried about waking his roommate, he stripped from his pajama clothes and pulled on his battledress as quickly as he could manage, grabbing the Karmina shotgun and his sidearm as he rushed out of the room.
Him being called, without the rest of Squad 17, could only mean that Alucard was tied up elsewhere. Claude’s minor precognition and skill behind a shotgun meant that he was often picked as Sir Integra’s bodyguard when the vampire was indisposed.
It was a hell of a run to the helipad. It sat comfortably atop the Manor’s fourth storey, which meant a lot of stair-climbing to do. In thirty kilos of gear.
Claude hated stairs.
He exited the door onto the helipad at a full run, hopping into the already-running Westland Wessex helicopter. Sir Integra and another guard sat across from him, her second bodyguard seated in the seat next to his own.
“Ah, Mr. Grey. Apologies for the short notice. A situation has arisen in the town of Badrick, in Northern Ireland. Another ghoul army, sired by another vampire. It seems an agent of the Vatican has been sent to quell the situation, as has our Alucard and the Police Girl.”
Claude was more than a little confused. Why’re we needed, then?
“Judging from the look on your face, you’re wondering why we need to lend assistance. This agent of the Vatican is none other than Alexander Anderson. While not a vampire, he is every bit the expert in combat that Alucard is.”
Oh. That’s why. Alexander Anderson was practically a boogeyman. Nobody outside of their top-level contacts in MI5 could find any information on the man. But there’d been plenty of rumors. Especially of the clean-up necessary after the Paladin Anderson entered the field.
“I see. You want us to stop them fighting, then, Sir Integra?”
She nodded wordlessly. Claude swallowed thickly, nervous. He adjusted his glasses with a gloved hand, holding tightly onto his gun with the other hand.
The air in the helicopter was tense with anticipation. Nobody needed precognition to know that this endeavor had the potential to end very badly.
Luckily, all Claude needed to do was stick by Integra’s side. Integra. Walter!
“Sir Integra, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Yes, what is it?” She looked curious.
“I… Uh… Y’know, it’s nothing. Just a feeling I had, that’s all.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the feeling he had was about Walter. Integra kept her eyes on him for a few moments, but nodded.
“Yes, I see. Let me know if you see anything.”
Claude let out a quiet “mmhmm.”
The rest of their flight to Northern Ireland was in silence. They approached the building to which Alucard and Seras had been sent.
Oh damn. It looked to be a school. The Westland Wessex set down in the courtyard outside, and the four armed individuals hopped out. Claude took a position in front and to the right of Integra, and the two remaining bodyguards walked ahead. Even through the din of the helicopter’s engine, they could hear a silence in the building that was wholly uncharacteristic of wherever Alucard ventured.
That wasn’t a good sign.
The two suit-clad guards had taken point, drawing their guns and entering the building in advance. Their five-point room scan found nought but dead bodies. Ghouls. They motioned for Claude and Integra to enter.
The soldier kept his shotgun shouldered, pointed down, finger beside the trigger. They heard shouting in the hallway to the right, and the two suits charged in ahead.
Seras was backed against a doorway, Alucard’s headless body in the hallway close by. That’s when Claude saw him.
A beast of a man, blonde hair cut short, clad in a massive beige coat, bearing all the trappings of a Catholic priest. Held in his hands, high above his head, were two… Were those bayonets? He moved, poised to cut Seras down, when Sir Integra fired, shattering the two great knives in his hands.
Anderson turned, a wicked grin on his face. Sir Integra began to speak, Anderson argued, but it was all muffled. Claude couldn’t concentrate. A splitting pain shot through his head, and the world disappeared.
Hellsing Manor, burning, more than a hundred dead. Two burning bodies, brothers. Old enemies from a time long past. An army of ghouls, unlike any seen before, packed in buses. The Council of Twelve meets. A declaration of war.
Claude heard shouting, felt hands grab his shoulder. A voice in his head screamed.
Raise your gun! Fire! Fire!
As if by instinct, he pulled the trigger. The shotgun, fired by one hand, threw him off balance. The deafening roar caught everyone by surprise, the muzzle blast of the gun catching a small portion of the priest’s jacket aflame. In the din of the gunshot, there was a loud CLANG, and two bayonets tumbled to the floor, broken beyond repair.
Claude returned to reality, seeing the bodies of the two other bodyguards in front of him.
Anderson had thrown two bayonets at him, bayonets he couldn’t even have seen. He didn’t even see the fight, just the aftermath. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the Paladin chuckling.
“Ahh, ye’re diff’rent! Yessss, not yin ae those blood-suckin’ freaks, but not as normal as yer boss, right?” He grinned further. “The Vatican could use yin ae ye!” He crossed his bayonets.
“If’n ye ever feel like convertin’ from yer Protestant heresy, le’ me know! Be happy to turn ye against the freaks and Protestants, my boy!”
Claude dropped to his knees, suddenly unable to stand under the weight of his gear. The vision had sapped his energy. Alucard started to reform from his dismembered body.
Anderson disappeared in a cloud of Bible paper.
Integra knelt down beside him.
“Claude! What in God’s name happened to you?!” He couldn’t tell if she was furious or concerned. He wanted to go with both.
He panted, gritting his teeth through the subsiding headache from earlier.
“There’s… ha… There’s going to be an attack. On the Mansion. I’ve never felt so certain of a vision in my life.”
The next several days were a buzz of activity. Sir Integra had been making calls left and right to find a suitable group to act as reinforcement for the Hellsing forces. If anything happened as in Claude’s vision, the mere one hundred men in their current employ would be nowhere near enough. She settled on the highest bidder, a mercenary group based out of Amsterdam. The Wild Geese.
It had taken a tremendous amount of effort and a lot of favors from the Council of Twelve to get the mercenaries and their materiel through customs and positioned in the Hellsing Manor.
Today would be “Orientation Day.”
Integra, Seras, and Claude would be meeting the two-dozen or so mercs in what was ordinarily the South Dining Hall.
He could already hear their leader talking about how their job would entail fighting monsters, to the laughter of his troops.
God above, that man has a gorgeous voice~… Claude found himself thinking. He was eager to see the face behind the voice, hoping it was as beautiful.
He was not disappointed.
They emerged into the dining hall, and he immediately zoned out as Integra began to speak. The leader of the mercenaries turned to face them, one eye covered by a patch, a bandage across the bridge of his nose. He had incredible long, red hair, tied in a braid that wrapped around his neck and still reached halfway down his back.
That… Now that’s just asking for fingers in it. Claude quickly turned away, trying to ignore the blush creeping up on his face. Dammit, Christ, no!
“… highest ranked member of our staff.” He heard Integra finish, gesturing to him. He gulped, turning back and quickly holding his hand up, palm flat, facing the mercenaries.
“Umm… Hello!”
There was a smattering of laughter. The lead merc walked over, sizing him up. Claude had to make an effort to look the man in the eye, as Claude was nearly a full head shorter.
“Zis man is your… ‘ighest ranked soldier?”
Claude wrinkled his nose at the comment. “Yes, I am!”
Integra interrupted, placing a hand on the mercenary’s chest. “Mr. Bernadotte…”
“Ah ah, please, call me Pip.”
“Pip… Mr. Grey here has served with us for three years. His combat experience may be more… Unorthodox, compared to your own, but he is an invaluable asset to the Hellsing Organization.”
“Non, madame. I assure you I meant no offense.” Pip extended a hand to the much shorter soldier in front of him. “I was just… ‘ow you say… Ribbing you? I assure you I look forward to working with you.”
Claude nodded, smiling slightly, and took Pip’s hand in a firm shake.
“Not to worry, Monsieur Bernadotte, no offense taken. I look forward to… To working with you as well.” Pip returned a smirk at that, then turned to his men and began barking orders.
Perhaps Seras had noticed the tone of his voice. Maybe it was his smell, or the dreamy look on his face, the way he made eyes at the mercenary leader. She covered her mouth, hiding a smile, prompting a perplexed look from Claude.
“What?” He crossed his arms. “What’s so funny, police girl?”
“Oh my God…” She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Oh my God, you’ve got a crush on Monsieur Bernadotte~!”
Claude quickly bolted upright, eyes widened. He looked to make sure the mercenaries hadn’t heard. If they had, not a one of them made any sign of it.
“Don’t you fuckin’ tell him!” Claude whispered. She let out a giggle, loud enough that a couple of the Wild Geese looked in their direction. She and Claude quickly turned away.
Seras grinned wildly. “That’s so cute! Let me…” She giggled again, digging an elbow into Claude’s ribs. “Let me know if you need a ‘wingman.’”
She walked away, continuing to softly giggle to herself. Claude sighed. He turned around to take another look at Pip. Pip, who was standing with his back facing Claude. Pip, who was… Now bending over to pick up a case of ammo.
Claude vacated the room.
—-Four days later—-
Almost four in the afternoon. Claude was looking around the estate, trying to find Pip. He had spent much of the previous two days with his nose buried in a French-to-English dictionary, trying to learn bits and pieces of the language.
And there he was, in front of a third-storey window overlooking the front courtyard of the Manor. Seated on a large couch, conversing with a pair of his fellow Wild Geese. Smiling, and laughing.
Hot damn, what a smile…
He waited, then walked over as the two Wild Geese departed. Pip looked over, giving a smile.
“Ah, Monsieur Grey. Much pleasure to meet you!”
Damn, he forgot everything he was going to say.
Say something, quick!
“Umm… B-bonjour, Monsieur Bernadotte. C-comment allez-vous?”
Pip paused, a clear look of surprise on his face. He had not expected the short little blonde man to speak anything other than English. The French mercenary adjusted his hair, then leaned forward, one hand on his knee.
“Bien, et vous?”
“Uh… C-c’est bon, je suis magnifique.”
Pip chuckled.
“Surely, Monsieur Grey, you ‘ave some ulterior motive, coming to me trying to speak French.”
“I… Well, I…”
Pip stared at him expectantly. Claude’s mind went utterly blank, and all that came to mind were the lyrics of an old song. Lyrics which he proceeded to mumble softly, through no will of his own.
“V-v-voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”
He had never seen a person’s face go red that quickly in his life. He was positive it had to be some sort of record. Pip just stared at him, for what felt like a year but was more likely about a minute or two. He cleared his throat softly, face still beet-red.
“Zat is… A very old way to say zat. Trying to court someone today, you should say ‘tu aurais envie de faire l’amour ce soir.’ Zat means ‘would you like to make love tonight?’” He smirked. “And traditionally, before you ask zat, you buy zem dinner first.” Pip stood up slowly, chuckling, his face returning to a normal color though still very red. He tousled Claude’s hair, then bent down to talk to him at eye level.
“Per’aps one night zis week, you and I might have dinner. Zen I’ll consider it. C’est bon?”
“C-c’est bon…”
Pip nodded, placing a cigarette between his teeth and walking onward.
By God, did Claude feel mortified.
Because of the overwhelming response to the first part, I decided to keep writing this. 🙂 I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
(Please note, the timeline of this fic will be different than canon. I’m trying to keep characters as in character as possible but events may change.)
A priest corrupted. A village in Somerset. Confused townsfolk, scared for their children. The children. Disappearing in the night. Police respond. An evil grin, an army, shambling in the dark. Gunshots. A woman, chased, grabbed. The same red-coated hound, a vicious smile, a taunt. More gunfire, blood. Death. Death.
Claude had fainted in the middle of night training. The thunderous boom of gunshots around him had ceased, his squadmates forming a circle around him in surprise. One had lifted him to a sitting position, trying to coax him awake.
He awoke to the concerned faces of his comrades-in-arms. A tall, lanky brunette had crouched next to him.
“Claude? It happened again?”
He nodded, utterly out of breath. Visions took everything out of them when they occurred at random as this one had. He struggled to his feet, suddenly out of energy and weighed down by his gear.
“I have to find Sir Integra.”
Shedding the thirty kilograms of gear plus gun, Claude rushed back into the manor, leaving his befuddled squadmates behind.
Integra, at this hour, could only be found in her office. Claude knew this, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to report to her in the middle of the night for a vision. Upstairs, second story, middle of the front façade.
He had picked a bad time.
Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing was conversing with her loyal bodyguard, the vampire Alucard.
Claude was quietly unnerved by Alucard, had been ever since the day they met. His unease these days was a far cry from the abject terror he felt around the vampire three years ago. The sense of unease was exacerbated by the fact that, mid-conversation, Claude’s benefactor and her bodyguard ceased talking to stare at the door.
However, the initial look of disgust on Integra’s face from the interruption softened as she saw who stood in the doorway to her office.
“Oh? Something the matter, Mr. Grey?” She spoke, beckoning him to the desk. Claude trudged closer, keeping his composure even as the nearly two-meter vampire stared at him, arms crossed.
“I fainted, Sir Integra. I had another vision.” At these words, she sat more upright, quickly grabbing a pen and paper.
“Claude, I want you to tell me everything you remember, as clearly as you can.”
He relayed the dream to her, omitting no details. He hoped it was worthwhile this time.
Claude’s visions always portrayed events from the past, from the present, and from the future. But visions of the present and the future had a nasty habit of not happening, which caused no small amount of grief for the Hellsing organization back when they investigated every dream he had. Nowadays, they erred on the side of caution and maintained a state of readiness whenever he had a vision whose contents had yet to occur.
As her pen finished dancing across the paper, Integra huffed quietly, thinking. She knew the risks of pursuing a vision that wasn’t going to occur. She did NOT need a repeat of what happened in Hawick. On the other hand, it could be as big as the Belgium Incident. She still shuddered at the amount of paperwork she had to fill out for that one.
“You said it was Cheddar, correct? That’s the village in Somerset?”
“That’s right, yes ma’am.”
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Claude.” Integra nodded at him. “We’ll keep apprised of the situation. Now, do get some sleep.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost motherly. “Lord only knows you’ve had a long day.”
She was right. It had been less than twelve hours since submitting his report on last night’s dream. “You and the rest of Squad 17 will be dismissed for the night. I want all of you at the ready in case anything comes of this.”
“I appreciate that, Sir Integra, thank you. Good night.” He paused, giving a curt nod to the vampire, whose eyes never left Claude’s figure throughout the conversation. “Good night to you, too, Mr. Alucard.”
Alucard let out a soft chuckle at the honorific. “Just Alucard.”
Claude made a noise to the effect of “mmhmm,” before turning on his heel and departing the room.
Eight days later, Claude’s vision would come to fruition. There was a police crisis in the village of Cheddar. Shots were fired, numerous individuals reported dead. Local police had almost half of the village cordoned off, and nearly three thousand people had been evacuated.
Reports circulated among the news agencies that a religious extremist group called the Church of the Highest Divine had laid siege to the town, and that a special government task force was being called in to resolve the situation and free any possible hostages.
In reality, there was no “Church of the Highest Divine.” The “special government task force” was the Hellsing Organization. And, knowing their line of work, there sure as hell wouldn’t be any hostages to free.
Claude sat, his weapon clamped between his legs. He was cramped in the back of a Saxon armoured personnel carrier with the rest of Squad 17, en route to Cheddar. There were five similar vehicles behind theirs, carrying Squads 3, 8, 9, 12, and 15. A total of sixty individuals in the convoy, trailing behind a Rolls-Royce which carried Sir Integra Hellsing and Alucard. On the outskirts of the village, the convoy slowed, never stopping, as Alucard exited the car and entered the village proper.
The rest of them deployed along the police cordon, relieving the official forces and expanding the perimeter, getting any civilians as far away as possible. As the other squads began their work, Squad 17 was to deploy into Cheddar and do their damnedest to find any survivors while Alucard searched for the head vampire.
Claude knew this show of force bordered on excessive, but Integra had decided to make an impression. Besides, they knew it could take hours to comb the village and find the bastard responsible for ghoulifying several hundred people.
The eight members of Squad 17 marched in an arrowhead formation. Their unofficial name was “Thunder Children,” named for the HMS Thunder Child from H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds. They were the best-armed and best-trained that Hellsing had to offer, and they got sent in when Alucard was needed elsewhere. They were the last human line of defense when things got rough.
As they marched, Claude shouldered his weapon. Every member of the Thunder Children was issued the same gun. A custom-built affair, designed and produced by Walter and the Hellsing Arms gunsmiths. Called the “Karmina,” they were guns that were barely suitable for human usage. Each was 10 kilograms fully loaded, designed to fire the largest shotgun shells Claude had seen in his life. Silver-coated iron balls of shot, designed for dealing with groups of ghouls, or proper vampires. Since humans couldn’t aim as well as Alucard could, the ability to fire a whole lot at once could more than compensate for this.
The shotguns certainly came in handy as they waded through dozens of ghouls, heading door-to-door to check for survivors.
So far, it was just ghouls, ghouls, and more ghouls. Cliff Street in particular was brimming with them. Claude shouldered his gun and fired at a ghoul that came too close, the colossal gun kicking into his shoulder hard enough to hurt.
He was trying not to think very hard about how this ghoul was a traffic cop, or how that ghoul looked to be in her sixties. He hated to think about how close he had come to being one in the past, on more than one occasion. He especially hated to think about how every ghoul they killed was one more family member who wouldn’t be coming to dinner the next day.
They had rounded off of Cliff Street onto Birch Hill when they heard gunshots, far distant, in the woods at the border of the village. The rest of Squad 17 stopped as they heard the telltale BANG of Alucard’s gun once again, and the remaining ghouls in the village were no more.
The squad leader, a chap named Belmont, radioed in to Integra that Alucard completed his mission, that the head vampire had been dealt with, and there were no further survivors to be found. She ordered Squad 17 back, and sent in the remaining five squads to perform cleanup duties.
Claude sighed, relieved. He handled the fighting better than a lot of people, but it took a toll on his mind. Every fight did. But he knew it was something he had to do, to keep from thinking about the human cost.
As they returned to the edge of the police cordon, he saw the tall vampire emerge from the woods, carrying a wounded, blonde woman in a police uniform. She was the one he saw in his visions. Integra turned, eyes burning a hole into Belmont.
“I thought you said there were no survivors.” She said.
Alucard smirked, piping up. “Technically, there weren’t.”
That’s when Claude saw her teeth. Her fangs.
He hadn’t foreseen that.
I spent a fair portion of today typing this up, hopefully it goes somewhere. I’ll be posting it here if anyone’s interested.
Fires, burning. A flash of white teeth, fangs. A dozen dead bodies, familiar faces lying among them. Caught in a crossfire. Gunshots, loud as cannons. Two beasts locked in battle, diametrically opposed. One independent, a vicious killer, remorseless eyes scanning the flame-ringed battlefield. The other, a red-coated lapdog, leash held by a woman of incredible will. The woman’s eyes burn with fire greater than the flames around them, she roars to her pup, distracting him. A boy, scarce younger than herself, alive among the dead, but barely. He coughs, lungs filled with blood, drowning. More gunshots. One of the two demigods falls. The boy hears footsteps, a flash of red, then nothing. Darkness.
Claude Grey jolted from his sleep, heart pounding as he awoke.
God dammit, he thought. Not again.
He hadn’t had this dream in a while. The day he found out that everything he thought he knew about the world was wrong. Rubbing his exhausted eyes, he turned in the pitch-black bedroom to look at his alarm clock.
1:08 A.M.
Piss.
Claude groaned softly. He’d only gotten three hours of sleep, if that. And after that dream, he knew he wasn’t getting anymore.
Resigned to spending his day as a barely-awake zombie, Claude swung his legs over the side of the bed, blanket spilling to the floor. He shambled over to his closet, opening it slowly and struggling to find his uniform in the darkness. He dressed quietly, trying not to awaken his sleeping roommate, before slipping out the door into the hallway.
Hellsing Manor, at this hour of night, was practically lifeless. The halls were void of movement save for the occasional guard on night patrol. The normally bright lights lining the walls were dimmed so as not to disturb the residents sleeping in their rooms. Claude squinted against the new light, his blue eyes adjusting slowly.
It was a long walk to the kitchen from his room, halfway across the Manor, down to the ground floor. His boots clicked softly on the stairs as he descended.
Left from the stairwell, then right, right again, then left.
The kitchen was substantial, sized and stocked to serve more than a hundred people. Claude needed a cup of coffee. He rifled through the cupboards, looking for the bag of black nuggets of salvation. His hands found the proper bag, full of Sulawesi coffee beans from a brand he could never be bothered to remember.
Pour the beans, then grind. Brew.
As he waited on the coffee to brew, Claude became increasingly aware of the slight tremor in his hands. It always returned after a dream.
Dammit all. He growled quietly, smacking his hands on the kitchen counter. Once. Twice. Thrice. He knew what the shakes meant, as did Integra, as did Alucard.
He needed to get himself under control. It was far too unbecoming for an agent of Hellsing to shake like a small child after a dream, even after the visions he often had in his sleep. Claude found himself hitting the counter more, as though hurting his hands would bring an end to their shaking. As if begging him to stop, the coffee machine beeped, its signal that the drink was ready.
He poured it into a thick mug, no added sugar, just a spoonful of sweetened, condensed milk. Claude sipped at the intoxicating brew, checking his watch.
1:30 A.M. Sir Integra wouldn’t be awake for another five hours. Claude knew she would want a full report of his dreams on her desk by noon, as she always did. He was the only member of the Hellsing Organization who had to do this.
With another heavy sigh, he returned to his room, grabbed his laptop, and moved to the boardroom to get a start on his report. His hands continued shaking ever-so-softly as he typed.
Walter had found Claude in the boardroom at nearly 5:00 A.M. With barely-concealed surprise, he nodded as the soldier explained why he was up so early. Claude asked the butler to inform Sir Integra where to find him when she awoke.
Sure enough, at seven o’clock sharp, the tall, impeccably-dressed blonde woman entered the boardroom, one hand holding a mug of coffee and the other holding a large three-ring binder. She walked to the seat beside Claude, pulling out the chair and sitting down wordlessly.
“So, Mr. Grey…” She sipped from the mug, idly opening the binder and flipping to the divider labeled [March, 1999]. “Walter tells you’ve been at work since the wee hours of the morning.”
“Yes, Sir Integra.” Claude nodded, dutifully passing her the stack of papers written in the template he made for reports. “I… Found myself awake at an early hour, from a dream last night.”
Integra scanned over the report, her brow furrowed as she began to read, a look of familiarity on her face.
“The day Alucard and I rescued you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s been almost a month since you’ve dreamt that dream.”
“It has, yes sir.” Claude nodded respectfully. “I do apologize. I have no control over my visions.”
Integra waved her hand dismissively. “No apologies. I do understand things such as this are far beyond the control of people such as yourself and I.” She smirked. “Your visions have been useful more than once.”
As she spoke, her eyes drifted to Claude’s hands, hidden in his lap, below the table.
“Your hands, let me see them.”
“Pardon… Pardon me, sir?”
“You heard me. Your hands.” Her tone shifted, more stern than before. The soldier sighed, lifting his hands and resting them on the table. They trembled softly, even as Integra took them and quietly examined each one, turning them over in her own hands.
“It’s gotten worse.”
“Yes, sir. It’s just like-“
“Belgium.” She interrupted. “That means something’s going to happen, doesn’t it?
“I suppose so, sir. I don’t know when it will be, but it must be soon.”
Integra huffed, nodding quietly. Her eyes closed, and she sat in thought for a moment, planning their next course of action. After nearly a minute, she reopened her eyes. She quietly popped the rings of the binder and filed the report amongst hundreds of others. The softness in her voice, however slight, was once again replaced with the same pragmatic tone as always.
“Keep writing your reports, then. Attend drills and patrol as usual. If you faint, I want you to inform me immediately, no matter to whom I’m speaking. And…” She gently tapped his left hand with a gloved finger. “I want you to see Walter for something to help calm that tremble in your hands. You’ll do nobody any good if you can’t stop shaking in an emergency. Understand?”
“Absolutely, sir.” Claude nodded. Sir Integra nodded in return. Without further adieu, she stood, binder and coffee mug in hand, and exited the boardroom.
Claude followed suit, making a different turn to go hunt down the Hellsing butler, Walter.
The Rose-Clad Demon Doctor 