Hellsing Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Beyond Mortal Blood ❯ Encounter ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

So, co-written by KayMaxwell and myself, comes a story of a Vampire, an assassin, and some other things as well. We’ve been working on this for about... three weeks, now and this is the fruit of our labors. Updates will come at one to two weeks. Please remember to comment, criticize, whatever you have we’ll take it. Thank you very much! <3

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Blanketed beneath a midnight curtain was the forbidding city of Vampires. Or perhaps it was best known as London to the non-believers. Many a person had scoffed at the mere idea of blood-sucking creatures of the night existing, and the sleek redhead darting through the alleyways was just such one of the many. He believed in little except the power of his katana and his ability to wield it. This crimson dressed figure hadn't always been so cold - there had been reasons to drive him to abandoning his smiles and laughter - but what could possibly shatter a man so completely that he had reconstructed himself in quiet repose with a mission carved in blood not his own?
The man in question stopped as his searching game came to an end. Before him loomed a door, hardly illuminated save for the neon sign situated above it. No doubt a questionable club that kept itself well hidden deep within an alley. A grimace drew his lips into a frown as his gloved hand reached for the entrance. This might have been easier provided the rest of Weiss was here to assist him. No matter, Omi and Yohji were on similar such missions in Germany and Japan, respectively. His fingers ghosted over the hilt of his blade hidden beneath his trench, and with a final nod of confirmation he entered into the club. Disgust was an effective word to describe the look that flashed through his eyes. Yohji should have been on such a mission, not him, though he guessed that was the exact reason Persia had arranged it in this fashion.

----

He could not imagine a time in his life where he had not adored the night as he did now. To him, it had always been so majestic, so calming, so tranquil and beautiful. From the fields of stars that glistened to the golden moon that hung suspended by an invisible line above his head, he had most certainly always loved the dark. Yet another mission to dispose of the disgusting FREAKs had brought him out here, skulking through the friendly shadows. He had no opposition to destroying of them. Not at all. He abhorred their cocky dispositions, acting as though they deserved to be the glorious creatures of the night. Every time he was assured to make them suffer. Though, Integra was not a fan of the way he toyed with his prey... well, there wasn’t much she could do to halt that, anyway. Killing was a passion of his–his thirst for blood had brought him ever closer to the beauty that was Death.
In death, he had found everything–nearly unlimited power, unmatchable elegance, and certainly a fair amount of pulchritude. He ran a gloved hand through his shoulder-length, tousled ebony locks, a move to relieve frustration. The thought of killing was causing him to grow ever-more excited. And, just in time (as his thoughts of killing were slowly growing more grotesque), his destination had been reached as his crimson orbs flickered to a neon sign, below it a door–the entrance to where his target resided. As he opened it, he was unable to suppress a grin. He licked his lips. Sharp fangs pricked his tongue.
Yes, night certainly was a gorgeous thing.

----
Fujimiya Aya had already settled on barstool in close proximity of his target. Wordlessly he refused a drink offer, and he was quickly reminded why he hated alcohol - not that he hadn't gotten drunk with Yohji on a few occasions. He regretted such mistakes, for the small fact he still could not fill the empty gaps that involved his drunken state. The redhead listened intently to the conversation his target was having with a buxom blond waitress.
Wonderful, this mission might be slightly more difficult. Many a time before he'd used cold charm to seduce targets - one wouldn't believe how many officials he'd killed were homosexual, or at least bi-sexual. Or maybe it was just because Aya was drop dead sexy? The idea had merit. He tapped his heel against the metal that suspended his stool above the floor. He merely had to wait for his chance, no matter how long it took. Not that he minded, he was getting paid well and his patience could last a lifetime.

----

It didn’t take long for him to spot his prey. After 574 years, he had honed his hunting skills to be quite keen–lethally sharp, in fact. Though, he was not a fan of the term “hunting,” a term that infers the probability of failure. No, Alucard much preferred to go “killing.” A gloved hand rested on his .454 Casull Auto... ‘Joshua.’ It was one of his favourite guns, immensely powerful—but certainly well-matched for exterminating the vermin that he preyed upon. It was much too unwieldy for human use, but being inhuman... He chuckled. He contemplated making it a quick kill. Perhaps he could nail the abomination in the base of the crown, shattering his skull and effectively killing him. However, there were too many witnesses for his discrimination, and the curvaceous blonde woman he was chatting with was in danger.
Though it was not out of personal concern he considered her safety, but out of necessity in his occupation. To sacrifice a human life whilst disposing of his target was strictly forbidden. As such, he stalked up to the bar, his long red trench coat flapping behind him. Alucard pulled the wide-brim of his matching hat down lower, and sat promptly next to his target. If he could lure the fellow outside, it would be ideal. However, he also knew that the probability of that was quite obscure. He waved his hand, signaling for a drink–might as well have something to sip when he had time to pass. The waitress turned and requested for his order.
His lips curled upwards in amusement with himself, “A Bloody Mary will be fine, thank you.”

--

A sliver thin crimson brow twitched in annoyance. Alucard had just placed himself in the assassin's line of sight, and he could no longer view his target. "Damn," he muttered in a deep baritone, lips forming into a frown as he stood up. It was now or never, he might as well try to charm this official as he'd done with so many others.
With this resolve, he unfastened the buckles holding the trench about his body securely and then slipped it off. Laying it over his barstool, he ambled around the newcomer dressed in red. With his target in sight, he smirked ever so lightly, hand drifting out to rest on the man's arm. The victim had no time to protest as Aya twisted his arm back violently, leaning close.
"Don't say anything," he hissed, forcing the man to his feet. Tears dared to fall from the target of Alucard and Aya as he directed him towards the bathroom.
Now came the fun part.
--

Originally, he hadn’t bothered himself with the man sitting next to him. He figured the man was simply a regular to the bar, simply a customer not to be bothered with. Not to be bothered with at all. And, surprisingly, he had been incorrect (not something he was truly accustomed to).
Alucard, put simply, did not enjoy having his target fucked with by others. When he was killing, he wanted the joy to be his and purely his. He wanted to revel in every moment that it allowed him. He wanted to be able to taste the prey’s fear–and, of course their sweet blood. This crimson-haired punk was now leading his prey–away from him! He scowled, his pupils dilating behind the amber-tinted glasses.
He scoffed and the glass that held his drink was crushed under his impressive grip. The blood-coloured drink soaked his gloves, but of course, he was not bothered. Many an occasion had occurred where it was not simply a synthetic fluid, but the life-essence itself that had painted his hands red. He stood, his tall, stalwart figure rather imposing to the others surrounding him.
Slowly, Alucard followed the man that had absconded with his prey–there was simply no way that this was going to end as the punk had planned.

The red-haired "punk" shoved the target to the ground, hand gracefully slipping the katana from its dark sheath.
"W-what do you want from me?" the man stuttered, eyes widening at the sight of the glinting silver that promised his blood.
Cool violet eyes regarded him steadily, his lips parting to speak - a rarity for him.
"You had three people killed for your own selfish gain, not that I care about your affairs."
With his weapon of choice threatening the man, he turned his head slightly to the sound of footsteps.
"Hn." People always had to get involved.
With a derisive snort, Aya sprinted to flip onto a thin stall separation. From this point, he crouched, hand work at the hatch to the ventilation ducts. He let out a curse, coming to the realization that he couldn't conceal himself in time. It left him with one option. He turned his gaze to his target, lifting his katana smoothly before he hurled it at the man. Silver disappeared beneath spurts of crimson as the blade slid into the stomach, slicing free the deadly acids that would be this man's demise. It wasn't quick enough for Aya's tastes, but he was pressed for time, and he'd have to make a quick escape once the body was discovered with him balanced on a bathroom stall wall.

Shoving open the door to the restroom, Alucard was perturbed to discover his prey, his target, pinned to the wall by a sword, blood seeping from his abdomen. A grimace plastered his face, and his garnet optics flicked from his damaged target to a slender man balancing on the thin wall that separated stalls. Sensibly, it was the same man that had taken his prey to this room. The crimson locks were a testament to that. He licked his lips and his head fell back, a low chuckle emanating from his throat. This could possibly be interesting. Now, not only had his prey been tampered with, but it had been by the punk who he had considered a low threat!
Their eyes met, and a fierce electricity crossed between them. He smiled, his fangs in full view.
“Hey punk... don’t you know that FREAKs can’t be abolished with simple weapons?” he called.
With a firm grip on the hilt, he dislodged the sword from the abdomen of his target. The man let out a disgusting gurgle, swaying left and right, groaning as his complexion greyed. The man turned towards Alucard, straining to hold himself up. Alucard grinned.
“This is how you dispose of them.”
With that, he removed his Casull from underneath the flaps of crimson garment and brandished it deftly, and within seconds he had fired one round into the man’s temple–his accuracy deadly. The figure’s composition transformed into dust, and collapsed into the ground. Alucard looked at the punk and chuckled again. “How’s that for a show?”

"Hn," was Aya's only reply as he dropped off the wall. With a cat's grace he landed on his feet, fingers twitching lightly. The assassin would feel much more at ease if his sword was safely gripped in his fist. Violet pools flickered to his target, or what had been at least. It seemed this man was not a civilian. This was precisely why he disliked being shipped around the world to do missions. Just as Kritiker was mainly located in Japan, he assumed there were other such businesses stationed in every country.
Needles to say, Aya was intrigued. What were these "FREAKs" the man spoke of? He had several choices: he could ask this idiot that had just robbed him of his mission money, or he could demand that Manx perform a heavy search of London for anything that could explain what he'd just witnessed.
His mouth twitched lightly, "Care to explain to a foreigner what the hell a FREAK is?"

The red eyes glittered like rubies with amusement. This man was indeed, interesting. However, as intriguing as he was, it was simply against custom to reveal information about the Hellsing organization and anything related to the normal, simple denizens.
“Foreigner or not, it’s none of your concern in the first place,” Alucard replied, his voice deep and smooth. “All you need to know is that they are ones who believe they are true Nosferatu,” he paused, the word “Nosferatu” slipping through his lips like a thick, sinful liquid, the way he pronounced it nearly chilling. “However...” he smiled, bearing his fangs for the foreigner, “they are sadly mistaken.”
He picked up the katana that rested peacefully on the floor, looking the weapon up and down, scoffing and holding it out for the punk. Alucard was not one for swords. He much preferred using his guns, or simply himself. However, his own powers were simply uncomprehensible and much too dangerous to be used on a regular basis.
True, Alucard was a blood-thirsty beast to begin with, but when the Control Art restrictions were released, it was a deeper, animalistic side of him that was unchained. No, were this allowed to happen consistently, he certainly would need more than the restraints already cast by his clothing. Of course, he did love the Victorian fashion, so he wasn’t truly bothered by it.
“However, I do wish to know why you were tampering with my target in first place, punk...” he hissed playfully.

"Explaining myself to you isn't in my line of interest," Aya replied, voice chilled with anger.
This mission had been big, to send him away from Japan, and the money he'd been cheated out of was equally as large. Enough to pay his dear sister's hospital bills for yet another year. Not that he didn't already have a great deal of money, but everything went to keeping Aya-chan on life support. Such was the reason he was learning to loathe the man standing before him.
Oh, it was his concern alright, he decided. Anyone that was willing to intercede in his mission was quickly consider an enemy of Fujimiya Aya, and possibly all of Kritiker. Beyond the fact he hadn't killed the target, the job had been done... Just not by him, which irritated him. A muffled ring sounded off from his pocket, and a deft hand produced a cell phone, flipping it open to answer whoever was calling him.
"Failed," he murmured. The voice on the line, a woman's, was furious.
"You couldn't kill him!?" she exclaimed.
"Hn. He's dead, but I didn't kill him," he confirmed, before closing the phone. He reached out his hand, taking the hilt of his sword so that he could return it to the scabbard hanging from his belt. Bowing his head slightly, he turned to the entrance of the bathroom and started on his way. What a wasted trip.

Another chuckle escaped the vampire. For such a young man, he certainly was filled with enough negativity to disrupt the flow of physics. He was a curious man as well, and taking such an unexcused exit was quite the opposite from what Alucard had in mind for him. This punk had now piqued Alucard’s interest. Apparently, he was meant to kill the target as well. From what he could infer, this could only mean that it was an assassination. The man was an important political figure, yes, but Alucard knew nothing of his other affairs–the ones that were outside of his becoming a FREAK.
The vampire grabbed the young crimson-haired man by his hair and jerked him backward, his strength a bit more to be reckoned with than an average man. With a mere twist of his wrist and a push, he soon had the punk pressed up against the wall, Alucard’s girth enough to restrain him. He removed his spectacles–as they were a hindrance on eye contact–and allowed his scarlet irises to bore deeply into the cold, steely violet orbs before him. He smiled.
“Now, tell me,” he whispered, “What business do you have here? Evidently, your organization does not cope well with failure, and neither do you. What was so integral about this man that you needed to destroy him?” He broke the stare for a moment, considering. “Or perhaps you are oblivious and you only for the money.” Alucard loosened his grip. “But what could drive such a young man to become such a thing? Are you simply blood thirsty? Or...” His eyes twinkled with curiosity.

Any common person would have flinched away from such brutality, but Aya was not such a person. Eyes narrowing, he stood his ground, shoved against a wall with his head held high.
"Killing me would work more successfully than your interrogating," he murmured. He'd sworn an oath upon entering his profession. Confessions were strictly forbidden, and he had no intentions of doing so.
With the loosened grip, Aya shifted his head to the side, fingers drifting to his shirt. Less than a moment later he'd produced a sharp bladed tool. It resembled a dagger, save for the missing hilt. Prepared to drive the weapon into his captor, he took a moment to reconsider as the bathroom door slid open. With a casual flick of the wrist, he lodged the blade into his own shoulder. How was it that he injured himself so easily without showing signs of pain?
The man entering the bathroom looked over the situation, eyes flashing over the crimson stream pouring down Aya's right arm before he entered into a panic, fleeing the bathroom to alarm the rest of the club about the scene. A twisted smirk curled Aya's lips, and he close his eyes, muscles clenching to force the blood flow to quick. Was he planning on killing himself? No, if that had been his intent, he would have gone for his own heart. Just what the hell was he trying to prove?

The mere sight of blood flowing down Aya’s arm could have been enough to allow Alucard to lose sight of himself, but with control he restrained himself from sucking every last drop that slid down the young man’s skin. However, he could not deny that he hungered and ached for blood, the last time he had allowed himself a live feast had at least been long months previous. He took his hand that was not entangled in the red hair and slid it up the arm, attempting to mop up the blood with his glove (the one that had not been stained of Bloody Mary, of course). Alucard made sure to press himself against the punk as to not allow him any movement due to the preoccupation of Alucard’s hand.
And as he did this, he could not help but become even more intrigued by the stolid disposition of the young man before him. Through his hundreds of years of experience, he had come to know that only trauma could drive most normally-sane young men into the business of killing for money. To kill with no feeling could only be handled by someone who had experienced it first-hand previously. Admittedly, Alucard did not have this problem. He knew he was a sick son of a bitch, but it didn’t bother him–the thrills he received were unrivaled. He loved himself anyway.
He heard footsteps scrambling toward the door, and he smelt blood, and he felt the aching desire for said blood struggling to overtake him. He soaked up what blood was left, and quickly brought his hand up to his lips, licking and sucking at his glove wildly, the coppery taste of the crimson fluid filling his mouth and sending shivers down his spine. Inside, he punished himself for succumbing.

Okay. Either the man holding him captive was deranged to be drinking blood, or childhood stories of ghouls and Vampires were true. Either way, Aya figured he had his hands full, though he couldn't do much with his body tightly pressed to the wall. Perhaps now would be his time to die... He mulled over the thought quietly, before shaking his head to his own silent suggestion. His lips worked silently forming a silent promise - "I will not die."
Such confidence and cold resolve filled those quiet words, it seemed they could save him from certain death just because he'd uttered them. Had he finally realized his worth? Despite his sister's coma, had he found some small spark of hope that told him she'd wake up eventually? Whatever the reason, he had decided that this man could do his worst, and Aya would refuse to fall. Violet eyes flickered to the weapon still lodged in his arm, and he arched his brow lightly. The blood was still dripping out, though slower now. The bathroom door slammed open loudly, and a gun glinted in the dim light.
"Release him!" a crisp voice shouted, and Aya glanced up to espy a familiar face.
"Abyssinian, state your condition."
The redhead cocked his head to the side. "Fine..."
An exasperated huff sound from the girl in the entrance way, "You stubborn ass!" Aya was bleeding out his life, and all Birman could do was scold him for not looking out for his own health?

With the entrance of this new woman, Alucard was quickly snapped back to reality. Damn his primal lust for blood. He shook his glove of the remaining fluid, some splattering across the face of the captive punk, and few droplets gracing the form of the young woman. However, Alucard was feeling benevolent in response to his stupidity, and released his grip only slightly on the young man, his gaze locked on the woman before him.
A playful grin came across his face.
“Well, this game has a new player, does it?” he chuckled. “This is quite interesting. Abyssinian? That’s a feline, isn’t it? This is delightfully intriguing.” Alucard kept his hand entangled in the crimson locks of the young man, but pulled away from him fully, and ushered the young man in front of him. He bent close to the young man’s neck, threatening to sink his fangs into the tender neck, hot blood pumping through it. He couldn’t possibly do it, as he was now slightly more aware of himself than he was before, but threatening to do it in full view of this woman who seemed to have some concern for the punk was an idea that had merit.
“What is this situation that seems to surround me?” he asked her. “Your lackey is wholly unresponsive.” He made sure to speak so that his fangs were bared.

"The day you figure out how that bastard doesn't respond to anything, let me know," Birman growled, glaring towards Aya.
The redhead was paying them no mind as he pulled the blade out of his arm. When it was gripped in his hand, he glanced toward Alucard's face. The man's countenance was in close proximity, and he couldn't make it out completely, compliments of the hat as well.
"Hn," was his only response to their conversation as he braced himself. Silently he estimated the Vampire's weight, compared to his own, calculating the force he'd need to throw such a tall beast over his shoulder. Birman watched him carefully, gun still cocked and ready to fill someone with bullets. Fierce precision followed his hands as they darted up to slice through the olive skin of Alucard's arm before his fingers gripped at it.
With a grimace, he concentrated the strength of his arms to propelled the taller man over him and into mirror close to Birman.
"You worry too much," Aya told Birman, before he ordered her out of the bathroom. He would take his own escape through the window, and he did so quickly. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that he'd lost enough blood to slow him down slightly, but not enough that he couldn't get a good distance away from the club. He had but one regret. He'd left his trench coat in the bar, and there was little chance he'd be reunited with it.

As he connected with the mirror, Alucard felt nothing but glee. So there was some fight left in the punk. He enjoyed that type of thing. The shattering of the glass rang in his ears as he stood up slowly, losing none of his composure, brushing the remaining small shards off his coat. He marveled at how much fierceness the young man contained, provided he did not speak much. Normally, he would not bother himself with such foolishness. But this was intriguing. A game. Something to give excitement to his life–which he always took, gladly. This was an entire situation he had not been previously aware of, and now was caught up in, if only for a short time.
Evidently, he had disrupted something when he chose to kill the target that had been pre-determined for both of them. And what of the woman who had entered the room, interrupting his feast? This was all quite intriguing. He would be sure to inform Integra when he returned. He thought perhaps she would be a bit disgruntled to find out that he would be late, but it was of no consequence–she knew he sometimes basked in the nighttime like humans did the sun.
He slipped on his glasses, and hopped out the window as well, a bit more of a challenge due to his larger stature, but still easily accomplished. Due to the loss of blood, the punk most likely could not have traveled out of range. Not that range was something to be concerned about with his hunting skills.
But he still did not approve of the word hunting.

Aya's hand drifted to his mouth as a violent cough rattled his chest. He was hardly surprise to find blood in his palm when he pulled it away. He could not feel that he was safe, but had no choice but to stop, lest he die from ignoring his wounds. With a brick wall to his back, he sank down to the ground, pulling off the black shirt still wet with blood. Meticulously he ripped the shirt apart, struggling with the difficulty of wrapping the wound with one hand. He succeeded, however, and his next strategy was to clean the crimson off of his face, but to no avail - another cough seized him, forcing the copper liquid into his mouth and down the his chin.
Aya soon had his cell phone brandished, and he was quickly on the phone with Manx. "Birman's fine, so am I..." he murmured.
"Don't lie to me, you're probably bleeding in fifty different places," Manx returned sharply.
"Only two," the redhead corrected, closing his eyes. "Don't expect me back for a few days, Birman knows she can head back without me."
Manx was silent on the phone for a long time, "Do you plan on coming back in a coffin?" she inquired, the crispness in her voice fading to softness. "I won't die," Aya returned, the smallest traces of a smile flitting over his lips. He said a quiet farewell before shutting the phone and pushing it back into his pocket. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, determination blazing his eyes. He wouldn't die.

The scent of blood was filling the vampire’s keen nostrils, and he followed it like a hound, knowing that the only creature that could be this close and bleeding that profusely was the young man. He still had no knowledge of the intriguing character’s name, and knowing it would be merely moments before he caught up with the bastard, he make a quick note within his mind to ask him of his identity. Alucard against questioned why this man was so set on being the strong, silent type. In his past, he had seen many men who choose that path die a lonely death. And Alucard knew if he were ever to experience a second death (as unlikely as the prospect seemed in unconscious and conscious mind) that he would at least have a few genuine mourners, and perhaps a caring witness.
But types like the punk, the types who shut themselves off from all emotion or feeling do not experience life in the first place, let alone a brilliant death. As he suspected, it was only a few several metres of following the scent before he saw the shaky figure, attempting to keep balanced against a brick wall before standing completely. He grinned. He was surprised that the punk had managed to keep himself from collapsing thus far, and he was still standing. He noticed the black shirt had been removed and torn to clot wounds, and the graceful, slender figure was standing even more helpless, even more vulnerable before him.
His lust for blood rose once again, but he managed to quell it before asking, “So, punk, are you truly that stubborn that you even feel that you, as a mortal, can defeat death?”

"If defying death is what it takes, I'll do it," Aya responded cryptically, eyes working to focus on the man that had followed after him.
His hand lifted, and he scrubbing at the blood slipping from his mouth. This only succeeded in smearing the crimson fluid. His mind reminded him of his reason to live. Aya-chan was in a coma, but she would wake up, of that he was certain. And what of his comrades, Omi and Yohji? They were, though hard to believe, his friends. They would care if he perished - they cared about Ken's death.
"Why do you insist on following me?" he queried, using the brick for support. There was no chance of him whipping out his sword to challenge Alucard, he didn't have enough strength. After all, weren't there more interesting people in the world than a mere murderer, as he had so often referred to himself? Labored breaths poured through his parted lips, and he looked convincingly pathetic. No matter the fact he'd still fight back if the man decided to advance on him.

The absolute pathetic stature of the young man that contrasted with his stony, stubborn attitude had Alucard chuckling. His boots clomped against the terrain as he strode closer to the assassin.
“Why do you insist on being so silent?” Alucard had lost his benevolent streak, smiling widely. The closer he came, the more wicked his smile grew. “Is it just leftovers of teenage angst?” he inquired, the distance between them closing. His trench coat swished back and forth with each step. “Or are you truly that dedicated to the foolish attitude that males are to be inherently devoid of feeling?” He was now only a few feet away, the scent of the young man’s blood wafting upwards into his nostrils. Alucard looked him in his violet eyes as he had done before. “No,” he began, “there’s something much more. Perhaps there’s been a loss in your past... perhaps more than one. They must have been devastating, because you’re absolutely obdurate. You’re quite interesting, you see... for a punk,” he laughed, mocking the young man’s possible hardships.
He enjoyed testing the young man this way. Alucard was hoping to incite a response from him, really. He could tell the punk was in physical pain already–though he was too stupid to admit it. Alucard chuckled.
“By the way,” he added, “your blood was delicious.”

The words struck close to home, and he was quickly reminded of the bloody corpses he and Aya-chan had found upon entering their home on his sister's sixteenth birthday. And no more than ten minutes later, he'd lost his sister as well. However, he refused to let such memories be revealed in those cold violet mirrors that reflected the Vampire's face.
"Words aren't always needed," Aya muttered, eyes narrowed as he looked up at the man. "If you're trying to figure me out, poor assumptions aren't going to get you anywhere," he informed him, before staggering forward.
Falling to his knees, he bowed his head as blood poured forth from his lips again.
"Why don't you let... me die in peace, hm? Even a prick should be able to respect a person's wishes."

“Poor assumptions? I see. We’ll let that rest, then,” Alucard replied, unable to ignore the blood dripping from the young man’s body. “And if you want to insult me, it’s going to be difficult, so save your pathetic breath,” he laughed and kicked Aya in the side, not hard, but enough to cause more sweet blood to spill from his mouth.
More for him, less for the punk.
He knew well that the young man was dead-set against dying, so of course he was not going to “respect his wishes.” Besides, he took utter delight in death.
“You aren’t worthy enough to have a request honoured by me, kid,” he informed him. “You don’t have enough respect for yourself for me to respect you. And wouldn’t you rather have a witness during your death? I’m sure you’d want to have people told about how absolutely pathetic you looked right before you kicked the bucket. Though I have heard someone say that people are most beautiful... right before they die.”
With this, Alucard let out another laugh. He believed he took too much enjoyment in teasing, but he also held another belief that it didn’t matter, because as long as it made him happy, it was worth doing. It was too bad that he didn’t find this young man worthy of becoming his servant like he did Seras–he might have considered turning him.
Though, that was a choice to be made by the punk, one that Alucard concluded would be most likely turned down–to him, the punk seemed like the type of person who was unwilling to accept help from anyone.

A snicker rose from the redhead as he stared down at the ground, taking the kick without feeling.
"So, you kick a man when he's down?" he inquired, before standing up. He performed the task with ease, ignoring the wall next to him. His mouth twitched, and with distaste his spit out an empty blood capsule, followed by two more. "You actually thought I'd fall that easily," it wasn't a question as much as it was a statement.
And so the plot thickened. It was hard to figure whether Aya had actually coughed up any of his own blood, but he'd wasted enough time to build an adrenaline rush in his veins. Easily he side-stepped the vampire, crimson locks shifting with the movement as the redhead faced Alucard calmly. His hand fitted about his sword and he slid it out of the sheath.
"So we've established that I'm a stubborn bastard that refuses to die, and that you're clearly nothing more than idiot."
Strange how the blood he'd been coughing up smelled like his own, and perhaps tasted just like his, though if anyone knew the capsules had been filled with his sister's blood, they wouldn't find it so odd. Aya-chan's blood was constantly being circulated, and Aya was a constant blood donor.
Aya-chan was as much as Aya as he was her.

Alucard’s eyes widened, more amused than incredulous. This merely made the game more fun. It was not often he had met a young man with such spunk in him. And such cunning–yes, this was certainly a new development in the young man’s personality. Alucard had not anticipated such a move, and while he admitted that there had been things like it in the past, he could not recall one of them coming from such youth. His optics flashed with an impish glint, and he smirked confidently.
“You’ve too much confidence, punk,” he stated. “If you wish to fight, know that you will fail... miserably.” Alucard’s voice rumbled deep within his throat as he spoke the word “miserably,” as if there was another creature within. Within seconds his hand was on Aya’s throat, squeezing dangerously tight, his large body pressing up against the slender one, slamming him into a wall again.
“Remember this?” he cackled playfully.
His other hand wrenched the sword from Aya’s grasp and tossed it on the ground, then assuming a place on Aya’s side, clenching it with the same amount of pressure he applied on Aya’s throat. His voice was deep and raspy as he hissed into the punk’s face, “Do you still want to fight? Do you still have the will? Do you? You can’t win against the immortal, you fool...” He pulled the young man’s head back and forced it against the brick wall again.

Aya closed his eyes, and he dared no try to speak. His throat was constricted, and the words would be produced in a helpless gasp. Why had he attempted to pick a fight with the man... Again? He sighed, his head bowing slightly. With a feral growl, he forced his voice through.
"I... Have the will... To live," he stated breathlessly. "My sister... She needs me," he finally confessed, glancing up at Alucard coldly beneath a curtain of crimson bangs.
He anticipated the man's reaction to such a statement. He'd admitted something of himself, revealing the chance that he might be more than an unemotional stone. He loathed this man who was forcing his cold exterior away. Aya did not enjoy admitting defeat nor did he take pleasure in listing off his weakness.

With a flourish, the young redhead was on the ground again, forced into the ground with an amount of strength that was more than necessary. The Vampire looked down at him with disgust. He took pride in himself, his accomplishments, and his losses. He enjoyed “life” to the fullest extent that he was able to. When one such as this punk threw away all that was to be valued in life (and had such an occupation that was able to take it away), he grew frustrated. This is what he had deducted, in any case. If he had not mentioned it in the first place, then this must have been what was causing his silence.
Alucard was not able to comprehend the bond between a family member, as all he had were his Master, and his own underling. While true, he held a great deal of affection for his Master and certainly could almost have a type of fatherly bond with Seras, it was not the same as feeling as deeply for a sister. As such, Alucard felt that to give up emotions, feelings, life, all for the well-being of a sibling was foolish–most of his enjoyment came from killing, from testing and teasing and toying with his prey. That is what he valued. The emotions he received. That is what he valued.
True, it did not apply for his Master... as he was bound to her and her family. But as for Seras? He would sooner have her die again than to give up feeling as he did for eternity. Alucard sneered at Aya.
“You’re absolutely pathetic. Giving up all of what is to be enjoyed for a fool. Weakling.”

Now Alucard had just gone too far. Insult Aya, that was fine, but critique his dear sister and blood would pay the price. He sat on the ground for a moment, head bowed.
"You don't know what family is like," he muttered, his brows furrowing. "If you did, you'd know how much you'd sacrifice for them!" he snarled, spring to his feet and throwing himself onto larger man. The sheer force of his lunge was enough to at least force Alucard back a few steps. "You idiot, she's the only reason you're talking to me right now," he growled.
Ah, so emotions sparked when it involved his sister. Was it possible a sibling could control the fate of their other? Or maybe it was only unique to Aya and Aya-chan, because they only had each other now, and the girl couldn't even wake up to live with her brother.

With a chuckle, Alucard snatched the young man by his crimson locks, forcing his countenance to be in line with his own.
“I see how you tick, now,” he chortled. “However, I’m afraid this has gone on too long for my liking.” His gaze narrowed in an unfamiliar coldness and he slammed Aya’s head against the wall, shaking the boy up enough to, thankfully, knock him out. Alucard sighed and threw the young man over his shoulder. He was much too fascinating to abandon. He would bring him back to the Hellsing quarters.
Yes, Integra would be greatly displeased, but Alucard planned on keeping the boy in his sight. He figured the easiest way back would be through the club again. Though, people may find it odd to see him with another man hoisted over his shoulder. What did it matter. It could be that the punk was passed-out drunk and Alucard was merely taking him home. He grabbed the kid’s katana and shoved it through his belt, then carefully carrying himself and the kid through the window, past the bar. As he was about to exit, he noticed a red trench coat at the bar.
He had noticed Aya wearing it earlier, and a twinge of compassion in his heart, grabbed it up as well and headed out the door. As he strode home, he could only admire the moon and stars that hung above him, engrossed with them. Before he had realised it, he had entered the front gates of Hellsing mansion with quick approval, and met with a stone-faced Integra inside her office. She was upset, as he expected, but it did not matter.
He explained away the situation (making sure to mention that they were assigned to the same man–a peculiar thing indeed) and she begrudgingly allowed the man to be holed up in Alucard’s quarters with the Vampire himself. As Alucard calmly walked to his dwelling, he began to contemplate the young man that had been with him this entire night. When he entered, he tossed the redhead on the open coffin and sat down, the medical blood prepared for him on the table.
He would just have to wait for Aya to awaken.

Well that wasn't very nice of Alucard to do, but all was fair in love and war, and the was most decidedly a war of wills and races. The redhead seemed to drift out of his unconscious state in short time, but he remained sleeping for some time, and a harsh sleep it was. His head tossed back and forth repeatedly, and his mouth uttered a name continuously. "Aya... Aya..." He must have been having a nightmare, and someone by the name of Aya was the center of the violence within his mind.
His eyes darted about behind closed lids and beads of sweat began to appear upon the exposed flesh of Aya's chest. The assassin thrashed about through his entire sleep, and one could assume it hadn't been at all restful. However, he did mange to sleep for more than an hour, and when he finally stirred, it was as sudden and as violent as all of his earlier movements in slumber. Abruptly he sat up, his hand instinctively darting to the throbbing wound located on his shoulder. As slender digits brushed over it, he winced, muttered an unceremonious "Damn", and then took a moment to consider his surroundings as he ripped the shoddy bandage off of his arm. Had he truly shown a bit of feeling in his waking state, before settling back into cool repose?
His amethyst gaze traveled back to the gross rift in his skin, and he frowned in disgust. Silently he wondered why he'd stabbed himself in the first place, but to no avail he couldn't remember for the life of him. No matter, he only knew the godforsaken wound needed stitches, and provided with needle and thread, he could have done the job himself.

Alucard, used to whittling away hours, was present when Aya awakened. When the young man had shot up and immediately reached for his wound, Alucard smirked and shook his head. Sitting at the table quietly sipping the last few drops of his medical blood (relatively pleased now that his hunger had been quelled), he had not taken his eyes off the young man. He spent most of the approximate hour merely contemplating the assassin as he had done before he entered the room. He was quite fascinated by the redhead, and in that hour, hundreds of questions had swirled in his mind. They ranged from simple inquiries to intrusive, nosy requests of information. Alucard admitted to himself that, yes, he was one that gained interest in anything unusual–it was how he ended up as he was in the beginning.
Though others did not usually provoke his investigation–especially humans–this one, the punk who lie only feet away from him did. And this, could not decipher why.
But, this is why when the punk awoke, from Alucard’s side of the room emanated a chuckle and the words, called out in a hearty tone, “Good evening! I’m pleased you finally have awoken–it appears you did not have such a restful sleep. Now tell me, being that you’ve been with me the entire night, what is your name... punk?”

Aya glanced over at Alucard, violet eyes narrowed coldly. "Get me a needle, and I'll tell you," he replied blandly, fingers nursing his injury. Revealing his name was a small price to pay to ensure he didn't die from infection. Perhaps he shouldn't challenge the man again, even with words, and after a few minutes of longer consideration, he cocked his head to the side, gazing at the Vampire.
"It's Aya." Of course, that didn't explain why he'd been shouting out his own name while he slept. No doubt he'd be questioned on his actual name, at which time he'd have to decide whether he was willing to reveal it or not.
He spent another moment observing his surroundings. Great. At this rate, he'd never return to Japan, and Manx would not be pleased with such an arrangement. Weiss needed their leader, and he couldn't do much for them while he was being held captive in England.

With a toothy grin, Alucard settled back into his seat, hands clasped in his lap. He was pleased that the punk realized he was not at liberty to make demands.
With a hint of playful derision he said to Aya, “I’m certainly surprised that you had the common sense to realize that you are not in the position to demand such things from myself or this organization. And, if you wish to know, they,” he paused, emphasizing the final world, “call me Alucard.”
For a moment he did ponder as to why the punk had been screaming out his own name within his sleep, but he shrugged it off without second thought–he himself had many strange dreams where he had been inside a body that was not his own. There was a chance that this was the case. Dreams were nonsensical things indeed.
“Well then, since we’ve gotten that established, why don’t I escort you to Sir Integra, the leader of this organization... it was requested that you be interrogated.” He looked to the young man and for a moment his eyes flicked to the floor. “Unless, of course, you have a previous engagement to attend to. In which case, I must accompany you. Either way, however, once that is finished, you will be interrogated.” He smirked. “And keep in mind, if there is a refusal to cooperate... I can always force you.” Alucard threw his head back and cackled, his fangs glistening.
How he loved to toy with this man.

The redhead bit back a haughty retort, and he preoccupied himself with ripping off a strip of cloth from his pants. Obviously he wasn't going to get what he asked for, so the next best thing would be another makeshift bandage to hopefully keep out the germs, though it was widely believed among the rest of Weiss that germs were quite frightened of Aya. Though, now that Alucard mentioned it...
"I have several previous engagements to attend to, all of which would require me to take a plane to Japan. I have responsibilities, though you may not realize it." He had reports to write for the last mission, which he'd failed, he needed to explain to Persia that he'd been discovered though Birman would probably do it for him. Omi and Yohji would be over-run in the flower shop without him, not to mention the missions that required three people to get the job done.
Aya-Chan needed a constant blood supply from him, to ensure nothing clotted while she was in her coma. There were just too many reasons that he needed to go home, none of which he suspected Alucard or this Integra person would care about.
"As I told you before, interrogating me is a waste of time. I'm under oath."

Considering the circumstances, Alucard thought for a moment, and titled his head. He certainly understood the importance of an oath–and being that his story was consistent and, looking at the absolute pathetic creature in front of him who seemed so dead-set on keeping his strong will alive, Alucard felt a brief moment of kindness, and smiled.
“Very well then,” he replied. “I understand your dedication to an oath. I have something similar.” His mind flashed to the moment he had promised himself to the Hellsing family–it was not something he could say he regretted.
And he loved his Master. Not in the usual way that a “man’ loves a woman, but he loved her. She was a strong woman, and at a young age was able to take control of an entire organization. She was the quintessence of perfection–beautiful, powerful, and strong.
“A plane to Japan will be provided, then. I only need to contact her. Remain here.” He stood up, his large figure even more imposing in the small room, and grinned at Aya with a touch of cockiness before taking his leave, letting Aya alone in the room if only for a moment to ponder his situation.

Aya was only half-perplexed at Alucard's change of heart. So, the man was occasionally nice and just a bastard most of the time? He placed a hand to his forehead, sighing quietly. Why was he being reminded of himself? How many times had Yohji called him a slew of obscenities followed by scolding him to be nicer? So why did it bother him so much that he was having to put up with someone that wasn't so different for him, aside from the fact Alucard was far more sadistic?
The redhead pulled out his phone, staring at it quietly. There were more important things to worry about. Kritiker was in danger of being discovered, and it was ultimately his fault. If the organization went public, and Weiss was exposed his profession was done for. No matter that Kritiker only disposed of bad guys, civilians just didn't view it like that. In the eyes of the world, he was a murderer (though he was that in his own eyes as well).
Beyond that, Reiji would get away with killing his sister when he ran out of money to keep her on life support, should she not wake up before then. Schwarz would be free to destroy and kill as they saw fit. How had he managed to screw up so completely within one night? His thumb punched in the familiar number of the flower shop, and after a great deal of time trying to get a signal, he gave up. He at least had the faint idea that he was underground where cellphone signals were just not an option.

As Alucard entered Integra’s dark, dank office (though somewhat opulently decorated), he turned his gaze to the portrait of her father in the corner. Respectfully, he removed his hat and spectacles and stood in front of her desk. From beneath her brows, she gazed at him, he hands folded in front of her face. Her cobalt eyes were hidden behind round spectacles. A cigar smoked in the ashtray on her desk.
“Master,” he began, “the one named Aya does say that he, ah, ‘has several previous engagements to attend to,’ as he puts it. He requests a plane to Japan.” This was all he said. Integra sat, her cigar burning away as the tendrils of smoke were filling the air. Alucard knew she was dangerously intelligent and clever, and her word would be the correct decision.
Her voice laced with a sophisticated English accent, she replied with only, “Very well. By the time you reach him it will be arranged. I’ll have it set for an hour from now. Keep him in your sights, Alucard. This is an opportunity to see what organization he belongs to. Out of my sight.”
The Vampire bowed deeply, and not without his hat and glasses, disappeared from her sight. On the way he contemplated a plane ride. He hoped she would have a relatively private flight assigned. He also realized that while he could go into the night dressed as he was, the option of going to Japan dressed in such garbs was not acceptable. He thought back to his trip to South America and the gaudy tie he had worn–well, it was the one of the only things he had. He entered his chambers and closed the door loudly behind him.
“Get ready, punk. We’re leaving in an hour. Why don’t you tell me what kind of journey we’ll be going on? I do believe I have the right to know–and do realize I cannot leave your side for any reason. Won’t this be fun?” he cackled.

The violet eyes danced over to Alucard as he returned, and he snorted coldly.
"On my oath, I can't tell you where I'll be taking you until I get it okayed with my boss. I do hope you'll understand." He tapped the screen of his cellphone, "I'd get the permission now, but there isn't a signal, you'll just have to be patient." It wasn't as if he wanted to test Alucard's patience, but he refused to break the promise he'd made to Kritiker.
The considering gaze flickered to his dark crimson trench coat.
"Are you willing to give me back my coat?" he inquired, slipping out of the coffin he'd been lying in. He stood carefully, should he legs choose to fail him, and then pulled his fingers through his hair. Disgusting. He was sweaty from his nightmare.
His phone vanished once again into his pocket and he stood quietly, waiting for the Vampire's input. He was, after all, in Alucard's territory and it wouldn't be smart to anger him on such grounds. Not that the larger man had done any serious damage to him beyond a few bruises and a headache. Speaking of headaches, he had a splitting migraine. Oh, now he remembered. His head had been slammed into brick, no wonder his skull felt like it was going to implode.

A grin crossed the Vampire’s face. “Very well, then. And go ahead and grab your coat,” he said coldly, contrasting the haunting friendly look on his face. He removed his hat and spectacles, his well-angled face and lean jaw revealed now. He too ran a hair through his messy ebony hair and shucked his own trench coat.
“I’m going to need to change, as I can’t very well these types of clothing in Japan, as much as I’d love to. It draws too much attention, you see. So, get out of here and call whoever you wanted to call–there’s a large staircase down the hall–and I’ll be following you shortly. Unless you’re into that type of thing–watching, that is,” his matter-of-fact tone not betrayed by the slight humor he had added.
His large scarlet eyes were narrowed in a leer at the young man. “By the way,” he added quickly, “as I’ve stated before, any failure to cooperate and you will have to deal with myself.” A white-gloved hand patted one of the guns at his sides. “You don’t want to deal with my guns, punk.” He laughed–he had inquired as to the kid’s name yet still refused to call him by it. He guessed it was an inner-reluctance.
Alucard still viewed Aya as a punk. Just some foolish young man who had managed to be assigned to the same target that he had. Thinking back, he was rather upset that he was not able to be as brutal as he had desired, but with Aya in the way, it was required that he dispose of the target quickly. He supposed it didn’t matter. He guessed within another day there would be another target assigned. He pulled off the long, red bow tie-like neck accessory. He was feeling slightly more comfortable with this situation.

Aya took his coat, rolling his eyes at the comment that suggested he might be a sick and twisted pervert.
"I'll be at the staircase," he growled, walking out of the room after he'd pulled on his coat and reattached his katana to the belt. He didn't plan on using it, but it was nice to have it with him anyway. His pulled out his phone once again, and he reminded himself that he was growing far too reliant on technology.
The redhead walked along the corridor, amethyst optics taking in his surroundings out of habit. Upon reaching the staircase, he mounted it quietly, dialing the number to Kritiker. Manx answered, voice crisp with an undertone of worry.
"Aya, are you all right? I've been trying to call you for an hour."
The redhead tilted his head back, "Hn. I haven't had a signal. That's not why I called - I need to speak with Persia." Manx paused, "Aya, what have you done?" The assassin sighed, "I earned myself a stalker. It's his job to interrogate my occupation, apparently. I need Persia's permission to bring him into headquarters."
Manx let out a heavy sigh, "You better be glad you're one of our best, or you'd be in deep shit, Aya. I'll get you the permission you need, now call Omi - he's worried sick."

Pulling off the high-collared white shirt he wore under his charcoal suit, Alucard looked in his closet–what little there was–and considered which tie. It was not often he went out in the day time, but when he did it was practical he had a wardrobe ready. Of course, he was not the type to go outside without style. Yes, an odd style, but one that he adored. Pulling on a normal black business suit and replacing his boots with leather loafers, he thought that he might admire his reflection in the mirror–if he had any. Alucard hadn’t a need for mirrors anyway–he knew that he was attractive, if not sexy in the creepy way that he had about him.
He was well-muscled, the true strength, however, cloaked by his supernatural powers. There was still the business about the tie! He shrugged and removed the least gaudy he could pin-point from the hanger–a lime green, yellow, and red tie. The colors clashed terribly, and putting it on with disgust for the manufacturers the Vampire ran a hand through his hair once more before grabbing a pair of black sunglasses and donning them, leaving out the door. He felt a twinge of excitement. The last time he had been to Japan it had been hit with the atomic bombs from the United States. It was quite a feast. He was glad he needed not to worry about diseases. As he ascended the staircase he saw Aya’s slim figure at the top and quietly stood next to him.
“Are you done making your calls?” he asked with a hint of disdain. “We do need to leave. It’s a quick way to the exit,, just straight ahead, a right turn and a left, and the door will be easy to spot. I’m hoping you’re ready for a long plane ride... and I’m surprised jet-lag has yet to catch up with you. I’m sure you’ll conk out on the way there, though,” he laughed.

When Alucard had joined him, Aya was quietly listening to a spastic Omi that was already worrying over him before he even got home.
"You'll be home soon, right?" the blond asked anxiously.
"Yes, quit worrying." And with that said, Aya pocketed his phone and glanced over to the Vampire. "I'm ready to go," he announced blandly, arms folded over his chest.
Explaining himself at every turn was beginning to tick him off, and he would be quite grateful if he did fall asleep on the way home - that way he wouldn't have to listen to the Vampire.
Returning home might actually be the highlight of his day, but then there was the fact he wouldn't be returning alone. Wonderful. Not only that, Alucard would also be following him to the hospital to visit Aya-Chan, the girl the Vampire had thought it foolish for him to love so much. Fujimiya Aya had a sneaking suspicion this trip back to Japan would be trying with his stalker's presence, but he could do little to send the man away.

“That’s wonderful,” Alucard replied, giving the young man a condescending pat on the head.
As he led Aya to the outdoors and the terminal (an easy walking distance–it would most likely be on Hellsing grounds, only a few officers or so attending with them. This, however, is not what Alucard considered “relatively private.”), he began to reconsider his stance on traveling with the punk.
For a reason that was certainly no obscure to the Vampire, Aya despised him. He found it silly that Aya would show how much distaste he truly had, when it was simply much easier to turn everything into something positive. Alucard was one of the most positive men he knew–he would laugh when his head was destroyed by Anderson! Of course, if it weren’t for his powers of regeneration this would not be possible, but... An hour passed quickly, it seemed, for them, and when the plane had landed, a few guards clambered in as Alucard expect.
He lead the punk into the small plane, where the pilot gave them a polite nod and assured them the flight would be about 20 hours long at the most, taking off five minutes after. Alucard smirked and, surprisingly, thanked the pilot as he settled himself in, removing his sunglasses and giving Aya another coolly cocky grin. He of course, could not sleep terribly well without his coffin, but he was sure he would manage as he had before. He had grown used to the cozy, dark feeling, but after spending years chained in the cellar of the Hellsing mansion... he learned to wean himself from homey pleasures.

Aya promptly ignored Alucard, violet eyes disappearing beneath pale lids as he settled himself in a seat and prepared for launch and then slumber. To his unspoken dismay, however, sleep would not come to him and he was forced to remain awake for the time at hand. Irritably he reached for his cellphone as it vibrated in his pocket, and he glanced to the number with disinterest. The buxom redhead was calling back, perhaps with the permission he was requesting or the end of his career after asking for such a thing from Persia.
It would do no good to guess which it was, and so he answered the phone.
"Persia wasn't happy about it, but he's given permission - only because it seems there's an outcrop of other such individuals in England that are going to require eradication." The amethyst pools opened and he sat up in his chair uncomfortably.
"More?" he inquired, quietly.
"Yes. We're planning on sending you and the others to take care of it." How odd that there should be a rash of more of what he'd faced the night before.
"Is Reiji involved?" the assassin demanded, mouth set in a firm line.
"We're not sure yet, but if there's a chance for power waiting for him in England, you can bet he'll be on it soon, along with Schwarz. Now, what are your plans once you touch ground in Japan?" Aya sighed, rubbing his temple.
"I'll stop by the shop first, and then I'll go to the hospital and then home for some time to rest. After that you can expect to see me." The man could almost feel Manx smiling through the phone.
"I had a feeling the schedule would be something like that. Call me before you drop by headquarters so we can be prepared for your arrival." A crisp goodbye from the woman on the line, and the conversation was finished. Quietly he stared at his hands, considering Manx's words. More political figures he'd been assigned to kill, that weren't killable with standard weapons...

As the hours whittled away, Alucard spent most of his time slumbering, his dreams empty and insignificant. He missed dreams–it was not often that he would have a dream that bore any kind of interest for him, and as such, when he did have one, he considered it to be somewhere prophetic.
‘Ah, but these things come but once in a blue moon... if less,’ he thought to himself, perhaps a little sadly.
He recalled many years ago when he was merely youth. His dreams had been full and vivid–but back then, he was also wild and untamed. Alucard was blessed with a decent memory. Thankfully so, too, for he could not live with himself (although living was not an option) if he had forgotten the former years–his bloodiest glories, his most profound and pronounced time of living.
And, yes, his heart had beat then, and he had drawn sweet air into his lungs, and he had lived a beautiful life. However, it would be clear to anyone that although Alucard was subject to nostalgia as any one person could be, he much preferred his life as one of the Undead.

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