Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Amoare ab Hostis ❯ Chapter 12 ( Chapter 12 )

~~Five years later~~

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Father Nathan gazed through the glass partitioning separating himself from the room beyond. A room where a young man was currently undergoing a series of chemical injections coupled with specific rays of rationation that would activate certain properties within the chemicals to produce the desired effect within the test subject...or so Nathan told himself, day after day, and especially during the long hours of the night when his guilt crept up on him and choked him with icy fingers of forboding.

Slipping a hand beneath his ceremonial robes which he hadn't bothered to remove after Mass, he ran his fingertips lightly over the dark purple bruises he knew to be there. Bruises Alexander himself had put on him the day before. A simple grip on his wrist, nothing more, innocently given, and it had brought him yelping to his knees in stunned pain. He'd felt the crunch of tendons sliding over bone, knew Alex had felt it too, and he had seen the flash of pleasure and fascination in his green eyes.

Yes indeed, Alex was becoming a problem. Only twenty-five and already so disillusioned, so hardened to the world. But if Nathan were honest with himself he would admit that Alex had not been so cold once. That particular personality change had come about after the death of Brian, his...replacement. Nathan sighed, closing his eyes and scrubbing at them with a weary hand. He regretted that unfortunate incident to his very soul. Killing that boy had not been an easy decision to make, but had been a circumstance of necessity at the time. He did not, however, enjoy his part in it, nor did he expect forgiveness to ever come for it, from Alex or even God.

Alex suddenly jerked violently on the cold metal table, twitching horribly as the amount of radiation was increased. Nathan watched one of the doctors rush forward to hold him down only to be knocked back by a forearm to his chest. The impacting thud was palpable, even through the glass, as the man went stumbling into a table full of metallic instruments. He grasped his chest, eyes squeezed tightly shut in acute pain as other medical personel crowded around him. A few switches were thrown, signalling the end of the session, and Alex relaxed onto the table once more.

Nathan took a step away from the window as the injured doctor was led away by a group of his highly flustered colleagues. Turning towards the door he saw David standing there, watching the unnerving display silently. He seemed very grave standing there, as tired and burdened as Nathan, eyes fixated on Alex with a mixture of love and horror. Drawing his gaze away he focused on the other priest.

"We have to talk." He said quietly, and left the room with Nathan trailing close behind.

***

Alex panted, his own breath feeling like dry fire in his throat as his chest heaved. The full-body burning sensation went on endlessly, flames licking at the insides of his veins for an indeterminable amount of time. He lay there pondering whether or not the ends would ever jusify these means, if he would ever see the day when this torture ended and he was complete.

When the pain became bearable he sat up, running his palms over his sweat-drenched forehead and through equally soaked hair. His eyes stinged as a few stray drops dribbled into them and he blinked away the salty irritant and looked around him. A single doctor remained, sitting in a chair next to his "bed", a clipboard resting on her primly crossed knees as she scribbled away. When she glanced up at him he saw through the lenses of her glasses that her eyes proved to be cold and unreadable, her mouth pressed into a scowl and the rest of her features set into a mask of cool professionalism.

"How do you feel?" She asked lightly, as though asking after his mother's health. If only his mother weren't dead.

"Like a pin cushion." Alex growled at her. "How is that man, the one I hit? Will he be alright?"

"He probably has a bruised sternum. He'll have to rest for a few weeks, and it will take a long time to heal completely."

She watched him with the same neutral expression as he twisted around on the metal slab, wincing with every minute movement. Taking an audible breath, one that forewarned of a long lecture, she uncrossed her legs and stood, placing the clipboard on a piece of nearby equipment. "You've proven to be an adequate test subject, Mr. Anderson. More than worthy, actually, your progress has astounded us all. And frightened some of us as well. A few of my staff members refused to work with you after a certain point, and I'm quite sure today's mishap will ensure that the others follow suit."

"I'm sorry," Alex snarled cynically. "I'll try to be a better 'text subject' in the future."

She smiled blandly. "Sarcasm. How amusing."

"I'm not here for your amusement, or to play nice. I was chosen to be here. As a test subject, as you put it, so... Test me." He ordered, the hard light in his gaze showing her that he wasn't kidding this time.

"Oh," she murmured softly, a hint of something dark and altogether unpleasant in her tone. "I plan on it. An opportunity to play Dr. Frankenstein on the Vatican's pet lab rat doesn't come along too often. I intend to make the most of this experience."

He watched her lips tilt upwards into a sadistic little smirk and found something in himself responding to her cruelty. Something that hadn't been there before the experiments began, and had only began to take form after Brian's death. It was what caused him to murder that street begger over something so simple as his coat, which Alex still possessed and had learned to store all sorts of fun things inside of its many pockets. But still, it was there now, as much a part of him as everything else they were shoving inside of his protesting body. He looked at her now, at the sick pleasure she was taking in deforming him, and he respected her.

"Can you make me strong?" He asked, his voice raw with desire. For power.

"I can make you invincible," she told him, the same lust coating her words.

"Well then let's get started," he said, swinging back around to lay on the cold metal once more, pain forgotten.

***

Weak whistling emanated from a gaunt chest with every wheezing, wet breath Rupert Hellsing took. Arthur winced as a gurgling noise took up residence in his father's throat and refused to leave. He considered kicking the sick man's bed to make the sickening slurping stop, but decided against it with a pang of guilt for having entertained the thought to begin with.

When had he become so cruel?

There had never been any love between himself and his father, that was certain. Their family bond was one of duty, pride, honor and discipline, but not love. His brother Richard had understood that all too well when they were growing up and had quickly become his father's favorite, even though Arthur was his heir. Richard had been a frightening child. The sort of bully down the street that you watched kick a stray dog to death and knew that the poor beast had suffered a far better fate than what he most likely did to other unfortunate animals in private.

As if on cue the door opened with the soft, subdued scream that came along with a sick room. Quiet footsteps thudded over to Arthur and a cold hand rested on his shoulder.

"Poor father," Richard's voice crooned. "What is he holding onto, do you wonder?"

"I imagine spite," said Arthur bitterly.

Richard laughed. "Oh yes. He would put off his death until the very last moment just to spite you, wouldn't he?"

Arthur said nothing and instead pointedly shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. He missed the quick snarl on his brother's face, and the malicious gleam in his eye as he glared in hate and envy at the back of his sandy head.

"He hates you," he spat. "You're not fit to take his place, and he knows it. God knows what you'll do to the organization. To the family name! If it weren't for that ridiculous rule set down by our predecesors-"

"That ridiculous rule," Arthur began as he stood and turned to face his brother. "Is the only thing preventing a perverted psychopath like you from taking over."

Richard seethed visibly, his wiry, gangly frame quivering with the black emotions that were always swirling around in his mind. "You may be the eldest son, and therefore the 'rightful heir' they spoke of. But, my dear brother, there are other ways-"

"Do. Not. Finish. That. Sentence." Arthur growled lowly, his voice making no mistake of the consequences should he be defied.

His brother sniffed indignantly. "You have no power. Not yet."

"Who does? Him?" Arthur waved a disgusted arm at their wasted father. Keeping his eyes leveled on Richard, Arthur leaned over and grabbed a few of the wires and tubes protruding from various parts of Rupert's decimated body. Richard tensed visibly, a sick sort of love and obsession making him panic at the sight of his father's life in the hands of another.

Tightening his fist around the multiple artificial bits and pieces in his hand, Arthur hissed, "Who has the power now, Richard?"

His brother turned and fled from the room, and Arthur slowly let his whitened knuckles ease on the lifelines keeping his father in his world. Breathing shakily he took his place in the chair at Rupert's bedside and sank back into the dark mood that had occupied him before the brief interruption.

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