Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Specimen (I) ❯ Experiment II ( Chapter 2 )

Revised: 1.30.07

 

Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs to its respective creator and companies. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

“The helplessness of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death.”

 

-Virginia Woolf, “The Death of the Moth” 

 

November 16, 1897, morning

 

I was up all of last night redefining the seals placed upon the Count, and even now, hours after the procedure's completion, the blood of the Count still stains my hands and his inhuman screams still ring in my ears. As such, this is proof to how messy the ceremony was and how painful it was to the Count, not like the latter part matters all that much. However, I thank the Holy Father that the Count was out cold right after my assistants and I were finished with him. In two days' time, he will be ready for the start of experimentation.

 

-Abraham Van Helsing

 

Ah yes, this day is still burned as vividly in the back of my mind as if it was just yesterday. The only thing that could describe that night was pain; horrible, agonizing pain, and that was only the tip of the iceberg as, of course, I had no idea what was in store for me then, so the experimentation came as quite the surprise to me. But that, however, comes a bit later.

 

The moon was ironically full that night, I remember, and even though no openings to the outside world were found inside my confines, I could still sense it…I can always sense it. All my kind can if they focus on that particular aspect enough.

 

I hadn't been fed that day, and having vomited back up what little I was given the day before, I was quite irate, or at least more so than usual. So, when the door to my prison cell was swung open, my mouth was literally watering from the smell of live prey filled with the intoxicating substance of human blood. I wanted—no, needed—whoever was opening that door, and I was prepared to stop at nothing to sink my fangs into the warm flesh of that person's throat.

 

Of course, as you can imagine, my first reaction upon someone entering my room while I was starving was to fling myself upon them and pin them to the cold, hard stones that made up the dungeon floor.

 

The man on the receiving end of my actions started babbling incoherently—or at least to me—as everything seemed to become muted as bloodlust overcame me. I wrenched his head to the side, forcing it to stay that way by keeping a firm grip on his hair, licking my lips eagerly, nearly drooling with the anticipation that was surging through my body.

 

Sound came crashing down back to me as I tore through the skin and ligaments of the man's neck, the agonizing scream that escaped his lips bringing music to my ears. They hadn't heard that sweet melody of fear in so long. That music, however, was nothing compared to the sweet liquid that was flowing into my mouth through the reversal of his innocent human bloodstream. After being deprived of such a substance for so long, I was practically drowning in ecstasy at that point. I closed my eyes, becoming oblivious to the rest of the outside world, paying attention only to the sweet, crimson liquid that I felt gliding over my tongue.

 

Looking back, I must say that I had fed rather sloppily that night, tearing through chunks of skin and muscle with complete and utter abandon, greedily trying to obtain as much blood as I could get at a single time.

 

If I hadn't been so preoccupied at the time, I might have noticed them sooner, but before I knew what was happening, I was suddenly wrenched from my victim, screaming in frustration, blood still dribbling in rivulets down my chin. I was still hungry, God damn it! I wanted to finish—to have my fair share. Nobody was going to claim what was rightfully mine, and there would be hell to pay if they did. Nobody could drink from him but me! He was mine!

 

A gunshot suddenly reverberated throughout the room. Somebody had obviously shot the poor fool—probably to keep him from turning into a ghoul, no doubt. To be honest though, I was hoping that they would have forgotten about that. After all, even just one ghoul on my side would give me somewhat of an advantage, at least. But of course, such things are never to be.

 

More hands had pulled me back while I struggled in vain as my senses picked up Van Helsing entering the room. He kicked the man onto his back upon his arrival, making a sort of clucking noise with his tongue.

 

“I had a feeling this would happen,” he sighed, shaking his head, “but I guess it was inevitable.”

 

He turned to me then, a look of utter disgust upon his face, and I snarled in response, wanting badly to tear his throat out. Again, just like the day before, a wave of nausea washed over me, and I quickly clamped my mouth shut, not wanting to expel another one of my meals again.

 

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath when the nausea finally passed, glaring up at Abraham.

 

“Bring Richardson's body upstairs and send a letter to his wife saying that there's been a rather unfortunate accident. I'll stay down here and deal with the Count,” he barked towards two of his assistants, his eyes never breaking contact with my own, but completely ignoring my gaze of loathing.

 

I saw the two men run up the stairs hastily, clumsily dragging what was left of Richardson with them. Some respect for the dead they had. Then again, I was technically dead as well and didn't get any kind of respect whatsoever, so who was I to complain?

 

“That was a very rash thing for you to do, Count,” he stated nonchalantly, acting like my actions were not that big of a deal, and it probably wasn't, considering his thoughts told me he never much liked the man anyway and that he still had many more assistants left, all of which he considered expendable in this situation. In truth, he was just as insensitive as I, and he was the one calling me a monster. Besides, I'm sure he would have done the exact same thing if he were in my place instead.

 

“However,” Van Helsing continued, “not to worry. You won't be doing such things for much longer.”

 

My first reaction to this was to shoot a snide remark back at him, but since I was still feeling queasy, I decided it would be best if I kept my mouth shut.

 

Van Helsing looked at me a while longer before turning to the group of assistants behind me and giving them a small nod. There was a sharp, stinging pain in my side then, and everything went black.

 

* * *

 

My senses were reeling as I had slowly regained consciousness and trying to get a hold back on my bearings. In the background, I heard muttering around me, but my head was throbbing so badly that I could not make anything out of it in the haze of my muddled senses. What I did notice, however, was the strong metallic smell of blood, obviously my own, as it reeked of the stench of something old and rotting.

 

I forced my eyes to open, which was a mistake as it added a wave of nausea to all the other symptoms I felt. I might as well not have opened them anyway as everything I saw was basically all just fuzzy blobs, though the smell of my captors betrayed their identities.

 

“Where the hell am I?” I tried asking weakly, but what came out was a wet gurgle, the taste of my own blood welling up in the back of my throat—and, as I mentioned before, my blood's not the best thing in the world to experience in one's lifetime (or lack thereof, in my case).

 

“He's awake, Abraham,” a fuzzy blob to my right said. “What should we do?”

 

“Continue as planned, of course,” came the response from somewhere near my left side. “It does not matter if he is awake or not, just as long as it gets done. Oh, and make sure you keep your fingers away from his chompers. He still has the power to bite.”

 

Amused chuckles rang throughout the room, and I remember thinking, I'll show you the power of my chompers, you bastard, but was quite incapable of voicing my thoughts vocally at the moment.

 

A low, but pathetic growl reverberated low in my throat—a result of my frustration—and all eyes in the room became fastened on to me, and for the first time, I noticed knife blades glinting in the light. How I knew they were blades, I still do not know, seeing how everything was just one giant blur, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew they were probably silver-plated. Great… Those were going to be a joy to work with.

 

Ignoring the stares, my eyes frantically moved around the room taking on my new surroundings that I was capable of seeing at the moment, and finally rested upon an object that was coming sharply into focus; an object that was all too familiar to me…a giant golden cross.

 

I gave off a hiss of contempt at the artifact as I looked up at it, radiating waves of loathing. In all its holy glory, it stood over me as if mocking my fate. It just wasn't fair! I, who had fought wars in His name, who had never asked for anything in return, seemed to be punished by Him Himself. I was His most loyal subject in my time and this was what I received in return.

 

I immediately pried my eyes away from the crucifix before memories I didn't want to remember started coming back to me. Some things are better left buried under centuries of their history. Some things should never be dug up again. The emotional impact of their remembrance is sometimes just too painful for some to bear the feeling of. That emotional scar is still with me to this day… But that is a story for another time, however.

 

An awful burning sensation jolted me out of my musings and threw me unpleasantly back down to earth.

 

Immediately, I began to struggle to try and get away from what was causing the burning, but pain soon shot up my arms and legs. I whipped my head to the side and realized that stakes had been hammered through my hands and ankles.

 

Well, this was a pinch.

 

“Watch it!” Van Helsing warned his assistants. “Hold him down. We don't want him to injure himself more than necessary.”

 

No more than necessary? Then how much was necessary? Besides, I was already injured. What harm could a little more do?

 

Four pairs of hands grabbed my upper arms and legs, holding me down so the stakes that impaled me wouldn't get pulled through. Unfortunately, they were all smart enough to stay well away from my teeth after Van Helsing's warning.

 

“Damn you, Abraham,” I managed to choke out, blood welling up in the back of my throat again. “God damn you.”

 

“Hold your tongue, Vampire!” Van Helsing spat. “We are in the House of the Lord. You might do well to show some respect. After all, it is His decision alone to decide whether I am to be condemned, is it not?”

 

I remember I had heard something in the back of my brain after he said that saying, God no longer gives a damn, Abraham, and I quite agreed with it. Whoever tells you that God cares for His people is lying. I hadn't associated myself with God for hundreds of years, and even when I did, He had yet to raise a finger to end my suffering.

 

My thoughts were once again broken up at the sensation of a horrible pain starting from my abdomen and ripping upward towards my chest. I bit down on my lip to keep myself from crying out, blood being drawn in the process.

 

Glancing around me again, the gleam of the blades was caught by the corner of my eye and I noticed a wet, bright red streak running across one of them. It was blood…my blood.

 

There was more pain, more blood, as those silver-plated knives ripped through my skin, cutting the emblem of the restriction seals into my flesh. The cuts did not heal. To this day, I still have the faint remainders of those scars, though only a select few know about them.

 

When the ripping and tearing finally desisted, I didn't dare to relax. I couldn't have relaxed, even if I'd wanted to. All I could do when in so much pain was to just lie there and shake uncontrollably underneath my captors' restraining hands. It hurt even to breathe, my body was under so much stress, even though breathing had already turned into a habit a long time ago. Then the chanting began.

 

It dredged up memories from centuries ago, and I unconsciously began to recite the prayer as well, completely unaware of the pain slowly coming back to me as I was not yet immune to listening to Holy Scripture at that time. In my mind, the chanting gave me a sense of ease, reminding me of when I was just like everyone else—when I was still human.

 

My spilt blood took on a glow of molten gold and I began to become more aware of the pain as it reached a fever pitch inside of me. I didn't try to suppress my screams this time around when the agony overwhelmed me. From experience, I can tell you that there is such a thing as pain beyond pain, as that was what I felt during that time. Never had I felt such agony before.

 

“In the name of God, impure souls of the living dead shall be banished into eternal damnation…Amen…”

 

The last verse of the prayer escaped from my bloodied lips before consciousness slipped away from me. But to say that certain verse was pointless. I was already damned.

 

November 16, 1897, dusk

 

The Count has been awake for about four hours now and is currently resting again at present, I believe.

 

The first hour or so when he was awake he spent purging himself of the excess magic the sealing ritual produced, which was to be expected. However, when I came in to check up on him, fear flashed through his eyes and he immediately scrambled to the back of the dungeon, cowering in the corner. He still has yet to speak.

 

While I'm not entirely sure, I believe the ritual has temporarily damaged his usual thought patterns and behaviors, so he is running purely on animalistic instinct until then. Therefore, I have told my staff that they are to stay as far away from the dungeon unless I tell them otherwise as I cannot predict how he will react to other humans. I have already lost one assistant and I have no desire to lose any more.

 

Ms. Mina Harker came over to visit with her husband quite unexpectedly this afternoon and asked how everything was going with regards to the Count. When I replied that everything was going along with the majority of the plan, she requested that she go and see him. While both Jonathan and I were strongly against it, she persisted and we both eventually gave in.

 

When we entered, the Count acted surprisingly indifferent towards Ms. Harker, though I am not yet sure why as she was the one he was the most interested in. Maybe it was because she eventually became his downfall, but again, this is just pure speculation.

 

Mina told us to leave her so she could speak with him, despite my protests that he hadn't spoken in hours and might be incapable of it at the moment, but again, her husband and I relented to her wishes and left her to her own devices, but kept near the door in case we heard something unusual. But we needn't have worried as she returned about two minutes later, completely unscathed, but she did refuse to speak of her encounter with the Count. We have only to wonder what transpired between the two down in the dungeon…

 

-Abraham Van Helsing

 

The day after the sealing ritual was pure torture when I woke up, especially with Mina stopping by for an unexpected visit. She was the last person I wanted to see at that time since it was she who put me in this unfortunate position in the first place.

 

The pain from the night before began again as soon as I had opened my eyes, my stomach churning from all the excess magic contained within it. Needless to say, I needed to find some way to rid myself of it and get my powers properly balanced once again.

 

Purging myself of such energies was a rather unpleasant task as most of the time all I could manage was dry heaves, taking about an hour within itself, and I still felt sick for hours afterwards, which was mainly the reason why I didn't feel much like talking.

 

Van Helsing was correct though in assuming that I was running purely on animalistic instinct, as I did try and get as far away as possible from him when he came down to check up on me, much like how a rabbit, after being exposed to the dangers of a fox, quickly learns to avoid the creature.

 

Going through that ritual was one times too many for me. If Van Helsing came anywhere near me, I was prepared to fight tooth and nail to get out of whatever he was going to do to me, even if I wasn't feeling all that well.

 

It wasn't long after that that I smelled Mina's faint scent emanating from somewhere in the house. The perfume-like smell used to make my mouth water, but now such a reaction is no longer. Being betrayed by someone who you were once infatuated with tends to put a damper on one's relationship.

 

I wasn't exactly surprised when the dungeon door opened to reveal Van Helsing's little trio, but I wasn't exactly thrilled about it either. In fact, I was actually dreading it. Of all people, Mina was the one that wanted to speak to me, which, I'll admit, was rather an unexpected turn of events.

 

So, when Mina finally convinced Van Helsing and her husband to leave her be, we were finally alone again, just like so many months before.

 

She started walking cautiously towards me, and looking back on the situation now, I have to feel sorry for her as the dungeon smelled awful after I had purged myself of the excess energies contained within me, but either she didn't say anything of it or didn't notice. I've always suspected that it was the former of the two as the smell unseated me somewhat, as well.

 

When she was about three feet away, she hesitantly crouched down about three feet away from me, carefully avoiding my many puddles of sick.

 

“Count?” Though phrased as a question, it seemed like she didn't know what to do with the word now that she had said it, almost as if it had tumbled out of her lips unbidden. “Count, can you hear me?”

 

I slowly looked up from the stone floor at the sound of her addressing me, and I could literally smell the fear rolling off of her in waves. Not that I blame her—she had reason to be afraid.

 

“Can you speak?” she asked softly.

 

“Yes,” I replied, my voice raspy from all the purging I'd done earlier. It hurt to get the words out.

 

“How has the professor been treating you?”

 

I gave a harsh bark of laughter.

 

“Look around you Ms. Harker. How do you think your noble professor's been treating me?”

 

“I'm sorry,” she said, biting her lip.

 

“You should be, this was all of your fault in the first place.”

 

A hurt expression came over her features, and I dimly noticed that I no longer cared. She had betrayed me, so why should I have given her anything pleasant in return?

 

Vengeance has always been a close friend of mine.

 

“What have they been doing to you?”

 

I shrugged and raised the back of my hands towards her so she could clearly see the bloodstained seals now permanently etched onto my being, and a look of sympathy passed over her face. I frowned at that. I didn't need her sympathy. Such feelings were for the weak and undeserving.

 

An unnerving silence hung in the air after that and I began to grow tired of her presence. Patience has never been one of my stronger points.

 

“Leave,” I told her, my tone bitter. “Abraham and your beloved husband are waiting for you. I no longer have interest in your sordid affairs and you need not concern yourself with my well-being.”

 

When she didn't move, I continued, “It would be wise of you to go quickly. I haven't eaten in two days and I do so wish to quench my thirst.”

 

That got her moving.

 

With a small squeak, she hurried away, but not before glancing behind her before shutting the dungeon door with a snap, leaving me to seal my own doom…

 

Author's Note: Constructive criticism is encouraged and very much appreciated.