Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Stray Dog ❯ An Ending ( Chapter 11 )

Disclaimer: Hellsing and all of its characters belong to Kouta Hirano, not to me. I am not making any money off of this piece of fanfiction.

Author's notes: As promised, here is the last chapter. My infinite gratitude to those of you who've stuck it out to the end, and who've let me know what you thought along the way.

 

Chapter 11: An Ending

Alucard grinned at the handful of Vatican special operatives that stood in his way, not even caring as the Paladin continued up the stairs without him. All this carnage had him itching for a good fight, and these three puppies seemed promising. Not as strong as Anderson, no such luck, but that one was a game for another day. He was past the point of needing the other man, but Alucard's curiosity had overwhelmed his need for carnage, and he desperately wanted to know why the priest had jumped so quickly to Seras' aid. Nevertheless, he'd primed himself for a fight that these pathetic paladin wannabes just couldn't provide. Oh well. Three against one, at least they gave the illusion of a challenge.

Laughing, he extended one long arm and beckoned them forward.

*

Anderson stopped in his tracks, unwilling to believe what he was seeing. The boy's head was down, his chin resting against Seras' arms, which had him pinned, back against her chest. All he could see of her was her blonde mop of hair, bent over his neck. Neither was moving.

“Pretty sight, isn't it?” Anderson whirled, with a snarl, to see Enrico leaning casually against the wall. “She fought hard, I'll give you that Alexander, but in the end,” he smiled, shrugging his shoulders with an easy grace, “well, you can see for yourself. Pity about the boy. I couldn't prevent it.”

“What have ye done, Maxwell?” Anderson could feel his hands shaking, his whole body shivering with rage as all his work and prayers came crashing down around him. Just a child.

“Me,” Enrico gasped and placed a hand do his heart as though affronted, but he couldn't wipe the grin from his face. “Why I haven't done a thing, Anderson, but to capture and cage the worst kind of monster.”

“The boy,” Anderson choked the words out, unable to continue.

“The boy? Oh, poor fool, Anderson. Those certainly aren't my fangs buried in his neck. It isn't my blood running through the veins of that monster.” The head of Section XIII sneered, his words hitting the Paladin like a fist to the stomach. “Is it my Fault that you've blinded yourself to reason and truth? You've allowed the Satan to ensnare you, Paladin! The devil comes in all forms, and even good men are weak to his charms.” Enrico pressed on, seeing the uncertain look in the regenerator's eyes. “God tests us all, Anderson, and this is His test for you. You must go in there and eliminate that whore of Satan! Cleanse yourself by sending her soul to hell!” he shrieked, incensed by the power in his own voice. “Do as I command you, Paladin Alexander Anderson! DO IT!”

Father Maxwell couldn't keep but roar with triumph as Anderson took one, two, three hesitant steps toward the cage. It wasn't the blind rage he was accustomed to seeing from the Scot, but it was something.

*

Alucard laughed at the identical looks of shock on the faces of the two remaining Vatican puppies. Paladins in training! Ha! How would they ever compete with the likes of a No-life King, if they couldn't even stomach the sight of a man, impaled upon his own sword, being dismembered and splattered across the walls by a many-eyed being of pure darkness? Kids' stuff. How would they ever fight if they couldn't even stop themselves from shitting their pants at the sound of his laughter? “Well” he asked, licking the blood from his fingers, “Which one of you is up next?”

*

Anderson stopped short as he noticed the familiar brown mop of hair, and the hint of a cast poking out from under along shirtsleeve. “I…Iain…” he croaked, and the boy's head snapped up, his brown eyes filled with tears. “Dear Heaven,” he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and rushed toward the cage was Maxwell took a surprised step backward. What the hell? Why wasn't the boy dead? Why hadn't she torn the little whelp's throat open? She'd tricked him. Stupid, English BITCH!

Maxwell froze, unsure what to do as he watched his plan falling apart. The little sow hadn't killed the boy. Anderson was clumping toward the cage, grinning like a fool, his old comrade momentarily forgotten, but that would change soon. Soon, Anderson would slaughter him. Without the haze of grief to make him docile, the Paladin would tear him limb from limb for his treachery.

“Iain, thank God, thank God ye're okay.” The lock on the door cracked with an ear rending screech of metal on metal as the priest jammed one of his bayonets into the keyhole. Furious with Maxwell as he was, the child's safety still took first priority.

A crash tore his attention from the cage, as a body was hurled into the room. Anderson watched the young trainee struggle to stand as his attacker came through the doorway. He felt pity, but not enough. Enrico stared, dumbfounded, at the figure, struggling in a pool of its own blood. He'd managed to stand, only with the aid of a table to lean against. One leg was clearly broken, and he was riddled with bullet holes, blood leaking slowly from every one, running in rivulets down his battered body. He wheezed, unable to even scream as the darkness advanced toward him, snapping mouths clamping down, teeth tearing flesh.

Maxwell was stunned with fear, unaware that he'd loosed his bladder until he felt the hot, wet shame coursing down his legs, pooling to mix with the blood at his feet. The shock of it released him from his paralysis, and he turned tail, intending to flee as quickly as possible from this hell-born disaster. He got about three steps before a set of snapping jaws caught him up too, closing down on his arm, teeth sinking into him. He screamed in agony as his blood sprayed the walls, ruined arteries pouring, bones cracking.

A moan tore from his throat as the demon jerked him backward, pulling the shoulder from its socket with a sickening pop and grind. “Where do you think you're going?” Came the monster's voice, everywhere and nowhere all at once. A thousand eyes blinked around him, staring, he felt, into the depths of his soul.

“Let him go, vampire.” It was Anderson's voice, weary and sad, but still strong, so full of conviction. He refused to waver as the eyes and teeth rounded on him, glaring, accusing, furious that he would dare order about this Nosferatu King. “He's ruined, nightwalker, let him go. We've destroyed him enough. Let him now feel the shame of failure. Let Section Thirteen throw him tae the lions.” He turned away then, opening the cage door with a creek. Inside, he squatted down to cover young Iain's eyes. He knew that whether or not the vampire listened to him, it would be bloody.

“You heard the man,” said the monster's voice, while the jaws tightened their hold. “You're free to leave at any time.” Enrico winced as he felt the monster's teeth dig deeper into his flesh. The eyes blinked at him, no two in unison, and the demon laughed, a sound that shook Maxwell to his core. He gritted his teeth and snarled at them, baring his teeth for all those hell spawned eyes, and then he pulled. Hard. Tried not to scream as his flesh tore apart, tried not to vomit at the sound of snapping tendons and the smell of his blood gushing to the floor as he left half an arm within the monster's jaws.

Sweating and shaking, he stumbled backward, not quite trusting that the monster would not attack as soon as he turned his back. He hit the wall, sobbed once in relief and in pain, before whirling out the door, stumbling and tripping his way down the stairs to sweet freedom.

Gently, gently, Anderson pried Seras' unwilling arms from around the boy, tears streaming from his eyes as a cursory examination proved the boy really was unharmed. He hugged the child close, murmuring reassurances and praise. “Good boy, ye did well. So brave.” He muttered, giving the child one last squeeze. “Now,” he placed his hands on Iain's small shoulders and held the boy at arm's length. “Ye have tae get out o' this cage, while I see tae this lass here. Ye go and stand with that man out there. Dinna be scared now.” He smiled, encouragingly, seeing the child's apprehension. Alucard was in his most frightening form, a lanky, leather clad monster with hair like tendrils, just waiting to reach out and grab you away.

“Yes, come child.” The No-Life King grinned, his razor smile and gravely voice not doing anything to calm the child's fears. “Come and be safe.” He was at the door now, reaching in with one spiderlike arm. Far gentler than one could ever imagine, he took the child's hand and led him away from the cage. He turned back, intending to head in, just in time to see the most unexpected sight of his long, long life.

Anderson had taken a step closer to Seras, who had yet to move of her own will. “Wee Draculina,” he said, and knelt on one knee before her slumped form. One gloved hand reached out to cup her cheek in a tender, familiar gesture. Alucard saw his little daughter lean into the Mad Paladin's touch, and something in him seized up in shock. He could only stare as she turned her head and clamped her teeth into the fleshy base of Anderson's thumb, viciously tearing flesh in her quest for blood. Alucard heard her moan, and decided that it was a good time for himself and the boy to make their exit. The child had seen enough horror in the space of the last hour to last him many lifetimes.

Anderson fell to both knees, grunting with the pain and shock of his injury. She'd never bitten him before; always waited for him to cut himself, or tore at him with her nails. He stared down at the little vampire in horror, furious at her bite, yet unable to tear her away. Instead, he fisted his free hand in her hair, pressing her closer, urging her to take what she needed from him. Damn the consequences, he thought, in that fevered moment. He'd gladly send his soul to Hell for the pleasure of her vampire's kiss.

Seras' colour was beginning to return as the tears in Anderson's wrist started to heal, but she still needed more, so much more from him. “Anderson,” she moaned, clutching at his arms, pulling herself up so her mouth was against his neck. “Get me out of here, please.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his throat. He could feel the scrape of her teeth and the slickness of her tongue, gliding over his skin, and he felt himself grow hard. He grabbed her hips with his strong hands and pulled her into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. He cupped her bottom, his hands pressing her against himself, sweet torture as he tried to stand without dropping them both. He carried her to a table and set her down there, ignoring the blood and entrails splattered across it. There was no room in his mind for anything but her fangs, sinking slowly into the tender flesh of his throat, and the warmth between her thighs as she pressed herself closer, gorging on the feast that was the Judas Priest.

God help him, he needed more of her. He needed to take of her as she was taking of him; he couldn't stand it anymore. His trembling hands fumbled with her skirt, struggling to pull it out from under her and shove it up around her waist. Her thighs and bum underneath were wet with blood from the table, making her flesh slick against his palms as he grasped her. “Seras,” he groaned her name as he pulled her close, rocking his hips against hers, desperately, as though he could get through both of their clothes if he just rubbed hard enough. The table wobbled precariously beneath its unusual burden but neither of them spared it thought.

Seras groaned as he ground himself into her; she craved the hard heat of him against her, could feel the blood pulsing through him. Every jump and twitch of that swollen flesh fired her hunger for him. She pulled her teeth from Anderson's neck, bathing his wound with her tongue as her hands ran down his chest, nails tearing through his shirt. She could feel his whole body tense up as she reached his belt buckle, felt his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, nervously, but no protest was made. Her fingers were cool against him as she undid his fly, reaching in to touch him. He shivered and bent over her, burying his face in her hair. Strawberries and cemetery, just like he remembered.

Cautiously, Seras wrapped her hand around the priest, exploring the thick, smooth length of him. She cupped him with her other hand, drew back a little nervously as she heard him gasp. “No,” he gulped, “don't…don't stop touching me.” Emboldened, she squeezed him a little tighter, ran her fingers up over the head. “Never stop touching me” he rasped in her ear as one hand moved between her legs to push aside her panties. She was slick and wet, so welcoming that he couldn't resist the urge to slip a finger into her. He slipped his other hand into her hair and pulled her back so he could see her eyes, bright red with want and need. Her lips parted, and a sigh escaped, followed by a swipe of her tongue across her teeth.

Anderson crushed his mouth to hers, uncaring that her teeth were tearing up his lips and tongue. He tasted his blood on her lips, and could handle it no more. He swatted Seras' hands away from him, and grasped himself around the base. He pulled his finger from her, instead nudging at that wetness with the head of his cock, feeling her warmth surround him as he pushed into her. She bit down on his lip as he broke her, sucking on the fresh well of blood as he buried the final inches within her. He grasped her bottom and pumped into her, slick hands smearing blood across her pale skin as their bodies slapped together, too far gone with lust to be gentle or slow.

When she came, the force of her orgasm sent him spiralling down with her, and he spilled himself as deeply in her as he could manage, their pleasure mixing together and adding to the mess coating their sweaty thighs.

Trembling, Seras leant back onto the table, regretting it as the blood soaked into her back and coated her hair. Anderson bent down over her, his arms spread on either side of her to support his weight, and his forehead resting against her collarbone. He'd yet to pull out of her, and she felt him twitch and stir, as though trying to decide if he was up for another round. One lazy hand reached over, hooking blood-coated fingers under the top button on her shirt. He pulled and the button popped, landing somewhere above their heads with a quiet ping, soon to be followed by the rest. Anderson stood again, his hands both pushing aside her ruined shirt, fingers running up her ribs and over the exposed tops of her breasts, leaving red streaks along the way. He pulled down her bra, cupping her in his big, warm hands, and bent over to capture one nipple between his lips. He tugged at it, gently sucking it into his mouth while his fingers kneaded and squeezed. His cock twitched inside her, pulsing back to life as he buried his nose in her cleavage and ran his tongue between her breasts.

“Aah, Anderson,” she moaned as he pulled out a little bit, before sliding back in, his hands moving to guide her legs around his waist once more.

“Ye know…” He reached over to wipe the bloodstains from her lips, shuddering as her tongue swept out to tease his thumb, “Ye know if we're gonna be doin' this often, maybe ye should be callin' me Alex.”

Seras couldn't help the bark of surprised laughter that bubbled up out of her. She grinned, reaching up to touch the cross that dangled above her breasts, suspended in the air by cherry flavoured dental floss.

*

Integra looked at the man standing before her. He was covered from head to toe in black, the attire of a priest, but he was naked without the simple white collar banding his neck. His green eyes stared fiercely ahead, boring into her own. There was a sneer in there, just below the surface, a touch of insolence that made itself known to her, let her know that he may have come to work for her, but he would never be controlled by her. She was not, and would never be, his master.

She looked to the two standing behind him; Hellsing's resident vampires, both willing to stand beside this man who had once been their enemy, both ready to trust in him.

Her gaze met his once more, looked hard into him, trying to figure out what had changed since last seeing Section Thirteen's Mad Paladin. Before her was a broken man. He'd lost his faith, she realized, quite suddenly. She'd thought that would destroy him, but here he was, apparently a stronger man than she'd realized. A strong part of her had never expected to see him before her like this. She thought he'd die before giving up his church, his faith.

What she did not yet know, was that he had not lost it altogether. Surely Enrico Maxwell had done it damage, had all but destroyed it, but a small fragment of his former faith lived on. He'd taken that precious little piece and hidden it away in a safe place. He'd left the care of his soul not with the Church, but in the hands of a fledgling vampire who'd thrown his life into chaos. Asweet lass who he liked more and more still, every time he laid eyes on her. Didn't mean he'd stopped promising to kill her, though.

“Alexander Anderson,” Integra paused, clearing her throat before continuing, “I would officially like to welcome you to the Hellsing Organization. God save the Queen.”

“God save the Queen.” Chrorused the two in the shadows, but Anderson simply smirked.