Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, Alucard, or Anderson. I did this out of enjoyment, nothing else. Promise. No profit here.

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Perfect Blue

The Major's soul is black.

The final, silencing shot of the jackal into the throat of the man reveals that much. The others present for the kill simply see a body fall weakly to its knees, see the blood gush from crimson wounds over the small man's body. But Alucard peers with his third eye, unable to resist the temptation of watching the true show, the soul's departure. Blood aflame with excitement, Alucard watches a black soul rip from the gluttonous form, watches it as it screams and tears apart before his eyes in a flurry of black smoke.

And it smells just as Alucard has oft imagined; like a rotting corpse in the summer sun, a scent that he could still taste in the back of his throat.

The rain begins to fall moments after the final battle, as if it had been patiently waiting for those bloodied weeks to end before giving its ablution to the city. It's an ice rain, falling from clouds that almost seem silver in the broken wisps of moonlight. Alucard is not surprised when no one protests to the cold. To the few survivors remaining, the rain is a relief, washing away the blood and decay from the city, cleansing it of the hell Millennium had created. Even Alucard feels relieved as the cloud's tears begin to dapple against his face, upturning his gaze to the mournful sky above.

It is finished. The Millennium, the reign of vampires, is gone forever.

The stench of death is slowly washed away with the scent of fresh water, and as the survivors collect the dead, Alucard feels utterly contented. He is a predator lounging after a kill, the adrenaline and excitement seeping away, leaving a sated sense of gratification. While the war was, indeed, a treat of its own, the victory was just as satisfying. The memories of it are a special token of his efforts, and even as he forces his body and mind to slowly relinquish the warrior within him, he does not feel disappointed.

Walter, the French captain, the thousands of lives have been avenged, and even though Alucard is embittered by the losses of humans – humans he had himself rather respected – he does not make a point to linger over them. Alucard will see no funeral service, he will not mourn them; he will simply accept, and set the emptiness their lives left into an ever-growing empty space in his soul.

Compared to his impressive former losses, the damage is minimal this time around.

Alucard lies on the wide perch of a stone wall, situated before a church that has somehow remained completely unscathed in the slaughter. He stretches out as the fresh blood in his system settles, staring up at the thickly falling rain. Dark lashes catch the silver beads as they descent, a pale tongue lightly brushing away the cool liquid from his lips.

He is not needed for the moment; Integra would not want Alucard to handle the dead, and knows he would do so with no respect. Alucard only sees the empty corpses of ghouls and weaklings, and while in some intellectual way, he knows they are still people… Alucard simply cannot bring himself to attach any particular concern for them. They are nothing but soulless bodies, creatures he had himself slain. Tenderness would make no difference; these creatures were hideously maimed and malformed, and a flimsy guise of compassion would not change that.

So he waits for the bodies to be moved and inventoried, fittingly in a way worthy of slaughtered meat. The church is quiet and vacant, an adequate place to rest until it is time to leave. He was initially surprised by the abandonment of the church, expecting the religious survivors to come flocking the moment they were free to, but it is not so; the gate is untouched, the doors unopened. Alucard amusedly wonders if they are avoiding the church and their God, or if they're avoiding he himself. The latter, of course, seems the most likely. Dark amusement coupled by a complete lack of guilt keep Alucard from leaving the frightened humans in peace, and he stays in place, clad once again in golden armor as he savors the victory. The silvery chain mail glistens in the dappled light of the moon.

'I never thought you would have come to a Catholic church, vampire.'

Alucard chuckles at the voice, tilting his head minutely. He can first see a shimmer of bleary silver in the dark, and then the subtle, yet looming form of the paladin. Anderson is without his machetes, an arm drawn up to his chest, holding a embroidered sash that Alucard instantly recognizes. He does not speak of it, though, and instead looks back up at the dark sky, a smirk playing his lips.

'I'm not in the church,' says Alucard languidly, an arm thrown over his head in a catlike stretch, metal armor clinking against the stone bricks beneath him. 'I am simply taking pleasure in the solitude. It really is a shame there are no other Iscariot left to enjoy it.' A soft chuckle. 'Except you, of course.'

Alucard does need to look to know the priest bristles at this, but it is either weariness or depression that prevents Anderson from simply attacking him. Alucard chances a glance at the priest, briefly startled when he does not catch sight of him in the darkness. But Alucard can feel his presence, and he twists his head to discover that the priest has approached the wall, leaning with his back against the stones. Alucard can see a head of pale blond hair beneath him, the tips dyed red with blood.

'What, aren't you going to attack me, paladin?' mocks Alucard, eyebrows raised in amusement.

Anderson softly sighs, sounding unusually reticent. Alucard can easily see that there is no relief in his soul, no contentment at the victory. 'Nay,' Anderson murmurs, a dark hand straying up to ruffle the rainwater from his hair. 'What's the point?'

Alucard twists his body to look down at the man, resting his elbow against the wall, hand supporting his head. He's smirking again, fangs lightly poised over his lower lip. 'I see disposing of your archbishop's corpse had quite an affect on you,' he speaks, eyes drifting to the sash situated on Anderson's arm. 'Did you bury him?'

'Burned him,' says Anderson in a practiced, dispassionate voice, but Alucard does not fall for the show of nonchalance. He sees Anderson's fingers tighten on the sash as he speaks, the intricate fabricate bending under his rip. Anderson is not nonchalant, he is unstable, and the false show of calm tranquility is unusually unsettling.

'How pagan of you,' replies Alucard, voice mocking. A finger raising to brush away a wet lock of hair from his face. 'I thought your kind didn't believe in cremation.'

The priest doesn't respond at first, just sinks back against the wall weakly, and Alucard can feel the exhaustion coming from him. He wonders vaguely how long it has been since Anderson has slept, how many weeks now he's been in a constant state of utter alertness, how many countless hours of bloodshed he's continuously endured. Even Alucard, as impervious as he is to most human weaknesses, cannot help but feel his own amount of fatigue after such a dire task.

'We believe the body cannot be resurrected in heaven if it is cremated,' explains Anderson dourly. 'But it is unlikely Enrico would have ever reached the final kingdom.' The priest's voice shudders just faintly, but it is enough to betray his depth of emotion, of pain. 'So I burned him. Maybe this way, he won't have to go to hell, either.'

To Alucard, the idea sounds asinine, but he resists the temptation to say this. Anderson already knew what he was thinking, simply because Anderson is not a fool. The idea of the body being the temple of the soul after death is simply morbid, as most things seem to be in such fundamentalist teachings.

Alucard is also certain that the priest does not entirely believe all of these teachings, despite the guise of being such an extreme Catholic fundamentalist. The bible's words so often leave the man's lips, but they are so hollow, said with passion that is only a shallow mimicry of true faith. Alucard pities the man, pities him for being so helplessly compliant to what is expected of his belief.

'The Archbishop's soul is where it needs to be,' says Alucard simply, grinning at the faintest flinch from the priest below.

Death does strange things to human emotions, and Anderson is no different. There is always a shift, internal or external. But it seems to have damaged Anderson more than he'd realized, the finally breaking point after years of straggling through death and horrors that most humans would never dream of enduring.

Anderson wants to believe he can barter Maxwell's way out of hell, but it is simply impossible to any rational man. Maxwell cannot escape his fate in whatever afterlife awaited him, where power and insanity would continue to drive his pathetical, disgusting soul. There was nothing impressive about Maxwell's cowardice, his betrayal to humanity and his own kin. It was fear that kept the man from trusting others, fear that drove him to die utterly bereft of love and tenderness.

And Alucard knows that it is the knowledge of Maxwell's cowardice that's eating away at Anderson's heart.

'I failed him,' says Anderson, the sentence on the heave of a sigh. 'I failed him, just as I did the other Iscariot.'

Alucard raises an eyebrow, chuckles softly, but offers no solace nor validation. The priest is over exhausted, and as each word leaves the body of the priest, he is only exhausting himself that much more. The tide of war has ended, and Alucard tries to discern exactly why the priest is here, why he is not in a deep, soothing sleep, tucked into some bed on a far-off land, dreaming away the sorrow and memories of the Millennium.

And then, Alucard realizes why this is not so.

'Where will you go, priest?' asks Alucard, crimson eyes narrowed. 'There is no friend nor priest to take you back wherever you came from. Where will you go?'

Anderson laughs hollowly. 'I don't know anymore.'

The vampire feels only the slightest twinge of victory at his accurate calculation. The priest simply has no where to go back to. The whole of the Iscariot organization is dead, there is no one trying to find Anderson any longer, no true home for him to simply pick up his life again. Anderson is simply a lone, forgotten priest in the aftermath of a long battle, lost and wandering through deserted streets without a hope or God to guide him.

For a moment, Alucard genuinely pities Anderson – at least, as genuinely as a vampire can be. It is a kind of loneliness Alucard had once known quite clearly, in memories that he dared not recall.

The shadows around Alucard shift and liquefy, and he is standing next to the priest in a single haze of seamless movement, armor barely clinking. The priest glances at him, no sign of alarm at the suddenly change, just a grim acceptance that Alucard suddenly feels the need to face him. The priest does not disappoint him, holds his gaze with ease, green eyes dark and shadowed.

'You want me to kill you, don't you?' asks Alucard, staring intently at the priest, a smirk still lightly playing his lips. 'You came here to have me kill you, so you don't have to worry about the aftermath. You want to escape.'

The tense silence confirms his answer, and Alucard's lip curls faintly in disgust. The priest looks tense still, poised for battle, and Alucard can see he is resisting his urge to attack the vampire. It looks almost painful, the way Anderson is holding every instinct back, the way he is clinging to the façade of defeat that his body does not truly feel.

Alucard weighs his options rather haphazardly before deciding to take advantage of such an opportunity, raising a hand to gesture to the church. The priest follows his gaze to the elegant building, green eyes dark with incomprehension.

'You do want to die in a church, don't you?' says Alucard, voice tauntingly light.

Anderson's shoulders drop just slightly in defeat before he turns, roughly unlocking the steel gate that separates them from the building. Alucard follows, silently remarking on the uneasy curve in Anderson's spine, the exhausted tilt of his head. It is more than obvious that the lack of rest is affecting the priest's judgment, but Alucard decides that it is hardly important; the emotion, whatever pain that caused Anderson to want to end his life, was real enough. The causes were hardly pertinent at this point.

The door of the church is locked shut, but Anderson forces the deadbolt to give with the slightest push, the wood loudly protesting before snapping free. Anderson does not glance back to see if Alucard's following, just walks up the aisles to the alter, blood drenched coat swaying as he approaches. Alucard pauses at the door, eyes taking in the quiet scene, the crucifixes perched on the walls, the stain-glass windows depicting great philanthropists and heroes, paintings of doves and holly over the wide expanse of ceiling. Alucard pauses in step, breathing in the scent of polished oak and mold that all churches seem to be completely saturated with.

'So are you going to get it over with?' snarls the paladin, in a voice much like his older self, lacking the pretense of civility. Alucard is not entirely impressed, though; Anderson is not speaking with his heart, just pretending to for Alucard's sake.

'Are you really in such a hurry?' drawls Alucard. 'Wouldn't you like a prayer first, a sermon perhaps?'

Anderson's green eyes spark with annoyance, like a flame lit behind painted glass, and he shakes his head sharply. Alucard smirks in response, walking up the aisle lazily, fingertips tracing the smooth edges of polished benches as he passes. His crimson eyes again shift to the vibrant windows, watching the gray shadows of rain slide down the glass. A curious mixture of color and monotones.

Patiently, Alucard turned his gaze back to the priest standing, waiting for his executioner. The man is faintly quivering – from the cold, realizes Alucard – and pale from exhaustion, rainwater dripping from the edges of his clothes and only the worn surface of the floor. If Anderson had been fully human, he would certainly be ill, infested with bacteria and the many other diseases spread by the rotting bodies outside.

Sighing at the priest's impatient stare, Alucard holds up the Jackal, the opaque black metal cold in his hand. It's a comfortable weight, just heavy enough to feel powerful, but easy to maneuver, and he again silently thanks Walter for its construction. No one could quite create a weapon like he could. It was a rather fascinating irony that the man never used a gun in his life, only relied on the wires for protection. It is amazing Walter survived as long as he did.

The priest looks at the gun, mossy eyes unfeeling, uncomprehending what kind of damage could be done. Which was, of course, quite foolish; Anderson should know more than anyone what the Jackal could do to him, had felt the blows of the weapon before. Enough bullets would theoretically be able to end the priest's life.

But Anderson did not seem concerned, seemed immune to the prospect of pain. The bullets would so easily tear through flesh and organs, peeling apart the delicate human fibers with a single blow, snapping tendons and shattering bones in its wake. Regenerators could only withstand so much.

Alucard levels the gun at the priest's head, striding forward to stare his rival in the eyes. 'Anything you want to say, priest?' he asks coolly, relishing the faint uncertainty that drifts through Anderson's face. The instinctive fear of death, that human fear.

Anderson is barely human, a scientific fluke, but there are moment when that side of him shows. Alucard savors those times, imprints them into his memories.

'Nothing I'd want you to hear, vampire,' replies the priest, just as dispassionately as before. 'And nothing you'd care to hear.'

'Oh?' Alucard raises an elegant eyebrow, smirk twitching at his slender lips. 'Now you can read my mind? And here I thought telepathy was against your religion, said to be the Devil's work. Isn't that right, Alexander?'

Anderson flinches sharply at the unwanted invasion into his psyche, green eyes sparking with rage. 'Keep out, you bastard heathen!' grounds out Anderson through a tightened jaw, eyes burning with frustration, hands clenching. Alucard can feel the anger radiating from the man, the defensive reaction to the telepathic caress.

The vampire laughs, a deep growling sound from his chest. 'Very well, Alexander. Although, it is clear enough that you are being a fool, and I don't need to read your mind to know that.' Alucard heaves a melodramatic sigh. 'I really never took you as the suicidal type, Anderson, nor did I believe you were so fundamentally… idiotic.'

Anderson looks at him sharply with a subdued surprise, more at the favored insult than the sting. A faint smirk pulls at the priest's lips before disappearing, the moment passing far too quickly. The paladin shifts his weight uneasily, damp shoes screeching against the floor, echoing into nothingness.

'Close your eyes,' murmurs Alucard.

He is surprised when Anderson unquestioningly does as he says, head bowed in silence, waiting. Abruptly, Alucard steps forward a stride, grabbing the coat and dragging Anderson down easily to his knees, too easily. Anderson's arms hang loosely at his sides, body not even tensing in the least despite the situation, making no move to defend himself. Feeling a prickle of irritation, Alucard tosses the Jackal roughly to the side. It clatters to the floor, and still, Anderson doesn't open his eyes to look at him.

Alucard knows the priest must have figured out that the gun has been discarded, and yet he still does nothing.

Alucard reaches down to lay his fingertips over the defined jaw, the cold metal of his armor causing Anderson to sluggishly tilt his face away, but it soon warms against the contact of his skin. Alucard cups the face in his hand, covering the thin scar on the right cheek with his palm. The glove slowly turns to shadow and melts away, and Alucard presses his bare hand against the junction of Anderson's neck, eyes closed.

The first nudge against Anderson's soul is like an electric shock, but Alucard doesn't flinch away, just endures the harsh barrier with valor. Despite the fatigue of the priest, the barrier is not a weak force, just enough to even cause some minor pain. All humans have barriers, and ones as old as Anderson can almost control it by sheer will of mind. But, as most things turn out to be, the shield is not completely impervious. Alucard's third eyes opens as his shadows reach into the tangible pain of the creature before him. It's a cold pain, not hot or burning as Alucard would imagine. It's simply cold.

Alucard can almost see it now, the soul of the man before him. A perfect blue, pure in some way that Alucard cannot understand. The pain and solitude of it, the isolation of it is unfathomable, but Alucard cannot look away from it. It is innately beautiful, comforting, almost reaching out to him. Drawing him in with a kind of desperation only an abandoned creature can manage.

Carefully, Alucard's eye drifts through the priest's memories, almost a book of images that he can feel more than see. Memories of dying, maimed Iscariot littering the battlefield, an image of two girls, dark and pale as the night and day, dead in Anderson's arms. There is a final flash, like a photograph that causes Alucard's soul to recoil just slightly, but not before he sees that image of Maxwell staring at Anderson through breaking glass.

Fear, betrayal, and then finally, death.

And Anderson had failed, failed to raise a distraught boy the right way, failed to save his children, his friends. Anderson lost everything to the battlefield, but he had not lost his innate will to survive. Anderson is fighting his own instincts, and he had come to Alucard, out of a misplaced sense of trust that the vampire would end his life, no questions asked.

'You are a fool, Alexander,' murmurs Alucard, mirroring the words spoken to Enrico. 'The biggest, most hopeless fool I've ever laid eyes on.'

He feels another flash of pain rip through the perfect blue of the priest's soul, but he anticipates it this time, easily overcoming the emotion that seeps into him. Slowly, Alucard leans down to the man, drawing the body to his own, feeling the tremulous form sink reluctantly into the comfort of his embrace. The soft mantle of his armor falls around the priest gently, offering some warmth to the freezing man.

Alucard's lips trace the skin of the man's cheek, gathering the remaining droplets of rain into his mouth. He hears Anderson's breaths deepen at the show of intimacy, but there is no attempt to pull away; Anderson, it seems, is still valiantly resisting his inherent drive to kill and reject the devilry of vampires. There is both strength and cowardice in the submission.

'It seems there is no end to the legendary idiocy of the Iscariot, paladin. You take the blame for deaths that, while tragic, could not be avoided,' comes the soundless whisper of Alucard's voice. It's a voice filled with a rare solemn tone that seems rather soothing to Anderson, for the priest only relaxes more, no longer fighting against the strange telepathy that's gently tugging at his soul. 'You blame your loneliness on yourself and, deeming that no one needs you, decide that you would rather die than continue suffering. You damned fool.'

Alucard trails his lips down to the curve of Anderson's neck, instinctively brushing over the vein just beneath the flesh. He feels the body tense just slightly, knows Anderson wants nothing more than to rip him apart with machetes, but the priest still remains still, coldly passive. The sacrifice is touching, but Alucard is hardly impressed by the gesture. However, he is not one to pass up an opportunity, and he continues to map out the neck with his lips and fingertips, smirking at the man's reluctant toleration.

Anderson's neck is a strong neck, very sculptured, and Alucard has wondered for some time what it would be like to drink blood from such a powerful creature. But he refrains, knowing he must force Anderson to see reason, before he begins a pointless life of slow self-destruction.

'It is noble to carry burdens on behalf of the ones you lost, despite how misplaced those burdens are,' continues Alucard soundlessly, hands sliding beneath the damp material of the coat, pushing it off the priest's broad shoulders, exposing the muscular torso through a damp shirt. Anderson shrugs his shoulders, easing off the wet garment with ease.

'But that is where the nobility ends. There is nothing noble about suicide; it's simply a waste, priest.'

The coat falls to the ground, unheeded. Alucard presses a dry kiss beneath Anderson's jaw, ignoring the faint sting of stubble against his lips. The priest hazily growls, fingers loosely tangled in the soft tresses of Alucard's hair, eyes still closed as he succumbs to the sensation of Alucard's soul mingled against his, the hypnotic whispers.

'If you are going to die, Anderson, it will be with a machete in your hand, not with your eyes closed, not on your knees.'

Alucard's shadows seek out the priest's collar, pulling it gently until it frees, buttons popping. The entirety of Anderson's powerful neck and shoulders are revealed, and Alucard slides his bare hand against the skin, feeling the human warmth radiating from the body, the blood pumping steadily beneath the surface of the skin. The animated blackness coils around the priest, binding him firmly, strands of it curling under the man's clothes.

'And you believe that by submitting to me, you will go to hell,' growls Alucard against the man's ear. 'That you can pay for the sins of your precious Enrico in his stead.'

Green eyes snap open instantly, the body finally tensing and jerking away from Alucard. The vampires chuckles in satisfaction as the priest viciously snarls, arms trying to pull free from the vice of black shadows.

'You goddamn bastard!' cries out the paladin, arms twisting hard in a vain effort to escape from the shadows twined around him.

Alucard laughs deeply, bare palm pressed flatly against the man's torso in a way that's both restraining and teasing, agitating the priest's temper further. 'You think disgracing yourself like this would go unpunished?' he asks amusedly, tracing the pale hair covering the powerful chest. The strands are soft against the damp skin, curling just faintly against Alucard's fingers.

Anderson manages to bark a laugh. 'You think defiling me will change anything?' he growls, the struggle ceasing. His eyes stare at Alucard, burning. 'This pain is nothing. You can't taint me anymore than I've already been tainted, vampire!'

Amused, the vampire shakes his head, eyelashes spreading thread-line shadows over his cheekbones as his gaze drops. He stares down at the powerful neck, the sinew and muscle interconnecting to the shoulder. 'I have lived without succumbing to something as trivial as lust for decades, priest,' Alucard purrs, lowering his mouth to Anderson's neck, the damp bangs of his hair tickling against the exposed skin. 'If I wanted to, it would be premeditated; the wait, the anticipation is the true pleasure. Simply taking it during an opportune moment is not something I would take any true pleasure in.'

The priest's hard gaze weakens and fades, leaving an exhausted submission that Alucard is hardly fond of. But he accepts it, for now, lowering his teeth to the neck so elegantly stretched beneath him. The white fangs pierce the skin easily, striking into the heart of the vein with precision only a practiced vampire can manage.

The flow of blood is immediate, and Alucard drinks slowly, drawing out the sensation of it, the intoxication that vampiric drinking brings. Anderson draws in a heavy breath, body tightening, and then slowly relaxing until he is completely limp, eyes gently lidded over clouded eyes. This submission, at least, is not under Anderson's will. A vampire's prey can be sedated immediately upon being bitten if the vampire so wishes. Any vampire can tamper with the intensity of the sedation, and with time, can even use the power to sharpen senses otherwise dulled.

Alucard carefully begins to manipulate these powers, hand cupping the priest's skull gently, fingers curling around the pale blond hair to keep him still, to keep the neck perfectly steady. The body beneath him writhes restlessly, the priest's arms wrapping around Alucard's neck in an effort to bring him closer, trying to soak in every contact, every sensation that the bite is bestowing on his body.

The grip tightens around Anderson's neck, and Alucard can taste the scent of pleasure mingling with the blood, endorphins and adrenaline blossoming inside the body. It's a sweet tang, lessening the metallic tang. It tastes almost purer with Anderson at the height of pleasure. It is not sexual, nothing close; just a sensual warmth, a soul touching caress.

For a moment, Alucard can almost taste it, the perfect blue essence. Like the sweetest wine mingled with blood, an intangible spirit of pure life.

It is something he has never tasted before, a new caress of flavor against his palate. Alucard knows it is only because Anderson is allowing this, allowing himself to accept the closeness. Anderson does not fear the bite, does not fear the shadow's contact with his very soul, just accepts in a way that no human has ever accepted with Alucard. The others fought, always fought away his shadows in their hearts, even if they were motionless during his feeding. But Anderson… embraces the darkness. Draws the shadows in fearlessly, understandingly.

For the first time in longer than could be remembered, Alucard feels overwhelmed. The sensation of the sapphire essence mingling against him is an opiate, and he cannot resist the urge to bring his fingers up to the parted lips. Anderson bites down on the digits, just enough to break the skin, mouth tentative as it sucks away the droplets of blood pooling on the vampire's broken flesh. Alucard quivers at the feel of it, almost as if the droplets of blood are the remnants of nerves. He can feel himself inside of the priest, inside the blue essence he so recently discovered.

Shuddering with pleasure, Alucard has to determinedly force himself to release his grip on the delicious curve of neck, to soothingly lick at the weeping puncture wounds. He can feel fingers in his hair, a gentle caress, and Alucard withdraws the still dripping digits from the priest's mouth.

'As far as punishments go, vampire,' murmurs Anderson in a mockingly unimpressed voice, head still tipped back in relaxation. 'It could have been much worse.'

Alucard chuckles deeply, content as the virgin blood seeps through his body, through his veins. He gives the wound a final soothing lap before drawing back, looking into the priest's clouded, relaxed eyes. It is an amazing leap of trust, for Anderson to relax, but Alucard supposes he has very little to lose at this point.

'I should have quartered you for being so foolish,' says Alucard almost thoughtfully, eyes drawn to the thick stains of crimson trickling down his hand. 'But the blood will do.'

Reluctantly, the priest begins to sit up, a hand moving to the floor to support himself. He looks at Alucard, pausing just for a moment before looking away, an unusual expression of deep concentration in his eyes. The priest's fingers slowly begin to do up the shirt he's wrapped in, with the few sparse buttons that still remain intact.

Alucard likewise changes, the shadows shifting over his body until he is again wearing his usual attire; there is no reason to bask in the war any longer, the armor is useless. He sighs softly at the familiar feel of his coat, red as the freshest blood, soft as the gentlest caress. His facial hair also disappears with the rest of Vlad, leaving behind a smooth face and smirking lips. In that moment, it truly feels like the war is over.

'Your seals are gone,' says Anderson, a grim observation.

Alucard holds up a pale, ungloved hand, looking at the fingers with a languid expression. The wound Anderson inflicted has already healed, leaving nothing more than the light sheen of his own blood against his flesh. He flexes the digits thoughtfully, watching the slim muscles shift beneath his skin.

'I was released,' he says. 'The war is over, and there is no reason for me to remain under Integra's control.' The ungloved hand moves to Anderson's, the pads of his fingertips tracing those of his priest's. Anderson doesn't move away, just tolerates the intimate brush of the vampire's skin. 'Vampires are a rare species; I was kept initially for the protection of humans, and then because Arthur knew the Millennium might one day rise to power. And now, there is no reason left for me to stay.'

Anderson briefly looks curious, lips parting to ask how long Hellsing had known of the Millennium, but he refrains. It was a story for another day, when the lingering remnants of the war had finally disappeared from their minds. It was a story that should be told with pride, not bitterness.

They both climb to their feet, Anderson considerably slower, still processing the significant loss of blood. The wound on his neck is closed, but still a dark, crimson bruise against his skin, crusted with dark, drying blood. Alucard is almost disappointed that it will simply heal away into unmarred, perfect flesh; he would have liked to have left some sort of permanent mark of himself on the priest, a brand of sorts.

The mark of himself spread against Anderson's soul will have to suffice. No one will ever know its existence, but Anderson will always feel it inside, in an intangible way. An ache in his heart, a longing for the piece of his spirit Alucard himself tore away for safekeeping.

The two leave the church silently. The clouds have broken, and the moon is setting in the deep west now. There is a rainbow in the far distance, just visible against the eastern dawn. Heaven's blessing for the end of the war.

'So where will you go, vampire?' asks Anderson quietly.

Alucard pauses in step at the question, tilts his head to look at the priest. Maxwell's sash is still curved around his arm, and Alucard is tempted to take away the keepsake and destroy it, before the memories drive Anderson mad. But he refrains; the archbishop's death is something Anderson has to overcome on his own.

'Somewhere I've never been before,' Alucard answers, amused by the dismayed look on Anderson's features. 'When you're ready, come and find me, priest.'

Alucard leaves the church, and doesn't look back.

---

Time passes for Alucard, and the world heals from Millennium's fury. He leaves the world of Hellsing behind him permanently, just another dying memory tucked far away in his mind.

It's midday now, and the burning sun is at the peak of heat. Alucard can taste the sweat in the air, but he barely notices the discomfort. Heat is trivial, easily ignored, just as the cold is. By the time it was night, the temperature would be almost tolerable; the burning heat would dissipate and leave a moist, gentle warmth in its wake. But no one would be out of their homes by then, fearing the crocodiles and snakes stirring in the forests, fearing the dark. Alucard, however, will remain in the open, will watch the blanket of stars. Even after seven months, he is still fascinated by the utter darkness of the night, a kind of darkness he hasn't witnessed for centuries. Modernization, cities, had ended the existence of such nights.

But in the village, the beauty of the night is still preserved.

Alucard leans back in his chair, black hair falling over his shades. He still wears his usual clothes, but the natives are partial to bright colors themselves. They wear wraps of bright greens, almost the shade of fresh kiwi, or pale reds, and Alucard doesn't look terribly out of place among them. His white skin is the only barrier the natives are wary of, but seven months has shown them he had no intention of killing them. They accept his presence, despite the fact they are all very well aware of his vampirism.

It is difficult to explain himself to these people in terms they would understand, so he simply allows them to create their own elaborate reasons for his existence. But after the shock and fear had fallen away, they had simply moved on with their lives and accepted him into the village. Alucard finds it almost refreshing, not having to avoid the public because of what he is.

A young boy runs over to Alucard, holding a clay cup close to his breast, dark eyes wide as he stares up at the daunting vampire. He holds out the cup, small hands grasping the sides tightly in an effort not to drop the precious offering.

'Merci, Lindani,' purrs Alucard smoothly, taking the proffered drink. The boy smiles again, a startlingly perfect smile, before turning and running back to his hut.

Smiling, Alucard drinks deeply, savoring the human blood that coats his tongue. A girl's this time, perhaps mid-thirties, and he can tell from the endorphins that she has recently given birth. It must be Hasanati, he realizes, making a mental note to thank her personally later for the gift. It is a painful process to remove so much blood without the help of needles, but the citizens insist on providing him with blood offerings, possibly in hopes to sate his gluttony. To keep him from killing them.

Which, reasons Alucard, is not an entirely underserved fear.

He closes his eyes and drinks again, tasting the purity of the blood on his tongue. He can almost taste it, the bond between the mother and child, the happiness that her firstborn has brought her. It's a curious sensation, to feel another's happiness, but Alucard savors the blood. Truly, it is one of the most delicious feeds he's had since the priest.

The excited sound of children yelling in the distance draws Alucard's attention away from the feed, and he squints as the throng of children run by excitedly. He follows their gaze, to the main road into town. A single pale man is standing at the foot of the small village, coat tossed over his broad shoulder, shirt unbuttoned in an effort to keep cool. He is wearing the soft, native colors of sky blue, colors that strike a deep, almost painful familiarity into Alucard.

The tall man kneels as the children approach, smiling kindly, hand kindly outstretched to the excited bunch. But even as the priest greets the natives, his eyes seek out Alucard's.

Alucard slowly smiles to himself, third eye opening to see exactly what he was expecting.

Perfect blue.

---

Author's Note: A cookie goes to whoever can figure out what country Alucard's in.