So, yeah. I found this chapter in last year's notebook, and thought I should add it for you guys. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Sailor Moon and Hellsing belong to their respective creators, and not myself. I am not making any money off of this story, so please don't sue me.

Requiem Overture

Chapter 8: Loosing Control

By: Ceris Malfoy

Davomir snarled at the night sky, furious with himself over his conceit. He had assumed that the girl was merely another in a long line of hunters – a somewhat intimidating prize that was either to be Claimed or destroyed.

He had not counted on hr already being Claimed, and by another Ancient at that.

He had not counted on her strange powers.

He had not counted on her intelligence.

He had thought her to be prey.

Prey was not supposed to be either powerful or intelligent, and Davomir knew that that particular mindset was what had gotten him into this position to begin with. His little hunter was not prey.

He turned abruptly and stalked back into his “lair” (a multi-leveled underground sanctuary cleverly disguised as a tomb). His army was gone: wiped out in one blow by his Hunter, his base of operations was obliterated, and his hunter was already Claimed by an Ancient that would have absolutely no qualms tearing him apart bone by bone.

He grinned mirthlessly. If she were only less irresistible, he might have considered listening to his instincts; Flee, they told him, Flee now, while you still live. But then again, if she were any less irresistible, he wouldn't be in this situation, now would he?

The grim smile faded from his face as he swore. Beginning to pace relentlessly, mind whirly, he questioned his next step. What should he do? What could he do? He wanted her; it was more than obsession at this point, it was almost a crippling need. The only problem was that she was currently inaccessible to him. He needed to destroy the other Ancient, that much was certain, but he knew he didn't have the power or wit to do so.

He was in a quandary, and knew not how to solve it.

The next two weeks following what was officially regarded as the work of teenage pranksters, Tsukino Usagi was a listless, vapid, doll-like figure that laid in bed and stared at the ceiling blankly. She did not respond to her parents, her brother, or her pet, but it should have been noted that she was not unaware of them.

In her mind, her thoughts raced back and forth relentlessly, trying (and failing) to discern the answer to her single most important question. It was a question that she had no idea how to even begin answering.

Just what the Hell was she?

What she privately referred to as the “explosion” had hurt, and had kept on hurting even throughout her temporary bout of unconsciousness. Her muscles and bones had ached, her blood had boiled, and something had rearranged itself inside of her body. Those intense feelings had stayed for almost the entire two weeks she had been in bed, and she had the unfortunate reality of being awake for the vast majority of it.

Though she still laid there, the only discomfort she still felt was on her forehead -a peculiar tingling feeling that never left her. Usagi did not have to look in the mirror to know that a golden upturned crescent moon was shimmering on her forehead; she had seen the image often enough in her dreams to know what the placement of the feeling meant.

In some subconscious part of her mind, she knew that the tingling terrified her. In her dreams, she had never been able to feel the sigil when it appeared, even when she had used her powers to the point where she laid broken and dying. The only feeling she could remember from her dreams had come after the transformations had faded, taking away the super-human strength and healing abilities to leave just plain old Tsukino Usagi.

Unless...

Usagi's eyes widened momentarily, but otherwise her energy-depleted body gave no indication of her mind blazing into wondrous thought.

What if...?

What if her dream-transformations were incomplete? What if the main reason why she had to train twice as hard as the other scouts, why she had to be reminded of her attacks when the others knew when to use their's instinctively, was simply because her mind and body had never completely evolved? If that theory held, then the pain she had felt, accompanied by the strange burst of power, followed by that alien feeling of her body rearranging itself on the inside...

It would mean that she had finally realized the first step to becoming a true senshi.

But there were also flaws with that theory. Almost all of them revolved around Chibi-Usa. If such pain was necessary for new scouts, then why hadn't Chibi-Usa gone through them? If the body had to mutate in order for one to transform, why didn't Chibi-Usa's ever mutate? If the attacks were instinctual to senshi once said mutation occurred, then why did even Chibi-Usa have to be reminded at times?

Two days later, Usagi got out of her bed, got dressed, and left before anyone in the house woke up. She spent the next two weeks practically living in the public libraries around Tokyo looking for theories on time travel and alternate dimensions. Not finding anything particularly enlightening, she instead turned to the various sciences to try and find a logical explanation that fit her insane psycho-drama of a life. When nothing in the texts could satisfactorily explain everything, she began looking into the mythological/fictional take on life. The absolute absurdity of what she found made her laugh, and finally she gave up.(1)

The night she finally admitted defeat, but before she returned home, she went to the top of Tokyo Tower. There she stared blindly at the horizon, arms wrapped around her shivering body in a vain attempt to offer comfort.

Things had been bad lately, and were apearing to only be getting worse. Her mood was constantly fluctuating between calm and furious, and her anger was near constant. She was worrying her parents, or rather, had been worrying her parents until she had started avoiding them. (Which she was unaware was doing nothing but making them worry even more.)

The vampires were growing stronger and faster, and it was near impossible to kill one without getting seriously injured. For some odd reason that was barely known to her, she refused to call the only one that could protect her. Perhaps it was pride? Fear? She shook her head. No, not those. But what? She looked deep inside herself, searcing desperately for answers to questions that plagued her every waking moment.

And, for a moment, just a brief second in time, she saw it - a vast glittering things that twinkled with all the might of the Heavens centered in the inky recesses of an untouched and unknown void. For that brief moment, Usagi could hear a crystalline voice whispering to her, speaking of every secret the universe held, answering those unspoken questions. For a brief moment, Usaig new peace. She reached out with her senses, wanting that perfect feeling to envelope her, to chase away the nightmares and the foriegn identities that threatened to consume her, to banish her doubts and fears and leave her strong.

And just like that, Usagi was back on the top of Tokyo Tower, blinking rapidly, reeling dazedly. All the answers she could have sworn she had heard were missing, driving her confusion to new heights.

She broke down crying.

It is dark outside, and even darker inside. Shadows twist and roam helter-skelter throughout the room, entwining vigorously around a male in his late forties. He is seated rather haphazardly in front of a desk, staring down at a picture of a small baby. The male frowns, his almost-glowing pale features twisting in combined rage and grief. He snarls furiously and abruptly sweeps his arm across the desk, sending the picture flying through the air. He shivers and drops his head in his hands, silently gasping under the confusion of his emotions. In response the shadows seem to wrap soothingly around him and there is the vaguest impression of whispers filling the room.

A soft knock on the door, and the spell is broken –Lucian von Wilfred-Hellsing snaps his head up and the shadows disappear, leaving a well-lit room. The only shadows left are the one that stain his cerulean eyes.

“Enter,” he mutters, turning his face away from the door. He does not want to see who enters, who dares to intrude upon his solitude.

“Sir,” comes the steady voice of the family’s now-immortal retainer. Lucian cannot exactly recall the details, but he does remember the glowing eyes of the butler before everything fizzled out. He knows from reports on the matter that dark magic had been worked upon his wife’s faithful retainer, and that after the magic had restored his youth he had been turned by an Elder vampire –the reports never said which one. Walter C. Dornez was no less faithful to the Hellsing name in his un-life than he had been in life.

Lucian receives this loyalty by default –he is Hellsing by name only, but he has done everything in his power since coming out of the 10-year coma to track down his daughter, all the while keeping the Hellsing Organization running successfully. He knows that Walter is curious about how he knows how to run such an organization, or even how he had gathered the information needed to launch preemptive strikes against the organization that was steadily gaining its strength. Lucian will never tell him about the von Wilfred’s (2), firmly convinced that his family’s dark past will firmly remain dead –he is the last to bear the family name, and the last to be trained such as he had been.

“Sir,” came the voice again, letting Lucian know that he had been drifting yet again –the coma has addled his thought processes somewhat, or at least he assumes it was the coma. Nevertheless, he nods at the retainer, too involved in his own musings to really muster the energy to respond.

Walter places a folder in front of him. It is very thick, and obviously not supposed to be in their hands –the large CONFIDENTIAL stamped across in bold, completely non-friendly letters makes this known. “We’ve found her,” Walter says, and suddenly Lucian is paying attention.

He sits up and snatches the folder and opens it swiftly, an intense look of concentration plastered over his face. Thankfully, the folder hides his eyes –they are burning and swirling with shadows of varying hues, and the display would more than likely disturb Walter. This is another thing he blames on the coma; once he had had iron control over the powers, and now he does not.

His eyes greedily devour the pictures and the documents that tell the life-story of his daughter. He stares at the most current picture of her, and wonders whether she has a gift like his –this latest photo is slightly blurred and there seems to be a strong silver-and-violet glow seeping from her every pore –all except for the red-black stain over her heart. He eyes her features, identifying with ease his wife’s strong gaze and determined stance. He closes the file, and for the first time in weeks looks Walter directly in the eyes.

“Ready a flight to Tokyo. I need to see her in person.” The order is given softly, but there is steel beneath the smooth velvet of his voice.

If Walter is shocked or disturbed at the swirling void of power that shines within his eyes, the retainer does not show it. He merely bows and leaves the room.

It is dark outside, but the man sitting in the chair could care less.

Tsukino Kenji is not what many would call a stupid man. Nor is he particularly dense. He understood many things about life and the nature of human beings; the study of such has been his hobby for as long as he can remember. It did not matter to him how people perceived him, because in the end, he was the one who had to live with himself. Many believed him to be dense -he is not, nor has he ever been.

But he can understand why they would think such.

He had been 19 when he had first met the then-22-year-old Ikuku. And contrary to popular belief, he had understood what he was getting into the second he had met her. Ikuku was Power, is Power, and he will never forget it. It isn't merely what she was born with -the combined bloodlines of Old England and Japan- it is something unique only to her. Something deep and intrinsic and utterly enthralling. He had loved her instantly. He had wooed her despite the dark mutterings of his friends, had married her against the wishes of his family, and had turned a blind eye to her oddities.

But turning a blind eye is not the same thing as being blind, and Kenji knows the difference well.

He may pretend to ignore the disappearances, the strange objects hidden in walls, and the way his wife seems to hear and see things that he can not, but that does not mean that he does not notice it.

And he's been noticing other things as well.

Things that started on the eve of his adopted daughter's ninth birthday. The intensity of her often leaves him breathless. He thinks that it is more than just her demeanor, however. He thinks it has something to do with her biological parents, those with the Old Blood running through their veins. An unrealized potential in the mother, a definite reality in the daughter. Generations of breeding to make possible this one impossible child...

He loves his daughter as if she was his own flesh and blood, and knows that he will be there for her until the day he dies.

It is entirely too bad that that will be sooner than he believes.

So, yeah, I decided out of the blue to continue Requiem Overture.

The newer version, Moonlight Sonata, will deal with a parallel world in which Usagi is the adoptive daughter of Integra – Usa's parents are going to be diplomats who die tragically in the Incognito event. (The way I usually recognize the time-line is Incognito first, rebuild England, Luke and Jan, Millennium. (Usagi ends up dealing with Luke + Jan and Millenium!)) Lucian von Wilfred will be Integra's husband in that version one as well.

But anyway, Requiem is no longer my priority, and will be updated on and off until I finally finish it. (It may take a year or two, sorry.) But I'm not going to abandon it altogether. Some scenes from Moonlight may find their way into this story, and vice-versa. So be warned!

Love ya all,

Ceris

NOTES:

commented that it would take longer than that to read multiple books on all those topics so thoroughly in such a short amount of time. I respond thusly: she was skimming for information that sounded similar to her own situation. SKIMMING, people, does not involve thorough reading. It does, however, allow the skimmer to gain a rudimentary knowledge of the topic being skimmed. (It's how I pass most of my college classes, 'cause I get distracted by things too easily to pay attention to an uninteresting book.)

2. 'von' is German in origin, and -as I understand it- implied ownership of land. Back in the Feudal Era, in order to own land, you also had to be aristocracy of some sort, or related distantly to the aristocracy. For those who are wondering, 'van' is Dutch in origin, which is why in Sleepy Hollow everyone who was anyone important in the community was named “van” something-or-another. As time wore on, however, and the aristocracy faded, it became just another name. The von Wilfred's are actually a real German family -my own, in fact. The name fell in disuse around the 1940's, when (in an attempt to escape false prosecution as a German) my great-grandfather illegally changed his name to Daily before he applied for citizenship in America. There may still be a relative or two in Germany, but I wouldn't know. I've never been. Joseph von Wilfred became Joseph Wilfred Daily Sr., and thus the von Wilfred's live on. (Boo-yeah beeotches, my family history is so melodramatic!! Lol. And all of the family history is highly in doubt, 'cause I can't find anything to verify it. No records or anything to do with the von Wilfreds. But, who really cares? It makes a nice story, at least.)