Disclaimer: Hellsing belongs to Kouta Hirano.
Author's Notes: Response for the May challenge in fictionhaven of lj (theme: the seven deadly sins) and dedicated to Angelcide. Set in a possible future after the Manga (maybe AU if Hirano contradicts something). Many thanks to Dreadnot, my editor.
He used to be in a Void. The darkness was everywhere he looked, there were no sounds he was able to hear, no smells to detect, and nothing to feel – his skin grew numb. He had tried to count, attempting to grasp a semblance of passing time as he spent it, but stopped after reaching to two thousand three hundred forty-nine. He had recalled next, the events before his imprisonment.
There were big explosions, gunshot, sirens and blood – a war.
There was a brave woman, an army of damned clergy and a creed – his identity.
There were knights dressed in white, a traitorous leader, vampires, the Devil – his enemies.
There was a duel, pain, a female voice screaming his name and then shadows- his doom.
He was starting to feel now. His body was awaking from the convulsions. The first change was his own hair, it was growing in length becoming as thick as living tentacles. Next, he noted his chest was burning; he howled madly and swept his arms, throwing the caustic object away. Everything became clearer; the world grew cold, as the heat of his body vanished, as the length of his teeth sharpened, as he tasted the blood in his throat.
Open your eyes, beloved Nemesis. Open before the world will fade for you forever.
He snarled at the mocking voice, jumping to his feet from the pond of blood where he had been laying. He opened his eyes to see the world, his sight had improved considerably. He surveyed the grey stone of the prison where he had been put. It seemed like a cell, one without furniture and a thick mental door. He tried to step back, sensing his feet had stepped on in something sticky, a dark oily substance coming out a familiar red trench coat. There was a pause before he realized to whom that belonged.
I am not dead, you are. Look at your hands, at your body and features.
"Shut up! Get out! Shut up!" he screamed, running towards the wall, smashing his head over and over again. It did not hurt; the bruise was minimal and healed quickly. He hit himself one last time and collapsed to his knees, unable to stop the laughter that spread inside his mind. In desperation, he buried his face in his hands and noticed they were covered by gauntlets now. Wide eyed, he denied what he saw, the armour assembling on his body and facial hair growing on his jaw.
"No! No! Get out!" he shouted, clawing his face, ripping pieces of his skin along with the beard, crawling along the room, bleeding more on the dusty floors. He stopped when he stumbled over a corpse, it was slim and female and was turning to dust. The blonde head was a few inches away from the body. He grabbed the severed head, examining it carefully. Her eyes were red, wide open in a horrified expression, her mouth was open in a quiet scream and dripped blood – a mixture of his and hers.
Memories shot painfully inside him, intense and broken. Her terrified features. The voice in his head ordering him to stop but he was not able. His digits trembled digging deep into her dead eyes, taking them out and hurling them towards the wall.
"Don't see me!" he had warned and she had done nothing but stand there and stare, paralysed. "Don't see me like this! Stop watching me! No one can see me like this!" The past was gone, the present came to view. Her irises staring blankly at his face.
He started to beat the cadaver restlessly, crushing the skull then jolting the body until it crumbled into nothingness. No one should see him. No one could know what he had become. "No one," he whispered.
The convulsions continued, the oily matter leaked inside his body through the microscopic pores of his skin. He howled in pain, struggling as his cheekbones became sharper, the empty cell echoed his screams. He felt the process stopping; his muscles relaxed and he allowed himself to rest on the ground, over the dust of the one who had cursed him. The clash was far from over, he still felt him inside his mind, his soul, trying to take over.
You are offering an interesting challenge, Judas Priest, but your body is already halfway mine.
On the second floor of the Hellsing Manor, Integral Hellsing awoke from a dreamless slumber. Her forehead was covered with sweat and the droplets ran down her cheek. Placing a hand over her pounding heart, she stood and walked towards the window, opening it to gain more fresh air. She stared at the starless sky, only illuminated by the full moon. Not even the fresh spring breeze could relieve her grim thoughts.
Had someone just been screaming for help?