Hi guys. This is my first post to the FFML - and my first attempt at a
Hellsing fic. ^_^

I mainly write Evangelion fanfiction (some of you may have read my
most famous story - 'Rei Ayanami: Fallen Angel or some of my old DBZ
fics).

This is the first installment of a new multi-part fic which I hope to
develop into a Seras Victoria/Alexander Anderson romance. There is
some lemony goodness towards the end of the chapter.

I would appreciate any C&C that you may have about my writing - plot,
characterisation, spelling/grammar, whatever. I would like an honest
appraisal - no need to hold anything back or worry about hurting my
feelings... 





Hunter

By David 'Psaiyan' Hawthorne



Father Alexander Anderson stared listlessly out of the window of the
high-speed EuroStar train as the walls of the Channel Tunnel whistled
past in the near darkness. Removing his spectacles, he breathed gently
on the lenses and polished them with his sleeve. He rubbed the corner
of one emerald-green eye with a gloved finger before replacing the
glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He smoothed back his unkempt blond hair and rested his head against
the padded seat, his cheeks puffing out as he exhaled strongly. He
closed his eyes and allowed himself a few moments of quiet
contemplation, the regular clack-clack-clack of wheel on rail beneath
his feet lulling his tired mind and body into a state of semi-slumber.

Before him on the formica table were an empty plastic sandwich packet,
a crushed Fanta can and a rumpled and well-read copy of Le Monde, the
folded over page open on the half-completed daily crossword puzzle.
Beside these, Alexander's hand rested upon the small, battered and
very old hide-bound Bible that he carried with him always, the red
ribbon bookmark buried in the middle of the Book of Revelation.

His long legs were cramped beneath the table - he would be glad for
the chance to stretch when the train reached London. For a moment, he
considered how good it would feel to kick off his boots and lie down
with the full length of his body across the double seat. A smile rose
at the corners of his mouth, exposing his sharp canine teeth and he
restrained a chuckle as he imagined the other passenger's reactions at
seeing a priest behaving in such an unseemly manner.

Beneath his feet, partially hidden under the seat was an oversized
scratched and battered aluminium briefcase, secured with double
padlocks. Alexander made sure that his heels were in contact with this
at all times. The last thing he needed was for his Holy mission to
fail due to some two-bit baggage thief. Looking at his watch and
seeing that the train was still over an hour from London, he decided
to relax a little and permit himself a brief snooze. He had been awake
ever since he left Rome - almost 24 hours ago. His eyes burned with
fatigue and he could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on (an
after effect of being shot in the head with a silver bullet some
months previously). Hooking his toes through the carry handle, he
turned his head once more towards the window, resting his cheek upon
the cool glass.


--


"Thank you for travelling with EuroStar!" the young orange-uniformed
stewardess cheerily intoned to all the departing passengers at London
Waterloo station. Alexander, at 6'7 towered over her by at least a
foot. As he exited the train, he flexed his broad shoulders, grateful
for the opportunity to stand tall.

"Welcome to London, father." The girl bowed slightly at the sight of
him.

"May God bless you, my child." His voice was warm and friendly in his
soft Scottish accent. He raised his sold silver cross to his face and
kissed it, smiling warmly at her.


--


After exchanging a wad of Euro notes for British Pounds, Alexander
grabbed himself a coffee and sat for a while at the station caf�,
listening to the garbled tannoy announcements and watching the evening
commuters walking (and rushing) back and forth as they went about
their daily lives. 

These people knew nothing of the darkness that lay beneath the surface
of everything they knew and took for granted. They felt comfortable
and safe in their ignorance, content in their jobs, their families and
their possessions. The heresies of science had explained everything,
removed the need for God in their lives, given them their blissful
little world and banished monsters to the realms of mere stories that
parents told to misbehaving children. They were little more than
flocks of human sheep - 'sheeple', lost and wandering aimlessly,
heedless of the packs of hungry wolves creeping amongst the long
grass. 

He ran a finger along the shiny scar upon his left cheek - a permanent
reminder of an ancient wound taken for his faith. Alexander liked to
think of himself as a shepherd.


--


The taxi ride to the hotel was uneventful, Alexander staring out of
the window at the familiar sights of Central London.

"So, what brings you to sunny old London then, guv?" the flat-capped
cabbie turned his head and smiled.

"Church business. It's a bit boring really..." he stroked the stubble
on his jawline, listening placidly as the man then proceeded to embark
upon a long rant about his disdain for homosexual priests and asylum
seekers. It was getting dark and Alexander was please to arrive at his
destination.


--


He checked in to the five star hotel and immediately retired to the
privacy of his room, kicking off his boots, removing his cassock and
hanging it behind the door. 

Opening the mini-bar, Alexander took a small bottle of Glenmorangie
and poured it into a tumbler. Perching himself at the side of the bed,
he swilled the glass around and inhaled the rich scent of the malt
whisky before taking a small sip, savouring that taste of the fiery,
tingly liquid.

He removed a sheaf of papers and photographs from his case and spread
them out across the duvet, regarding them carefully, drink in hand.

Majeta Djorovic - AKA. Georg Kovacs, Rudolf Katz, Jens Krause, John
Wilson. Currently Edward Rosenberg.

Born 17th December 1878, Belgrade, Serbia.

"And still going strong, it would seem..."

He compared a grainy photo labelled 23rd June 1946, Marseilles with an
equally grainy long-distance photo taken two weeks previously in
Westminster itself. The same tall, willowy black-haired man in an
ordinary businessman's suit appeared in both.

"Monster." Alexander spat venomously.

Djorovic had managed to hide himself from Iscariot for over fifty
years, but it would seem that not all his present associates were
truly loyal. The informer - perhaps even a vampire himself, would have
been richly rewarded for his treachery and a blind eye turned to his
own misdeeds. Alexander was under no illusions as to the fact that
necessity sometimes forced a man to swallow his principles - that the
ends always justified the means.

His heart quickened at the thought of what lay ahead. True Nosferatu -
unholy evil of the worst kind. Even from the picture, the priest could
sense the malign energy emanating from the figure, could feel the
glare of his demonic eyes burning into his soul. He crossed himself
and turned the photos face down upon the bed.

He studied the blueprint of the TV studio in which "Rosenberg's"
office lay, his eyes blinking like camera stutters recording every
last detail of the layout to his photographic memory.

It had been many years since he had carried out his duties against a
foe of this magnitude - not as powerful in terms of the Dark Arts as
Hellsing's housebroken pet monster, but much more dangerous and
unpredictable. He feared that hunting bugs was beginning to make him
soft. Every night he had prayed for an opportunity - earnestly offered
his services to the Lord in ridding the world of such true demons. It
would seem that He had repaid his faith with such providence. 

"Enjoy your heathen pleasures this night... They will be your last."
Alexander chuckled to himself and swallowed the remainder of the
whiskey in a single gulp.



--


Deciding against any further activities that evening, he knelt at the
end of the large double bed and silently recited the Lord's Prayer.
Placing his cross and spectacles on the bedside cabinet, he lay down
fully clothed and stretched out his arms and legs across the full
width of the soft, comfortable mattress. He stared at the unfamiliar
ceiling for a few moments, before taking out the Good Book and reading
a few of his favourite verses.

He was fast asleep in minutes.


***


"Abomination!" Anderson snarled at the top of his voice at the glowing
red eyes and in the darkness before him. 

"I am God's messenger! I carry out His work upon this Earth!" there
was a tangible presence of evil that made the hairs on the priest's
neck stand endwise. He grimaced, his eyes narrowing to slits as he
very slowly slid his blessed knives from their hidden sheathes.

Mocking, high-pitched laughter.

"Unholy monster! I will give you death and eternal damnation!"
Alexander used his blades to form a cross before him, attempting to
reflect light from their highly polished surfaces onto his target's
face. The shadows remained as impenetrable as ever.

Laughter.

"My blessed steel shall purify thy black heart." His muscles tensed,
wound tightly as he prepared to pounce. Echoing footsteps reverberated
in his ears as the eyes came closer and closer, growing larger and
more malevolent by the second.

Laughter.

"May the power of the Lord annihilate you! AMEN!" Alexander roared a
terrible war cry and made to engage his foe�


It didn't work.


He was unable to move his legs.


The eyes were getting closer, the darkness encroaching from all sides.
A tide of gloom.


He could not turn his gaze from those phosphorescent crimson orbs.


Coldness throughout his entire being. A deathly chill.


He raised his baptised blades in a fighting stance as a wide razor
blade smile split the shadows, mere inches from his face. His feet
vanished into the blackness.

"I will kill you." Alexander snarled.

Tendrils of black pulled at his arms and encircled his neck. It was a
sensation of slowly sinking into ice-cold water. More laughter. His
weapons seemed to be flickering and shimmering, losing their lustre
and fading from existence, crumbling to dust in his hands. Those fangs
filled his entire world. All his struggles were in vain.

Alexander Anderson prayed. 

The last light was extinguished. 

Alexander Anderson screamed.



Then Alexander Anderson stared in confusion as the lights came on.


***


"Father Anderson."

Everything was white and empty for as far as the eye could see.

"Father Anderson."

The world was lit with the power of ten million floodlights.

"Father Anderson."

There was also warmth here.

"Father Anderson."

His eyes focussed upon the figure before him. His mouth fell open in
shock.

"Father Anderson."

"You�!" his mouth fell open with incredulity.

Seras Victoria smiled sweetly and reached for his spectacles, pulling
them from his face. Strangely, this caused his vision to sharpen
somewhat. She looked upwards, her deep crimson eyes staring deeply
into his own.

"Father Anderson." 

Terror gripped the pit of his stomach as he willed his body to turn
and run.


It didn't work. He could not move a muscle.


His heart pounded in his chest, the blooding singing in his ears. His
teeth were grinding as he began to pray for his deliverance.

"You must be feeling so uptight..." her voice was so soft, so quiet,
so gentle�

"Do what you will, demon. I am unafraid." He became aware of the fact
that she was totally naked. Despite his best efforts, Alexander found
himself unable to tear his eyes away from her pale, flawless skin.

"You're such a strong man..." she ran her hands through her short
blonde hair, thrusting her large, heavy breasts forwards as she did
so. He could not help but stare; they had to be at least E-cups -
round, soft, high, perfectly symmetrical and gravity defying. Her
stomach, smooth and toned; her narrow waist leading to the gentle
swell of her wide, feminine hips.

"You temptations will fail, O Daughter of Lilith."

"You must feel lonely sometimes..." she cupped her breasts in her
hands and squeezed gently, causing her firm, pink nipples to snap to
attention. Alexander found himself drawn to her voluptuous hips, the
sensitive skin of her inner thighs and the tantalising secrets of her
velvety womanhood. She licked her lips seductively, giving him a
glimpse of her elongated canine teeth.

"She-devil�!" his further protests were silenced as her mouth engulfed
his own.


Warmth.

Such incredible warmth.

Her mouth tasted so good.


Her hands caressed his body through his priestly vestments, exploring
his firm, strong muscles, her touch raising heat as it passed.

"Your body is honest." A feminine voice in his head.

Alexander attempts to pull away were in vain as Seras' small, delicate
hands massaged his crotch. He felt the fire beginning to rise in his
loins.

"You want me, don't you?" her saliva ran down his chin.

"Deliver us not into temptation..."

"Deliver us not into temptation..."

"Deliver us not into temptation..." he repeated the phrase like a
mantra in his head as his unwilling hands found her soft, yielding
buttocks and brought her body firmly against his, her full breasts
flattening against his chest. He could feel her fangs teasing his
tongue.

"You want to become one with me."

"You want to show your true nature to me." The kiss was deepened.
Alexander was screaming inside. He could feel a hardness forming in
his trousers.

"Deliver us not into temptation..."

"Deliver us not into temptation..."

She pulled her mouth away. Alexander realised with horror that it was
in fact he, who was attempting to prolong the embrace. She smelt
wonderful.

"I like you, Father Anderson. I like you a lot�" she rested her head
against his chest as her hand found the zipper of his pants.

He opened his mouth to denounce her, but he found no words.

She sank to her knees, his hands sliding through her soft hair and
slowly massaging her scalp - his body completely beyond his control.

Lower.

Lower.

Lower.

She kissed her way down his strong abdomen as she pulled his trousers
down around his ankles. Blood was dripping from his bitten lips as his
flesh betrayed him.

"I'll give you everything you ever wanted�" Seras Victoria engulfed
his length with her warm, wet mouth.

Alexander Anderson screamed once more.


***


"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo! No! No! Nooo!!!!!!!" he clawed at the air
above him, arms flailing wildly. His teeth gnashed at thin air,
seeking to rend the flesh of the undead whore who defiled his body.

The digital alarm clock read 05:36.

He fumbled in the dark to switch on the bedside lamp, his heart
threatening to jump out of his chest. The duvet was soaked with sweat
and Alexander could not stop himself from trembling. He groaned weakly
and slumped back against the headboard of his bed.

Nightmare. 

He held his silver cross against his chest and recited the Lord's
Prayer once again, as though to ward off the phantoms of his dreams,
wiping the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. He
fixed his eyes on the post-modern rendition of *something* that
occupied the picture frame on the opposite wall as his breathing
returned to normal.

Looking at his outstretched palm, he could see four distinct bloody
gashes where his fingernails had sliced into the skin. He clenched and
unclenched his fist several times until the shaking ceased.

It was only at this point that Alexander became aware of a warm, wet
spreading stain on the crotch of his pants. 

His sticky essence coated his hand as he withdrew it from the
waistband of his briefs, spiderwebbing between his fingers and
dripping onto his shirt. His underwear was practically glued to his
body. Moaning in disgust, he kicked off his trousers and throwing them
into the corner of the room. He did not have a clean pair.

Swearing loudly, he curled into the foetal position on the bed; his
mind a mire of dark and murderous thoughts. His dreams were a sacred
hallow in which no-one had the right to intrude, least of all a
loathsome member of the walking dead...

At that very moment, Father Alexander Anderson, Holy Paladin of the
Roman Catholic Church solemnly swore that the next time he laid eyes
upon Seras Victoria, he would tear her limb from limb with his bare
hands.

There were some things that he could not forgive...

-- 
Reverend David "PPV" Hawthorne - 
ICQ: 339380091

I rode a tank
Held a general's rank
When the blitzkrieg raged
And the bodies stank...

      '\
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