Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ I am ❯ I am ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing.

 

 

They call me Alucard Tnuoc

 

Some call me a myth. Mothers whisper my name in the dark to disobeying children. Great and lesser men alike have sought to write about me, and many read their words and carefully crafted fictions, and thought them to be the truth. And now, in this age where information and media flourish to the point of indigestion, they seek to animate me behind their television screen, or render my likeness on thin sheets of paper. Some of them even try to capture a fragment of me in their virtual world made of computers and cables and wires.

 

Yet do they understand my true nature? Nay. Their tales are but reflections of their own fantasies, windows unto their depraved minds. Can mere words depict my thirst for fresh blood, as I dwell in my basement, lying in my somber coffin, sleeping dreamless sleeps? They feed me this bland medical blood that tastes like ash on my palate. Am I to be appeased this easily? They delude themselves if they think so. This frustration plagues me, like muted lust, subdued, but never truly forgotten. And oh, when I finally bite into fresh bodies, how the savor of vivid blood feels all the more delicious on my deprived tongue.

 

They say I am a monster. To them I am nothing but a soulless beast that shouldn't have been born. They shun me, and cower before me, for I am nothing like them. I have come to understand this about the sprawling mass of humans. They cling together, always fearing what might break the monotony of their meaningless lives. And how petty they are, how full of intolerance and spite, how blind to their own mortality. And they dare to call me a monster? Laughable, yet… almost poetic.

 

They are right to fear me nonetheless, for I am a predator, and they my prey. Their pathos repulses me, and sickens me, and I dream of nothing else but to sink my fangs into their wan flesh, draining their meager vitality away, gorging myself with their lifeblood. To fest upon their apathy, and to witness the crumbling of their vain ambitions. Ah, such delight.

 

Some say I am but a tool, a mindless weapon in the hands of masters no less cold-hearted than I. I served many of those, all from the same accursed line. They snap, and I heel, rampaging where their fingers point, never challenging. They have always wielded me with great care, and uttermost prudence, for they all dreaded the day I would break loose. They knew, in the depth recesses of their heart, that my incommensurable rage would fall upon them without fail. I am, after all, not to be trifled with.

 

But she? She uses me freely, like a hunter his favorite hound. I see apprehension behind her emotionless façade and abrupt manners, yes. But somewhere, buried behind her eyes the color of ice, there is something else as well, something I am at a loss to put a name upon. Few things confound me anymore, and this unfamiliar feeling dismays me. She has shown me the complexity humans are capable of. I have grown wise in the way of mortals at her contact, and, I suspect, soft. Yet, it amuses me to no end to try to pierce the enigma of this strange woman. I shall succeed one day, of that I have little doubt, for I am nothing if patient, and persistent. For now, she leads, and I am content to follow.

 

Sometimes I wonder if she knows more of me than what she lets through. She is not the communicative sort, and we true vampires are a solitary kind. However, she seems to read me better than any other human I have chanced upon. She tolerates my presence with a bearing and a poise that never fail to entertain me. She built herself this grim mask of hers a long time ago, and it always pleases me to crack through it, to stir the fire that lies underneath. This has become a game between the two of us, and I suspect that she somehow enjoys it, even if she acknowledges it not.

 

Yet in the end, she is nothing more than a distraction passing through my long unlife. I was old when the one they call the “Angel of Death” was but a pup, battling at my side with his wires that gives a harsher death than my guns. And look, how wizened he is now, a pale reminder of what he once was. I was old already when Hellsing first made me a slave under his command. And now, he is nothing more than a putrid corpse rotting away in an anonymous grave. May he suffer eternal torment in the deepest pits of Hell.

 

And I shall be young still when Integra will be but a pitiful thing crumbing under the weight of time that flies by, under the weight of her own rigidity and self-imposed discipline. I shall be young still when Millennium will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory, maybe a forgotten line in some history book. And I shall be young still, yes, when I will come to see the last of the Hellsing line. One tiny mistake. It is all I ask, all I need to break free of those chains that weight heavily on my shoulders. To unleash the full fury of my unveiled power on those who sought to make me their pet. Oh, how many time I have basked in anticipation at those glorious thoughts.

 

For I am a wild creature, and I shall never be tamed like some domesticated dog. I am first among my own kin. I have made a compact with a beast that is feared even in its native hell. A hellhound, all seeing behind its thousand eyes whence nothing filters through but a dark gleam that bespeaks of madness. Lesser vampires know of me, and respect me. I could command them into battle if I so wished, which I do not. I hold no other lofty ambition than to live on, slave only to my fickle whims.

 

I have seen many of humans' wars, ever a silent witness to their exposed genocidal instincts. I observed their ugliest side, and felt nothing but utter contempt. Yet who am I, to judge them? Nothing that I can do will change their nature. It was ever thus. Instead, I chose to bask in their foolishness. I have walked lands set afire under their bombs, and reveled in their meaningless struggles, where the reason for war is all but forgotten, and nothing is left but bared violence and burning hatred.

 

I live to kill. Those who are obstacle to my purpose, I shall destroy, be they humans or monsters. These chip created vampires are but pitiful scum that infest this world, vermin I eradicate with no more hesitation than unsuspecting mortals. Nothing excites me more than an enjoyable fight, where I can toy with my opponents, sparkling into them the hope of victory before I crush them under my fangs.

 

I am come from their nightmares. My savagery is unmatched, save by my impersonal cruelty. Blood delights me. I know no pity, nor remorse. In the end, there is but one name I can think for myself.

 

I am Death.