Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Lucifer ❯ Lucifer ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Based off the manga.

 

Notes: Lacking a good excuse, I blame this one on Thess, having just read "Hyde" - and really, she gave me the manga scanlations in the first place, so that's a perfectly valid excuse. Lucifer for daring to go up against God, which Walter might well do, for the right reasons - or at least this particular little tin god. This went in a direction rather astray from what I had originally meant. And I swear, even now, I have no idea how to spell that last name (and I'm too lazy to look it up and see if that's right); ditto on the Major's title - or if not lazy, rushed, because I really should be doing lab work now.

 

He could still see it. Somewhere behind those impassive eyes, Walter Ddollneazz looked upon Hell. Somewhere behind that stoic face, a part of him behaved thoroughly improperly and screamed, beating impotent fists against the seal which had torn away his control. He could see it all: London burning, Hellsing's pride in ruins, Iscariot staging their own invasion while Millennium's Sturmbanführer laughed in glee. From the zeppelin, high above the city, he had a front-row seat to a theatre of horrors.

 

And there was nothing he could do.

 

"Come back alive," Integra had said, when she let him go against her pursuers, "at any cost." Could she even possibly have dreamed of this when she spoke those words? Did this still count as alive? On sheer technicalities, the body was dead, but had his soul followed suit? Was the self inside the cage only a memory that would fade?

 

So many questions, and yet he had to believe; had to convince himself that, whatever happened, this nightmare would end and he would become himself again. There was no reverting from an undead state, whatever stories might claim, but even to simply have control over his own limbs ... Even just for a moment now, a second, long enough to take those wires and cut to pieces the wretched little major - it would be worth disobeying that order, if only he could do that. But no; his hands no longer moved at his own desire.

 

They had spoken of seals, and that made him wonder how much of what he had become had been there all along. Had Millennium only blocked away those parts which made him (he should like to think) a decent human being? Once upon a time, he had been an arrogant young boy, and that boy had more than earned the title of Angel of Death; once upon a time, he had revelled in killing, even if he had (perhaps?) rationalised it by saying it was the enemies of Britain he destroyed. There had been times, even older, when the thrill of the hunt could bring new life to blood that had flowed more sluggishly through aged veins. But it moved no longer of its own volition, and the self they had created felt no thrill - nor anything else. What Millennium had built was a truer Angel: cold, unfeeling, acting only on the will of the one higher, but it was not God, only a small plump man who looked so harmless.

 

And as the God he had been forced to obey raised his hands like some grand conductor, behind the walls of his mind, Walter Ddollneazz began to search, methodically, for a way out.

 

- finis -