Hellsing Fan Fiction ❯ Veneficus, Draconis, et Fetialis ❯ Boniface V ( Chapter 4 )

Whoo. . . . .the original plans had this chapter combined with the previous. Unfortunately, I was carried away with the ideas, because before I had even come close to finishing the first section of this chapter the entire thing was twelve pages long.

And that's just a bit much for one chapter.

So I broke it where I felt it would be logical to break the story.

As always, review if you're reading this. We love hearing from you, the readers. *hops on proverbial soap box* And to those of you out there that seem to have this issue of complaining about people while using their pen names in signed reviews, on blogs, etc., (I haven't seen anyone complaining about me yet, though I'm sure for saying something like this y'all will throw a fit because I'm being nasty or whatever you wish to say about me) I personally feel it's a defamation of character to do such a thing, even though you are using just pen names. *hops back down* This is just something that really gets me, since I had to go through a nasty defamation of character trial just months ago, and I was the one that started the legal action against the person who got me kicked out of. . . .well, if you know me, you know what happened. Let's just leave it at that.

Response Psycofoxx who said that in PA it states that `no real witches or wizards were killed in the hunts in the middle ages'. In all honesty, I forgot they said that, but. . . . .if there had been such a thing as Iscariot in the HP universe, I bet some real witches and wizards would have been found and killed.

Please review. Khar and I love them. ^_^

~*~*~*~*~*~

Events in Scotland were occurring much too quickly for the Iscariot membership, and Father Maxwell had promised the benefactor that the entire populations of both the nonexistent Hogsmeade and Hogwarts School would be to the point of near extinction in only a matter of days. A few wizards were supposed to survive the onslaught, if only to tell the tale of God's wrath, and how it affected their people, like a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah.

But it did not matter what Father Maxwell promised the benefactor anymore. This mission was far too intricate to rush blindly into the midst of these devil-worshipping heathens, and was obviously going to be more difficult than initially predicted.

On a scouting mission just three days prior, Heinkel reported to the group that the children and staff members of this Hogwarts school recently arrived at the castle and were already moving about their daily activities, seemingly without concern for the present threat. She had watched the students cross the lake in small boats or ride in horseless carriages to the main entrance, wishing to draw her weapons and take her sniper's position from her vantage point. It would have been quick, efficient, and near perfect for the mission objective, but the sister knew that such an incident would cause these people to have heightened security, which would make the journey to destroy the rest nearly impossible

Iscariot would have to move quickly, she stated that night during dinner, if they wished to succeed with the mission, all the while remaining indifferent about the time restraints given in tour of duty as well as the thought of sending more souls on the journey to hell. The change in tactics was a simple necessity- she could sense that these witches and wizards were looking for the slightest sign of the hunters that ransacked Hogsmeade just days prior, and with any extra time, they could most likely find a way to nullify the magic currently used by Iscariot.

Anderson remained unaffected by the thought of killing children, many of which had yet to learn how to control the dark arts associated with their wizarding heritage. Anyone with even the slightest inclination toward sacrilegious tendencies deserved the punishment awaiting them in hell, or so was the Dogmatic law of Iscariot and the belief of their most successful hunter. That was the fate brought upon their race through the sins of their fathers, and the earth must be cleansed of all impure blood to make way the path of the Lord.

Yumiko became perpetually silent when near the two other hunters upon learning this new information about the mission. Harming terrorists or other insurgents that fully realized what they were doing against God and the church was a completely different matter than slaughtering children that were only obeying their parents' commands. Hadn't Jesus claimed to be a champion of the children, loving them for their innocence and inherent goodness, no matter if they were Gentile or Jew? She couldn't stand to let Yumie run wild on innocents or children, and yet she knew Heinkel and Father Anderson would force her other personality to the surface if she did not willingly comply with her superiors. And of course, Yumie would revel in the bloodshed, even if the mere thought of it nauseated her other half. She always did.

Father MacMullen, the head pastor of Sacred Heart parish and school, allowed Sister Yumiko a place as a guest instructor in the upper level religion classes, which she accepted immediately. Being around good, wholesome, and most importantly, Catholic children could keep her mind off of the upcoming tragedy that she would help create.

But maybe, if she prayed hard enough, God would give her fellow Iscariot members a sign that forbade an attack on the school. So every moment spent outside of the classroom was spent in silent prayer to St. Jude, asking for his intercession.

Heinkel continued her scouting missions throughout every day, only reluctantly leaving her post to eat or attend mass at the insistence of her superiors. She had to find a way for Iscariot to attack this school's entire population without leading her associates in to a trap.

That would be the challenge. Each day as she sat in a tall oak holding her binoculars to her eyes, the sister observed wizards, who were most likely the teachers, placing spells or curses on different random points along the perimeter.

She had no idea how to move around such a barrier, but if anyone could learn the weakness of absolutely any person or material and then how to use their weakness against them, it was Heinkel. It was in this way that she spent most of her evenings, wandering near the ruins of Hogsmeade.

But it was Anderson that was having the most difficulty with the current situation. Of course he possessed enough Holy magic to nullify the effects of all other types on his person, but ever since the attack on the village, or so Heinkel told him recently, armed guards, both mortal and wizard, now patrolled the town where the priest and nuns sought refuge, as well as magical creatures of some sorts- Heinkel had never seen or heard stories of large part horse part bird animals before- being placed around the borders of the castle's grounds. She assumed they were for protection, but she was not certain.

Finding a way inside this monstrosity of a castle that to mortal eyes did not exist was proving much more difficult than either he or Father Maxwell originally anticipated. It was seemingly impregnable and must have been a grand fortress in its day, hundreds of years before these devil-children came to reside inside its walls.

But orders given by Maxwell were orders to be followed, and he would continue his research in to the ancient scriptures, searching for any clues that former exorcists had left for future generations to find about dealing with the dark sprits used in witchcraft and wizardry while the other two contributed in their own way to the mission.

Maxwell sent an entire trunk filled with dozens of books, dating as far back as the time of Christ himself. Somewhere, in one of these ancient manuscripts, would be the secret to tracking and killing real witches and wizards.

At least that was what Anderson hoped.

After reading the fifteenth ancient manuscript of the evening, Anderson decided that he needed to get away from the church and his studies. Certainly, the early members of Iscariot had kept records about vampires, werewolves, demons, sin eaters, and accounts of witch trials, but nothing was said more than the primitive methods used in killing what were most likely innocent mortals branded with the unforgivable crimes.

Yes, the church had made mistakes when dealing with witches and wizards in the past, but this time would be different. This time Anderson knew that he had found genuine specimens, not just shallow women and men that only claimed to follow the teachings of wicca or whatever their supposed religion was called in this age.

Slipping a white clerical collar around his neck to signify that he was a man of the cloth and therefore supposedly harmless, Anderson stopped short as he reached the wooden door of the rectory. Should he tell someone he was going out? No, he really didn't want to be bothered while at whatever pub he could find.

Silently, he turned the knob on the door, narrowing his eyes in the bright afternoon sun. The summer air was not stagnant with excess humidity, as it would be in Italy this time of year, invigorating his senses as he basked in its warmth. God made this day glorious, and he should take advantage of God's kindness by relaxing this beautiful day.

"Alex," Heinkel's accented voice came from behind him, her bare feet moving soundlessly on the carpeted floor, as her baby blue cotton pants swished effortlessly with her strides, "I meant to give this to you sooner, but I was too. . . .tired. . . .after coming home from the pub last night. I went down to the burned village to search the wreckage, and this was unharmed. I think it is useful."

The Sister of Iscariot held the large white leather bound book out toward Anderson, who carefully accepted the gift, only raising an eyebrow to the nun presenting herself in her night clothes, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. "That's odd for just one book to be lying amidst the remnants of a charred city."

"What's even more strange is the title."

Turning the large leather bound tome over in his hands, Anderson's eyes grew wide as he stared down at golden print etched the front cover. "Spells and Charms for Holy Crusades".

"It's too convenient that this survived, Heinkel. The wizards probably charmed it so they could spy on us somehow."

The nun shook her head, her hair now covering her eyes and barely tumbling down upon her bare shoulders. "I don't feel dark magic near it, and I read the first part- it's in Latin. The rough translation is something like `For those God-serving individuals use only. Wizardry can prove harmless to those graced with God's love'. Apparently one of the early papal advisors created this, and its sealed with a magic that cannot be destroyed by those wielding white magic, like us. That's how it survived the assault on the village."

Anderson opened the book to the first yellowed and moth eaten page, quickly skimming the paragraphs that composed the preface. Yes, some minor bishop named Marcus Augerian compiled this collection through a papal order, but the timing of its arrival still seemed strange.

"I'll let you know when I find something useful."

Stripping the collar from his neck as he turned back toward his quarters in the rectory, Father Anderson sighed as he quickly moved across the room with the book under his arm. His perfect afternoon of leisure had just been ruined because the girl decided to drink herself stupid once again instead of returning to the sanctuary after completing her daily scouting mission, as she had been instructed many days prior.

But perhaps this book found amidst the ruins of the village really could help his cause. Then he needed to spend every waking moment learning the spells printed in this tome, and then teach those spells to his associates, creating an all powerful team of hunters of the supernatural.

There would never be rest for the weary, as long as orders still remained on the field.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The priest sighed as he removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose to alleviate the tension headache forming just behind his eyes after many hours of staring at the book. While he seemingly wasted the beautiful day away in the confines of the unairconditioned rectory office, Anderson had actually found the spells he would need to complete his mission inside this ancient text.

Every single spell invoked the white magics, but not these were not the typical healing and purifying spells learned in his youth during training as one of the Vatican's special agents in Section Thirteen. These were combative, offensive; absolutely perfect for an inquisition.

That was exactly what the spells were intended to be used for. The book was written about the time of the coming of the Prophet Mohammed, and it was obvious in the author's notes compiled in the margins that Boniface V wanted any challengers to the faith destroyed.

And yet Mohammed was never destroyed. The author credited that disappointment to change in the papacy during a crucial time in the Arabian desert. The new leader of the church, being more interested in converting more of the Roman population than worrying about the spread of one man's ideas for a new faith, abandoned the project that Marcus Augerian had been assigned, and the book was obviously less ornate and specific with its spells halfway through.

Sighing, the priest flipped to another half-written page, easily skimming through the Latin as if it had been his first language.

But what were these studies in white magics proving? Father Anderson could read the printed words, discern a spell from a passage of text, and even perform a few minor charms without much trouble, but without the proper training, he could not excel at a suitable pace, nor would he ever learn to perform the more difficult spells that he needed more than the simple charms for a task of such proportion.

"How can I learn this?" It was merely a thought, a verbal expression of his exasperation stated out of sheer frustration as he stared at the pages. No one was in the rectory to hear him or reply- Father MacMullen and Sister Yumiko had gone in to town to buy the necessities for the group and Heinkel was still out on a scouting mission once again, promising to not go to the pub this evening after she finished her rounds.

There was no explanation for what happened to the book after the question had been asked. On the left page of the ones he was currently looking over, the ornate pictures began to swirl together, changing to form a sentence that was written in the same calligraphy as the rest of the text, less the words being written in English.

`Find a wizard to teach you.'

The priest blinked a few more times, absolutely confused. The stress of the mission must finally be catching up with him for his mind to play such tricks on his eyes. But nevertheless, perhaps he would have some sort of miraculous vision that could prove useful to the mission during his delusion. So what if he was currently insane? Wasn't every single prophet considered mad at one point or another during their ministry?

"Book, how will I know which wizard will teach me?"

A few seconds passed before the text swirled on the page once again before settling to form a picture of a miniature man standing in the front of a classroom, waving his hands and speaking excitedly about something. Above the picture the name "Flitwick" was inscribed.

If true, this new vision could prove to be grand. Anderson knew exactly who and what his target was now, and that this man was obviously a teacher. The only logical place that a wizarding teacher could work would be Hogwarts, and the school was just a few kilometers away.

Of course, he had to believe that the book was actually responding to his thoughts to justify going after the wizard on the page.

"How do I get to Flitwick without being noticed?"

The picture of Flitwick swirled around the page, becoming a jumble of lines once again before settling once again.

`Think like the vampire'

Think like the vampire? Anderson sighed as he closed the white leather-bound book before standing from the desk to stretch his long limbs. What did that mean? Vampires were single minded, devilish creatures that only followed their instinct to drink blood and charm virgins in to giving their bodies and souls to the service of Satan himself.

Wait.

Alucard.

Anderson smirked as he moved to the front door of the rectory, passing Father MacMullen and Yumiko as they carried groceries toward the kitchen. The sister knew the mischevious glint in her fellow Iscariot member's emerald eyes and held her tongue, knowing it to be better that way.

Slipping his long coat on over the short sleeved black dress shirt he wore as part of his summer ensemble, Anderson stepped in to the warm evening air, knowing exactly what he needed to do in order to capture the professor without being caught.

And if all went according to the Divine Plan, he would be in and out of the demon's institution before anyone noticed he had even arrived.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Filius Flitwick hummed softly to himself as he sorted through the health histories and other information about the new first years that had been sorted in to his house- Ravenclaw- as he sat in his high office in the West Tower. Only ten students joined the group this year, and luckily it was an equal distribution of boys and girls which would make the Ravenclaw social activities much more fun for everyone, since no one would be left out, at least in theory.

The new students all seemed to be in good health, except for one girl, Abigail Waverly, who suffered from slight vertigo. He would have to make sure to encourage her to find some sort of potion or spell to help ease this ailment, since such things did exist.

"Oh dear," he stated as he glanced up at the ornate wooden clock, which was now reading near six, "I'm missing dinner."

Stacking the papers neatly in the center of the desk, Filius Flitwick hopped from his chair, thinking about what wonderful new meal the house elves had created this day. He would surely have to pay them a visit to thank them for their grand service to the school.

The elder wizard narrowed his eyes as he felt the wind rush through his office, not remembering when he opened the window to his office. Papers were now flying absolutely everywhere, and the tiny wizard jumped after them, trying to catch them all before they were in complete disarray.

But it wasn't until he turned around that the small man saw a flurry of grey fabric rush toward him, engulfing him in its depths as his world became dark.

Whoever was holding him was quite strong, and was not likely to let go even if he struggled. He had been caught off guard, and his wand was still lying neatly in its case on his desk.

He felt what seemed like a freefall, then the rhythmic cadence of a sprint, and then what he could only describe as nothingness. Not even the sensation of apparating was anything like what he now felt.

Someone would notice that he was missing. That much he was certain. They would send a rescue team after him, and everything would return to normal once again.

But until then, Filius Flitwick could do nothing but wait and hope his captors were a little compassionate.