Chapter Text
Love…
Are you saying we can love each other?
It had been some little while since Alucard had last faced an alchemist.
The art had fallen by the wayside somewhat in this most recent century —though it was just as much science as art, and that was perhaps the reason. Alchemical formulas were not as sharply distinct as mathematical ones, and yet it was not as easily cast as magic. Magic was as reliable as a recipe; alchemy molded to both caster and recipient like warm wax, taking an impression from the faintest contact. It was malleable, pliant, amorphous, and exceedingly powerful if used correctly.
That was why Van Helsing had used it to bind him —twisty, fluid, eldritch creature that Alucard was and became, something as rigid and regimented as magic would not hold him forever. An enchanted leash would fail within a generation as who he was slipped between the bounds of the spell; a mystical cage would wear away and shatter under his power.
No, alchemy would permeate the vampire on every level, lock every door, barricade every escape, and wrap a fist around the essence of his very soul. Properly bound to his blood, even a creature as old and mighty as Alucard would not be able to resist the seals marked upon his being for as long as Van Helsing's line endured.
Thankfully, those with the education to make use of alchemy with any skill had become rare. Guiding such a malleable force was difficult, and forcing it to achieve a specific effect likewise. It was a science —certain techniques could be used to produce certain results— and an art —the results were highly subjective, the rules governing them fluid— at the same time, and blending the two approaches correctly took discipline, intense study, and vast experience.
Unfortunately, that made such practitioners correspondingly troublesome to deal with when they did appear.
One such individual had crossed paths with Hellsing several weeks ago, in a series of museum robberies accompanied by ghouls, and Alucard —diligent servant that he was— had gone to messily eviscerate the offending vampire. Rather to his irritation, she had proven adept at avoiding said evisceration, and their initial few encounters had resulted… poorly.
Well, poorly enough that she wasn't dead, anyway. Alucard had no complaints —the face she had made when a bullet punched through the ward she'd set up to prevent intruders had been immensely gratifying, likewise her terror when he finished slaughtering her ghouls.
But she'd gone to ground after that, though, become both cautious and much more slippery, and Hellsing had been reduced to following her trail. She was clearly after something specific, raiding museum inventory from various eras focused on saints, relics, Hermeticism —and, most promising for his personal entertainment, vampiric blood rituals. What she was after was tricky to pin down —the personal touch inherent to alchemy made that difficult to discern— but she was clearly working towards a specific goal.
And then, rather delightfully, she had either made a connection or thought she'd shaken Hellsing off, and made a break for Rome.
Alucard had not waited for his Master and her blustering council to settle the details before he followed: he had every right to pursue his prey wheresoever it attempted to flee, even if that was to the feet of the Papal throne itself. International treaties may set forth where each organization may search for monsters, but chasing one across said borders was another matter entirely.
And besides —the opportunity to tweak the nose of his most favorite priest did not come often. Whether Alucard was lucky enough to encounter him or no, Father Anderson was sure to learn of this, and his reaction —his retaliation— was thrilling to think of.
Perhaps Alucard should leave his target's corpse displayed prettily in some corner of Rome, so that Anderson knew he was thinking of him. Decapitated and with stakes riven through her body —would his beloved nemesis catch the sly reference to their first meeting? Would he be as delightfully infuriated as Alucard imagined?
He grinned even as he thought of it, striding over the jostling terracotta rooftops in pursuit of his prey. The sinking sun was bleeding its light into the skyline of Rome, with banks of clouds drifting overhead in attractive pink clots: truly, a worthy setting for a battle. Would he have more exciting prey by the time that night drew in and his powers grew unhindered?
He couldn't wait.
Disappointingly, the cathedral she eventually slipped inside was empty —of people, at least, as the interior bristled with golden ornamentation. Alucard was only a few heartbeats behind, for she was alone: no time to make more ghouls, and nowhere to hide any she might make. These were the very last measures of a hunt, and they both knew it.
He grinned wider in anticipation.
His slow, deliberate steps rang loud among the vaulted stone as he strolled down the nave, to where she had wheeled to stand at bay. An older one, this; aside from the alchemical expertise that she could not have gained over a mere few decades, her chest did not heave with the instinctive need to pant for air she no longer needed. It had been quite some time since she had lived.
"I'm curious; did you think the Catholics would let you rob them with impunity?" Alucard asked. It was a fair question: his reputation was suitably nightmarish, but he was largely bound to the British Isles and said reputation perforce did not travel much beyond it —Iscariot and through them the Vatican was a far more widespread threat. There was no question that she knew of them, not if she also knew enough to discern which relics were true and which ancient fakes.
There was also no question that the Vatican would hunt her down with even less than their usual mercy, if she harmed one of their precious relics.
And she knew it.
"You have no right to be here," she hissed, backing away slowly. Alucard noted that her path was taking her towards the ostentatiously-decorated alcove that housed the local relic, and sneered.
If one was to look at this in a certain way, he had every right to be here —more than her, quite possibly. He had been a king to whom the Vatican owed much of its safety to, and a staunch defender of Christendom. That he and his deeds had become corrupted and foul did not change the soil they sprouted from.
"Nor do you," he replied, and showed an admirable row of fangs as he grinned, reaching into his duster. "Now…"
His advancing foot hit a magic that stung, and before he could tear away it latched onto him in binding coils. He snarled his distaste and annoyance, power swelling beneath his crafted skin as he sought to break out of this entrapment —and failed.
Glancing down revealed an array upon the floor, and glancing up revealed the look of fear on his target's face slowly transforming to smug relief. This had been a trap, then, and one she'd had ready to snare him, hidden in the thrum of holy magic that permeated the building.
Ah. Well. That was… unedifying.
Served him right for playing with his food, he supposed.
He eyed the diagram as it painted itself into existence in rusty trails of smoke, wondering how and when she'd had the time to prepare this. A more skilled practitioner than he thought; this might actually even be something of a challenge.
How fun.
He did not bother with physical struggle, and instead immediately began running his mental fingers over the weft of the magic that bound him. Mixed with hints of alchemy —that was clever. It gave her some extra hooks to cling onto him, a way to ensure the more than merely physical aspect of the binding that rooted him in place. He could not simply melt into a cascade of centipedes and vermin and wriggle free, nor transform to mist and ghost away. He was held, firmly and truly.
His opponent further proved her age by not gloating; whether she knew his reputation or not, she could certainly feel some of his power pressing against her magic, and she did not waste any time in hastening to her task. He might be trapped, but his escape was only a matter of time, and they both knew it.
Alucard was thus left to watch, half-intrigued and half-predatory, as she dragged the reliquary that held a saint's jawbone out into the center of her diagram and began fussing around it. Oh, even more interesting. This wasn't just a trap: this was part of some larger play.
It had been quite some time since he had last participated in alchemy as anything but a test subject, but he remembered the way of it well enough, and watched thoughtfully as she began to paint the much-bedecked reliquary with her blood. The symbols flared and began to fade as soon as she completed them, but she never smudged a mark, nor overlapped the invisible pattern she was forming.
Using the reliquary and the relict inside as her crucible —that was very clever, as it would maximize the power gestated by her ritual and eliminate the need for further materials. Considering that she had come directly to Rome and this church, also, it seemed clear that this was either part of her ultimate goal or the end of her machinations, and not merely a makeshift.
Interesting.
It was working, too: before long, her tainted blood sizzled upon the reliquary as she painted, and the jawbone itself had begun to glow. Alucard could feel the holy power coalescing in the air, a tingling sense of unwelcome sweeping over his being like an electric current. He half-expected sparks to snap in his hair, such was the depth of the gathering power.
And as if called by the manifestation of the divine, the cathedral doors slammed open. Footsteps trod the nave, swift and strong and sure, and Alucard grinned to the fullest extent as a familiar presence drew near.
Truly, fortune was spoiling him tonight. Not one but two powerful, skilled, clever enemies.
He looked over, and beheld the sight of Father Anderson, indomitable and holy as any of the carved statues flanking the nave, fierce and intimidating as ever. Of course, the vampiress on the ground only had to take one look at the paladin bearing down upon her before her pace redoubled, sketching out the remaining portion of her work with frantic speed.
"I'd avoid stepping into the circle, Judas Priest," Alucard drawled as Anderson's approach slowed, demonstratively flicking his eyes down at the power coiled around him. "Still, nice of you to finally show up. Better late than never, and so on."
As he rather expected, Anderson ignored him in favor of the active threat, eyes narrowing with poisonous hatred at the vampiress on the ground as she began clawing at the relic, trying to crack open her crucible to get at the completed power source within.
"Get your filthy, undead hands off of that!" he spat, either unaware or uncaring of the finished alchemical ritual.
"She seems to be having trouble keeping her hands on it," Alucard noted, amused at how her efforts were stymied by the innate holy power of the relic she herself had activated. Still, niceties had to be observed, and he glanced back up at the priest. "I would kill her now, if I were you. Regardless of ill-advised handling, she knows more than enough to complete this little ritual of hers."
"Shut up!" his target barked, a flash of temper showing through her fear. Alucard was bad enough —but she couldn't cower in this diagram forever, and Father Anderson would prove more than up to the task if she fled now. Her time, once measured in minutes, was now perhaps measured in seconds.
Perhaps it was this that drove her to reckless lengths, for she balled up a fist and punched the glass encasing the relic, desperately trying to crack it open. The searing power prevented her from being able to bring her full strength to bear, but even a blunted version of a vampire's power was enough to send cracks spiderwebbing through the ancient, dusty glass.
Alucard glanced at the priest, raising an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic lack of violence. Anderson had whipped out a bayonet, but he was eyeing the decorations around them uneasily, gripping the handle loosely rather than with the intent to cleave and maim.
"Are you really going to let her destroy the remains of one of your saints rather than risk harming some statuary?" Alucard asked, disappointed as well as surprised. That seemed beneath his rival; what did mere decorations matter in the face of such a holy desecration? "I knew the clergy were hypocritical, but this is sad, even for you."
"Oh, shut up," Father Anderson muttered, further showing how unbalanced he was by failing to launch into a tirade. At least his worried, calculating gaze was on the target now, and not the opulent church.
Her beating on the glass abruptly showed fruit; it splintered under her charred and melted fist, and she hissed in victory as she began prying the shards open with the stumps of her fingers. Alucard gave a sharp nudge to the power that bound him, but she barely reacted: it would be up to Father Anderson to eliminate this threat, and he seemed paralyzed by indecision.
Maybe seeing her at work would jar him out of it.
The vampiress finally managed to wrench a big enough hole to shove her hand through, and she snatched the relic and stood victoriously even as a cry of pain tore from her, fingers melting under the intangible, searing weight of the relic. She ignored the pain, ignored the threats around her as a true caster must, and began to intone, focusing all her power inwards as Alucard's bones begin to hum.
He jerked against the bindings that held him, more annoyed than threatened —and Anderson was finally kicked into action.
A belated bayonet hurled through the air, and the tip speared the target through the other vampire's heart as she choked, staggered, eyes reeling in a mix of pain and disbelief. Her magic failed with her last true death; even as she fell to ash, Alucard felt his bindings unravel.
The severed jaw and tongue plopped onto the dusty pile of ash and clothes, and almost before the circle had finished fading Anderson was stepping forward, scooping the holy relic up and cradling it close against his chest.
He paused, though, and Alucard likewise tilted his head as the holy power refused to fade, still pulsing hot and bright in the withered remains, sharp as sunlight against every sense at once.
"It seems that she managed to activate it," Alucard noted, strolling closer in his curiosity. Whatever she was trying was one thing; to awaken the long-dormant power within a saintly relic was quite another. She really had been something impressive —a pity she had been so easily defeated.
"It's not harmfully activated," Anderson replied with ironclad certainty, lifting the cracked reliquary with his free hand and gently brushing it off. Alucard made a skeptical noise low in his throat —but then, he was a vampire. The power that slept within those remains did not regard him so kindly as it did the priest.
He mused on that as Anderson finished tidying to his satisfaction and reverently set the jaw back upon its cushion. The case had been neatly finished: the vampire had no servants remaining, and the ritual ended with her dissolution. Although…
Alucard grinned as he thought of another way to tweak the paladin's nose, and sidestepped, moving to reach past him and claim the relic. As might be expected from his beloved nemesis, Father Anderson went rigid, going from relieved to vindictive in a heartbeat as he flicked a bayonet into being, turned, and plunged it into and through the offending wrist all in one motion. Adding a final garnish, he twisted harshly, cutting into the delicate bones his blade was wedged between as Alucard's arm creaked in wondrous agonies.
"Don't you dare," Father Anderson hissed, holding him there as those green eyes blazed. Alucard had to take a breath simply to savor it, enjoy the visceral hate he felt lapping against his bones from within.
"This relic is a part of our case," he answered, smiling oh-so-sweetly, pale lips peeling back over sharp and hungry teeth. "Which is why I pursued that vampire here to begin with, Catholic."
"Lay one finger on that relic and I will personally ensure the scandal is so big that the Hellsing woman will lock you in her basement just to avoid the politics," the priest snarled in nearly one breath, and Alucard rolled his eyes.
"So very protective over a dead man's chin."
"It's a holy relic, you depraved abomination."
Alucard couldn't help but grin. Such a very rote response, as though Anderson were reading off the sacred text burned into his brain.
"You call me depraved when you revere corpses and ritualize cannibalism," he said, laughing a little to himself. "Putting the remains in a pretty gilded cage doesn't change the fact you're proudly displaying remains, Judas Priest."
He could almost feel the rush of blood against his tongue as Father Anderson reddened with anger, straining to keep calm. The swell and pulse of his veins dragged over Alucard's senses, calling, beckoning, inviting him to share the scalding warmth and partake in their usual glorious display of shared carnage.
For such a holy man, Anderson was a terrible temptation.
Alucard tilted his head, grinning a little more, his eyes lit aflame with unholy anticipation. The priest ground his teeth at that look, knowing all too well that Alucard was baiting him towards another fight. It had been far too long since either of them could whet their appetites for violence upon one another.
Alucard shuddered in pain and disappointment mixed when Anderson jerked his weapon to the side, wrenching his arm askew before the sharp bite of the blade slid free. He stepped between Alucard and the reliquary, withdrawing his weapon and even going so far as to cover the hole in the glass with his hand, as though guarding it from a childish game of keep-away.
"We are not doing this," Anderson hissed at him, holding control by a thread. "I am not fighting you here and if you touch anything, or God forbid, break it, the whole of the Vatican will tear you and your Master apart. Get out."
Oh, wretched responsibilities. Alucard would have been all too pleased to sunder the foundations of this holy place, slicing and tearing in turn with his nemesis as they did their level best to take each other apart.
But alas, he must —nominally— acknowledge his Master's position amongst the jackals of power, and in this sole specific case, bow out. Perhaps he could drag his feet somewhat as he left, linger in the Roman lands for long enough that Anderson came to chase him out-
Oh.
Oh.
The power in the air tore and flexed, and his eyes jerked down to the relic. Something had just changed, and considering the dripping red traces of his blood left on the priest's glove, it seemed obvious what had been the catalyst.
"It seems I'm not the one who should be concerned about breaking things, Judas Priest," Alucard said as belated relaxation sparked in Anderson's eyes, dread building behind those obscuring glass lenses. "Rookie mistake."
Anderson twisted to see, and swore as the world came apart in a flash of radiant power.