Midian Evolution

I first want to say to all you who have left such nice reviews and concrit, THANK YOU. I'll admit, they were the last thing on my mind these past weeks, what with going through my mother's surgery and death scare. Still they are nice to come home and read, and validate me in a big way. I've had so much on my plate, so much fright and sleeplessness, that to see these reviews made me feel so much better. I'm afraid I have nothing really written except for this chapter and the beginning of another, and that my chapters will come slower now that I am having to run back and forth to care for my mother, but I will try to get out as much as I can.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND REVIEWING. After the last 40-odd days of hell I've been through, reading your thoughts was like so much candy to a diabetic. I love you all.

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I followed my master down a dusty street, having to run to keep up with his long legs. I didn’t even know how we’d gotten here, or where ‘here’ might be. One minute we’d stood at Walter’s sickbed, the next we stood in this pastoral little backwater. I knew we no longer occupied any part of England, though, because I heard people speaking in some language that sounded like Italian.

This made sense. I could only assume a Paladin for the Vatican would dwell in Italy.

Master meant business. Waves of anger rolled off of him like poisoned fog. I could even see it. Shadowy, vaporous tendrils leaked from his form, never stopping. He would get Anderson come hell or high water, or the devil would know the reason why.
I didn’t try to speak to him, even mentally. He had no time to answer my questions. All I could do was watch and obey.

We turned down a building-crowded, cobblestone lane. Master stopped, his burning red eyes visible behind his glasses. He scanned the very end of the path, where a tall, ramshackle lodge sat alone. Purpose renewed, he began moving again, and fast.
We cleared perhaps half the distance before I felt my hackles rise. Something watched us, something not only unfriendly but bestial. No, not something, somethings. They smelled like the enemy, something I knew to abhor instinctually, familiar and unclean.

Werewolves.

Master’s blood bias made me hate them. In Scotland, while still just his chattel, I hadn’t felt this way. Now that I had his full heritage, I understood why he’d so carefully avoided anything that might turn me into one of these things. Better to be a ghoul or a freak than a werewolf.

Master…

I smell them. Keep walking.

I was unarmed. I didn’t know if master had his guns or not. In the long run, it didn’t matter. I’d seen my master take out fearsome opponents; I had utter faith in him.

The door of the lodge burst open. A werewolf, more than a score of bayonets sticking out of his body, rolled howling and bleeding into the path. No sooner had he slammed into his back, he vanished in a stinking burst of smoke.

“Come on, the lot ‘o ye!” I heard Anderson call out in his distinctive brogue. “I know they’d send more’n one ‘o ye filthy, damned monsters!” He stepped out of the doorway, spying my master first. His green eyes glittered with hate. “Figures,” he drawled.
The werewolves took that moment to rush him.

Master, aren’t we going to join the fight? I asked, seeing him remaining motionless.

I’m not wasting my bullets on trash like this, he answered with an audible growl. Let Angel Dust Anderson tire himself out on these perverted freaks of nature. He looked down at me. “Only fight if attacked.”

Though I ached to kill, I obeyed.

Anderson made quite a showing, as always. Lightning quick and able to conjure any number of bayonets, he whirled and flashed silver, yellow and green. His crucifix swung with his movements like Walter’s monocle chain…

Walter…

I was so scared for my friend. If Anderson proved responsible for hurting Walter, master and I would fight over the gratification of killing him. And, Integra herself would doubtless join the fray.

Anderson didn’t scare me anymore, I felt pleased to note. I had more power now, and less to actually fear. I could rip his head off and spit down his neck.

“Make sure you get all of them,” master shouted.

“You shut yer damned mouth!” Anderson beheaded a werewolf while stabbing another through the neck, not even looking at either target but at Alucard. “Coward, sendin’ these things in yer stead!”

“Not mine.” Master took out his gun and fired at a werewolf leaping at us from the side. The animal evaporated, instantly destroyed by Walter’s ingenuity with weapons and Alucard’s aim.

“Liar!” Anderson sent a barrage of metal out in bewildering arcs. Most of the gigantic, slavering lycans got hit at least four times. Master took a bayonet in his shoulder, and I took one in the arm.

“I hope he’s not responsible for Walter,” my master said in a conversational tone. “I’d hate to lose the Paladin.” He took my bayonet out first, throwing it through the throat of a nearby werewolf. “The world would be so dull without his bigotry and creative use of scripture.” He removed his bayonet and sent it through the stomach of another wolf-man.

Master no longer leaked venomous darkness. I took this to mean he also no longer believed Anderson accountable for Walter’s condition. I, too, had my doubts. Anderson hadn’t expected us, for one thing, and he fought against the werewolves. Master had informed me Iscariot had claimed the right to kill the werewolves, which meant we’d had to sneak to spy on them at Boleskine House.

If Iscariot wanted to fight lycans, why waste time on us? Why try to kill me specifically?

Anderson finished off the last four lycans at once, beheading them in a single sweep of two blades held parallel. Panting, he began to approach us. I heard him muttering prayer, like he always did when confronting my master.

Remember my lesson with Sir Island’s convict, Seras? Alucard asked me.

Master, I don’t think I could stand it if you made Anderson want you sexually, I said, groaning aloud. So gross.

He chuckled. But, it would humiliate him so! Grinning, he turned his reflective glasses to my eyes. Sotia mea, the celibate priest might have his mind completely unhinged by the notion he wanted me.

Why ask me, then? Anderson seemed pretty close to us, now. I’m not in charge, master.

Just courtesy. I don’t want you freezing up with an unpleasant memory the next time I’m pawing you. A husband doesn’t put his wife in such a position.

You are so unbelievable. I blushed hard enough to really feel the heat. If master truly felt like we were husband and wife, I wouldn’t know what to do. But, he was all talk and tease. He probably didn’t have it in him to feel like a husband, not anymore. The mysterious Elizabeta might have taken all his feelings to the grave with her.

True, I am unbelievable. My master said nothing more, but began to stare at Anderson. Invisible strands of power reached for the priest, slowing him. The man had a will of iron, but my master had an indomitable spirit. He would take command of his quarry. Anderson, though a Regenerator, was still mostly human, and, as such, weak to Alucard’s mental prowess.

Anderson faltered, shook his head. “None ‘o yer disgusting, devil-aligned magic,” he swore. He staggered to one side, fighting my master with effort.

“Devil-aligned magic?” Alucard asked aloud, and I instantly swooned with the seductive force of his voice. It wasn’t even directed at me, yet it seeped into my body like molten molasses. “Magic for monsters is fairly intrinsic,” he continued. “It comes built-in when one renounces God.” He beckoned to Anderson with his index finger. “Come to me, priest. I have need of you.”

Again, Anderson lurched, fighting. “Dirty son of Caine,” he shouted, but his voice seemed greatly reduced. His muscles trembled visibly. I saw him struggling to keep his mouth from going slack.

I grabbed onto Alucard’s cloak and held on, afraid my knees would give out. He pulsed sexual potency, radiated a thousand promises of fulfillment. I leaked wetness and my heart raced. I tried to focus on Anderson instead of my body’s thrumming, hoping to fend off my master’s allure.

It horrified me, seeing Anderson’s erection. Priests shouldn’t have those, not even crazy ones. He apparently agreed with me, for he looked at himself with disgust. Slowly, arm wavering, he raised a bayonet over his crotch. “If thy right eye offendeth thee, pluck it out,” he recited, eyes lit with religious fervor.

Master, he’s going to-.

Yes, I see that. It won’t help, not even if he manages to get his balls, too.
Master didn’t care one whit to let Anderson emasculate himself. I didn’t know if the priest’s regenerative powers would heal and re-grow his sexual organs.

He could bleed to death though, couldn’t he? Sir Integra wants him alive.

Alucard sighed. He could. He’s got a lot of blood going there, right now. Alright, I’ll save it for sport another night. “What are you doing, Alexander?” he asked, the seduction of his voice rising even higher. “Put your weapon down.”

“No,” Anderson answered through grinding teeth.

“Yes-sss,” master insisted. “Come to me.”

Anderson dropped the bayonet with a desperate sob. “Sodomite!” Inch-by-inch he closed the distance to Alucard, until he finally stood right before him. Lungs working like smithy bellows, he met him eye to eye.

“Good boy,” master crooned, reaching out to touch Anderson’s jaw. He traced the long scar there, lovingly, appearing to savor every centimeter. “I knew you could be reasonable. Tell me what you want.”

“I want,” Anderson panted, “you to die, you polluted fiend ‘o the pit!”

Master’s delighted laugh rang out over the small town. “You never disappoint me, Alexander,” he said. He glanced at me. “Take his hand firmly. I’ll return us to Hellsing Manor.”

“We don’t need to tie him or anything?” I hated touching the priest. The feel of him made my skin crawl.

“No, and I think he finds that fact even more humiliating than wanting me.” Master stroked down Anderson’s arm, making him shiver. He wrapped his long fingers around the man’s wrist. Anderson closed his eyes, looking like a man who might next walk to the gallows.

Alucard leaned against him, putting his mouth a hairsbreadth from his ear. “Where is your god now, Alexander Anderson?” he asked.

And then, we began to dissolve into mist.