tampered | Log: Complete

When: Decemeber 24th
Rating: Teen for blood and Left Hand being a jerk.
Characters: Vampire Hunter D (open to Integral and Alucard)
Summary: There are, on occasion, vampires who temporarily get the best of D. Sometimes, it's painful. Sometimes, it's downright embarrassing. And then, to top it all off, the poor dhampir winds up in a city that he's pretty sure doesn't exist on the Frontier.
Log:

For such a young Noble, Baron Clapham had proven to be a painfully clever opponent. D would have berated himself for his carelessness if the parasite residing in his left hand hadn't already started in on him.

"What the hell were you thinking? I don't care whose son you are. Nobody can survive being staked out in this wasteland, least of all someone with vampire blood, especially when they used hawthorn! And of course you didn't bother to stop and let me eat, so there's not a whole lot of good I can do right now. Are you even listening to me, D? I can't believe you fell for that stupid incense again. How many times does that make it now? If your mother were--MMPH!"

The parasite fell silent as D clenched his bloodied hand into a fist. "I don't need your help right now," the dhampir stated calmly. He glanced at the sky and noted the sun's position. Another hour until the light and heat would be at their worst. If he intended to free himself and still be able to move afterwards, he would have to work quickly. The baron's mutants had grown tired of watching him not long ago, and retreated to the shelter of their master's castle. D knew they thought him as good as dead. If he'd been an average dhampir, their assessment would have been accurate. He had been bleeding for several hours now, his life seeping out slowly past the hawthorn stakes that had been driven into his wrists and calves to the hard-packed soil on which he laid. Time-bewitching incense had frozen his body just long enough for the semi-human beasts to secure him.

At least, D reflected, Baron Clapham was the arrogant, melodramatic type. Things would have been far more difficult if the mutants had simply cut his head off.

Taking a deep breath, the hunter steeled himself for the effort he was about to put forth. He had no choice but to rip free of either the stakes or the ground by brute force. D closed his eyes for a moment, thought of the power that slipped into his veins when the sun went down, and pulled.

D screamed as his right arm and both legs tore away from the stakes holding them. He rolled onto his side, breathing hard, and grasped the last remaining stake, yanking it out with a fierce growl. The wounds bled sluggishly for several moments as he lay still and quiet. When the thick flow of red had stopped, D struggled to his feet and bent his efforts towards the matter of transportation.

"I can't believe you just did that," his partner grumbled.

"Save your energy," the dhampir admonished, "or at least be useful and see what you can do about the wounds." His voice was distant, distracted. It was more difficult to summon his horse from this distance with half his blood soaked into the parched earth beneath his feet.

Eventually, the steady four-beat rhythm of a galloping horse's hooves reached his ears. Several minutes passed before the cyborg stallion crested a low hill. It skidded to a halt at its master's side, and dropped to its knees. D pulled himself into the saddle, and with a careful touch on the horse's mind, directed it to find shelter. By the time the sun reached its zenith, the beast had borne its rider into the cool depths of a moderately-sized cave. D sat straight in his saddle, despite his weakness, as the animal stepped deeper into the darkness, as if drawn by a power beyond the dhampir's own.

When the small group suddenly stepped from the darkness of the cave into a city that couldn't possibly exist, they were all understandably surprised.

Well ... maybe not the horse. He didn't much care where he was so long as he wasn't about to die.

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Yesterday had been. . interesting. . to say the least. Attempting to prove his loyalty to a tiny Sir Hellsing before she had earned her spurs by drawing the blood of her traiterous uncle. But he needed to linger near and protect her from those who would take such advantage. And protect her he did. Though now, now he was off again. Usually at her side, her faithful shadow, some odd feeling had drawn him here.

Closer Alucard wandered, closer into the city, towards that faint and tingling sensation of power that thrummed like a familliar or fledgling along his nerve endings. But different. Seras' connection, the many brides he had before her were all the same type of electrical pulse.

This one . . his blood. His blood was near.

At first, D did little more than stare at the scene before him. Although his expression remained calm, almost blank, he was rather startled. There had been no indication of a dimensional fold or tear, and the odds of Baron Clapham being capable of manifesting one were slim at best.

There was no arguing the fact that D was no longer in the wasteland, and when he glanced over his shoulder, there was no arguing the fact that there was no clear way out of this place. He legged his horse forward, and the animal set out at an even walk.

Something was pulling at the dhampir's awareness. He recognized the presence of a vampire, and a powerful one at that, but there was something familiar about the aura.

As D drew closer, the entity in his left hand spoke up. "You realize what you're riding towards, don't you? It's him."

"I know," said D.

"Considering your current condition, I'd say this is a bad idea."

"Perhaps," the dhampir acknowledged, but he rode on. "Regardless, he will come. If I can sense him, then he can sense me."

A wild grin of excitement twisted his lips, as a kid over Christmas morning with a pile of fascinating presents before it, Alucard awaited to see this creature winding its way towards him. Perhaps a child of Seras? No no, there was never a legend of a female vampire carrying a child.

The only possibility was a male Dracula. And the only one to ever be made (or that ever would be made) was he, the real deal. Puzzling, then, this City showed shades of what might come. Perhaps this creature was one path that he might choose?

For he was no soft heart at thinking a child of his might walk this earth to imagine it living no matter what. The creature would need be strong, clever. . and the mother worthy.

Anger stabbed through him, as well as despair and loss for Integral's loss of feeling for him.

When D came in sight of the vampire, he reined his horse to a stop and examined the situation. There was no doubting the identity of the one before him, even if he could not have felt the powerful aura. Still, there was something odd about Dracula. For one, he was dressed in a way D had not seen since his youth, rather than as the dark vampire king who had ruled over the Nobility from his fine Capitol.

The day's events so far had taken a toll on D, and the dhampir knew that he could not reasonably expect to survive an encounter with Dracula if the other were serious about destroying him. Nevertheless, he faced the vampire without fear, hands resting easily on the reins, though he was prepared to reach for a weapon at any moment.

"Father."

Pupils dilated as D approached, spirling down to near nothing but the red irises that glowed, unsheilded for once. Father . . that word echoed through his being. It was true then.

"But who is your mother?" He asked, stepping forward, catching D's eyes and freezing, surprise for once in a very long time overwhelming his being. Those eyes, those peircing blue eyes. The hair was brown, but the two irises betrayed his parentage.

. .a Hellsing/Dracula. .?

The dhampir's eyes narrowed. What was his father playing at? "You do not know?" D queried. Was this not his father, as such, but the vampire his father had been, before D was born? The hunter had been sent through time before, but only briefly, a flicker in the fabric of reality.

If that were indeed the case, it would explain a great deal: the clothing, the feel of his father's aura, the lack of maddening, malevolent games.

The vampire's upper lip curled back slightly, baring fangtips that gleamed in the light, "I do know." How terribly, terribly interesting. Integral had forgiven him, had given in.

This was a remarkable future indeed. Now, the only thing left to do was ensure it's happening.

"Tell me. . .son. . " The vampire grinned, "How did you come about? The circumstance- not the biology."

"That is not something I ever inquired after," D replied calmly. He was now certain that this was his father from a time before his conception and birth, which meant that it was not quite the same vampire he was used to dealing with. What time period did this Dracula (no, he would be Alucard, now) come from? Still cautious, D allowed his horse to draw closer. "This does not look like London. What year is it? And where is this place?"

"It is not. This is. . for lack of a less melodramatic explination, The City," Alucard replied. "It is a nexus of power bringing people from different worlds and different times together in effort to stop the end of the world."

Interesting, but the information did not resolve D's most prevalent concern, which was what year his father hailed from. Knowing that would help him gauge how to approach the vampire. "And you? When and where were you brought here from?"

"My master Sir Hellsing and I were brought here," Alucard replied with a chuckle, "But you probably know her as. . mother."

So he was here with her. D almost dismounted so he could get closer, demand to see her, but remembered his slowly healing wounds. "Sir Integral Hellsing is my mother, yes," he confirmed. "So what do you intend to do now?"

"I intend to take you to see her, of course." Alucard replied, then half smiled, "And see that you tend your wounds. No sense in allowing them to fester, hm?"

It did not surprise D that Alucard knew he was wounded. His clothes were stiff with dried blood, and his father had always been rather perceptive. "They will heal," D replied. "Let's go." He was anxious to see his mother, and--if he were honest with himself--a little afraid. In D's reality, Integral had died thousands of years ago. What would his mother, who did not even know him yet, think of him now?

Log: Complete

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