Disclaimed.

Pan's New Flute

Chapter 8: Afterimage

Part I: The Lingering Odor Reminds You of Something You Never Experienced, Though You Dreamt It, Perhaps.

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

~Broken Dreams, WB Yeats

Holding the small figurine in her hand, Integra felt an overwhelming sense of having come full circle in her life. Its tiny and intricately carved ivory features were still vital, and not worn with age. Integra rubbed her thumb over its head, over its arms, one gently cupping a skullcap filled with menstrual blood, the sacred kappala, and in the other, a wicked-looking blade, formed as a crescent, used for scalping. Its head was that of a lion, with hair more like flames than a mane forming a sort of bastardized halo. Simhavaktra. The fierce, lion-headed dakini of Tibet.

But the small goddess' ferocious face and evil accessories belied her true nature. Her melodic pose, as though in mid-step to an unearthly dance, and the purity of the ivory, suggested the true character of this persona. She is the inspiration of mortals. She is the truth that burns its way through falsehood and evil. She forces her followers to look in the mirror and see themselves for who they truly are, pride as well as guilt. And, once accomplished, such epiphany would lead to ascension, into the world of the gods themselves.

No small task for such a small ornament, Integra thought, and handed the eager vendor a few notes.

Years ago, quite before Integra could clearly remember, her mother had given her a talisman from her homeland, shortly before the family left for England. It was a smaller version of the dakini, in precious metals and stones, attached to a necklace. It had been confiscated shortly before Integra took reign of the Hellsing Organization, as a remnant of idolatrous tendencies. A devout Christian, Integra still could never quite bring herself to forget Simhavaktra.

"Integra." Integra glanced to her left at the old, grizzled man, grimly reminded of why she was here. The old man muttered something unintelligible, but judging from his past remarks, likely it had to do with the nature of privileged young English women. He waved his crutch in her direction, motioning for her to join him.

"Bently?"

"I've found it."

**********

Alucard sat on the edge of Canary Wharf Tower, one leg dangling over the side, the other drawn up. He rested his arm on his knee, pulling from a blood packet, eyes squinting in concentration from behind his glasses. Integra did not know, but he loved this particular spot. The tallest building in the UK, rising from the city at 235 meters. A testament to the excess of former decades. And a place Alucard found particularly entertaining, as it afforded him an especially comprehensive view of the surrounding city. The building could be seen from most of the city, in particular South London, but Alucard himself was invisible. As an aside, Alucard loved the height itself. In all his centuries of existence, humans finally came into their intellectual inheritance, and thus, skyscrapers were born.

It was a rare moment for Alucard. He understood now, in a flash of blinding, gut-wrenching, humiliating epiphany, that he was truly enslaved to Integra. How did he know this? Simple. Alucard was very bored. And not only did boredom suggest his servitude, but the circumstances of said boredom. He had no clue what he was supposed to do.

He gripped the blood packet like a vise and threw it angrily over the edge. Integra was in India at the moment. She firmly ordered him to stay put in London, and he had to obey. Alucard was not happy at the idea of her taking off to the other side of the world alone. She told him she had a guide, but that didn't matter. She was vulnerable and Alucard was the only one who could protect her. Besides, he was not one to just sit around and twiddle his thumbs.

She had left no other orders. Alucard did not have a next step to take. When Seras had turned her eyes to him for direction, he told her to go rob a blood bank. He laughed a little, remembering her face. Shock had transformed into righteous indignation, finally settling into resignation as she realized the necessity of such an outrageous demand. She seemed glad to be doing something useful, at least. Alucard generally enjoyed being the center of attention. He liked giving the orders, having Seras look up to him for help, counsel and inspiration. It had been a circumstance long denied until he'd made for himself a pet. Integra would never defer to him for anything, though he understood her desire to do so on occasion. And all the men viewed Alucard's power in equal parts awe-inspiring and awful in its horror. It was a sentiment Alucard liked to encourage. But, for some reason, Integra had only feared him once in her whole life. Just once. Before she knew him. Before he effectively saved her life.

By all rights, she should be bound to him! It was a blood debt, a life for a life. Instead, he willingly allowed himself to be taken. Taken in, turned inside out and tossed around by an obnoxious little girl turned brazen woman.

At first it was simply to free himself.

Alucard was by no means a weakling, even against spiritual binding spells. He could have simply killed the child in a heartbeat. She needn't have felt a thing. But the Hellsings would still have owned a part of his soul. And Goddammit he wanted it back. To steal his soul, he had to bribe the Hellsing.

And so he waited. Waited for Integra to give in. But somewhere along the way, he lost sight of the goal and decided to simply let a game be a game. He loved the mind tricks, as he knew she did. He loved the verbal battles they enacted against one another. He loved the constant struggle between them for the last command, the last word. He lo— enjoyed her.

And what really was the definition of a slave? His existence defined Integra just as much as hers defined him. One could not be a master if there was nobody willing to be mastered. And without a master, a slave did not exist. Each defined his existence from the existence of his opponent.

And the definition of freedom?

"When the slave kills the master."

Alucard should have heard her approaching. Not with his ears; her mind was like a brick crashing through the glass of his thoughts.

He instantly recognized her as old. Very old.

A beautiful woman, quite certain of her appeal, Sekhet sauntered to the edge and stood beside him, stopping gracefully without watching her feet. She wore a very simple blue dress, sleeveless and tied with a small gold ribbon empire style. Her arms and neck were bare, as though she understood she needed no adornment to enhance her beauty.

She looked out over the city and sighed in satisfaction. Alucard merely remained where he was, posture relaxed—lazy, even—and pulled out another blood packet to suck on as though deep in thought.

"Why do you do that?" Sekhet asked him quietly and with genuine curiosity.

"Seems a little rude to eat your coworkers." Alucard responded. He tossed the empty pack over the edge again, idly wondering what the mortals below thought of such debris.

"And you are the epitome of courtesy, I imagine?"

"I am always a gentleman." At this, she snorted rather ungracefully.

"I'm sure. So much a gentleman, you have yet to seize what is yours by right." Not a question. She said this casually, not looking at him, but brushing a stray hair away from her face. Alucard himself was completely unaffected by the wind.

"Why do you allow yourself to be lead on a leash by a child?" Sekhet asked, and turned and looked him full on, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. Her eyes searched his, for answers, for information. Confidence practically poured out of her being, and her mind was a tangible presence against the barriers in his own.

Alucard dropped his other leg and allowed it to dangle over the side. He answered her very carefully, after several moments, as though truly contemplating the question and its answers.

"And why not? Under the flag of the Hellsing organization, I can kill without compunction or worry of the political mess it may cause. Alone, I would be constantly hunted, and while that idea is not worrisome, it is mildly irritating." He absently picked a long blond hair off his leg. Integra's. Inwardly, he smiled, the thought providing a nice little barrier to this creature in and of itself. Charmingly, with a grin, he continued.

"So really, I'd say that gives me more freedom to do as I like."

"Yet you drink cold, donated blood out of plastic bags stolen from hospitals." She pointed out. Alucard shrugged.

"Blood is blood." It was probably the biggest lie, amongst many, he had ever uttered in his long, unholy life.

Sekhet stared at him for a moment, eyes squinted like a human's, trying to discern his true meaning. Then she threw her head back and laughed. The sound actually sent chills up his spine. She gave him the chills! Imagine that, he thought to himself. A monster like himself, disturbed by another monster. And that was certainly what she was.

"But really, Alucard! Why?" She made a grand gesture with her hands, to encompass him, the city, everything he did, it seemed. Alucard shook his head in mock resignation and laughed a little to himself.

"All of you are the same!" He spit out the word you like it was offal on his tongue. "Whining about how miserable your lives are made by hunters, and then positively angry to discover you can be easily off-ed by—and I use this phrase very loosely—one of your own who is better than you. Vampires routinely pull out guns and knives in vain attempts to fend me off, then act so stupidly surprised and offended when I'm still standing after the fire has died.

"Mercury, silver, crosses, sunlight, and the famed stake to the heart are extremely annoying, and then you all have the absolute nerve to wonder why I get pissed off and feel no remorse at slaughtering my own kind? Do you have any idea what boredom can do to a mind? None of you can imagine what a real vampire does and can do! I have brought empires to their knees! The devil himself does not stand in my way! I have slaughtered thousands! Tens of thousands! Out of those, how many have given me any real sport? Two, maybe three. And since I cannot remember their names, I will say nobody has proven to be a true challenge.

"I suppose I might understand the jealousy that comes from meeting one's superior, but really, what on earth makes every last comic-book one of you believe I am in a human thrall?" Alucard was on the verge of laughing now, his blood warming with the ferocity of his rant.

The woman stood silent and unmoving in the face of his diatribe. Her whole body vibrated with anger and contempt. He simply stared at her calmly, eyes glinting red over his glasses, legs still draped lazily over the edge of the Canary Wharf Tower, not a hair or lapel ruffled by the wind. He grinned viciously, lips curling fiercely over sharpened teeth tinged red at the tips.

"Nobody has given you any real sport?" She murmured to herself. "How sad for you." And she whipped her hand out to her side, in a vast sweeping motion. A wave of heat and pressure so immense slammed into Alucard's body, and he leapt high into the air, flipping to land behind her on two feet.

"You want to play?" He asked her, almost joyfully. A delightful distraction from his morbid thoughts. The wind picked up around him, blowing off his hat into nothingness and swirling his black hair around his shoulders, whipping his coat tails behind him. "I've been spoiling for a fight! Please, give me all you've got, don't hold back!" His voice deepened and grew to a throaty snarl. His blood was pumping viciously. He flexed his hands, hearing bones crack pleasantly. The sigil on his gloves began to glow red, and a red-tinged mist rose up from the ground around him. He gave no thought as to whether this level of power had been called upon or not, but rather chose, without really having decided upon it, to unleash his strength upon this creature in what was promising to be a viciously satisfying battle.

His opponent turned around slowly and gracefully, her arms at her side, face locked in hard determination, and was it also curiosity?

"And why have you been spoiling for a fight, Alucard?" She asked demurely, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent small pellets of liquid glass at his face. He easily blocked them and sent them on their way with a small twist of his fingers.

"Why are you toying with me?" He demanded angrily. Surely she had more power within her than the paltry attacks she now exhibited? He was sorely disappointed thus far.

"Is it because you haven't been allowed to rise to your full potential?" She carried on, as though he'd said nothing. "Perhaps what is true in nature is true for the unnatural as well? You know, dam breaking, last straw on the camel's back sort of thing."

Alucard was tired of conversation. He wanted to fight, and she clearly was not going to give him one. He pulled out the Casull and the Jackel, aimed both at her head and emptied the clips. Bits of flesh and bone and bloody brain exploded into the air, then froze, as a scene in a film. The empty cavity of her neck and the lower half of her jaw seemed to suck the broken, bloodied bits of flesh back into place. The vampire's head began to rebuild itself, skull fusing back together, shard by shard, blood reclaimed by healed veins, muscles stringing together, curving around tendons. It was as though someone had found the universal remote and pressed reverse. Alucard watched in fascination, and admiration. Perhaps she was not so weak after all. Charmed, Alucard discarded his toys in favor of something a little more creative.

The Hellsing pentagram glowed red at his feet. The symbols within it danced and came to life, vibrating with energy. The stars above faded as a dark mass thicker than rain clouds settled over the city. Red, beady eyes blinked up from every surface of the roof. The sound of hundreds of snarling dogs raced toward them, claws scraping the ground, panting and hissing in anticipation of the carnage to begin. They formed in a mass against Alucard, slithering across the air, leaving behind them a slimy trail of black and red. The stench of sulfur filled the air as the beasts' gaping maws dripped blood infused saliva to the ground, where it sizzled and seared the concrete.

Sekhet observed the commotion in silence, but Alucard could feel the power building up within her. The pallor of her skin intensified, until she was an unearthly white. The black strands of her hair turned almost blue and seemed to writhe with their own life. Her nails became as glass and her lips dripped blood. Alucard smelled it and nearly gagged. It was not her blood, nor the blood of a recent feast. Rather, it reeked of rotting flesh, the centuries-old blood of war and slaughter. It was dead blood, and smelled of death itself. Her eyes were hard as agate and shone like gemstones. She lifted her arms in a grand sweep, then just as suddenly dropped them. She stood still, motionless as a marble statue as Alucard unleashed his brood upon her in an all-consuming rage of fire. She amassed no fight, no struggle against his demons.

Alucard was mildly disappointed that yet again he was to dispatch so weak an enemy. His eyes burned red, his grin widening to impossible, inhuman proportions as the hounds began to devour her body. The sound of jaws snapping bone and tearing flesh, the odd scent of singed hair and the taste of blood filled Alucard's senses. Curiously, there was no other sound. She did not scream in terror or pain. She did not claw at their insubstantial bodies. Simply fell and let them do their work. The hounds finished their unholy meal. Nothing was left. Not a speck of blood, not a hair, nail or bit of skin. The vampire called Sekhet was gone, leaving behind a deeply satisfied Alucard, as he had not been since the demise of Incognito. Still, he didn't understand the lack of resistance, even a verbal fight.

With a snort, Alucard extended his hand made a pulling gesture. The hounds seemed to melt into the concrete tiles at his feet, crawling and melting to the join the shadows of his own form. He closed his fist tightly, staring at it for a while, as though the air he held might be something most precious, most worthy of defense. In disgust with himself, he turned around and walked toward the edge of the tower. The city lights blinked innocently at him, mirroring the stars in the now clear sky. Nobody below had noticed the battle on the rooftop of the tower. Their lives carried on, unaware of the evil that awaited them around every corner. Innocent. Stupid.

Enough. Alucard was through with waiting. Integra's orders be damned. He made as though to launch himself over the edge but stopped as a strange pulling sensation began in his core.

He fell to his knees as the pulling became pain and then a fiery burn. Eyes wide, Alucard released a roaring scream in sheer agony as his body fought the urge to explode. Never could he remember having felt pain. Not like this. Dull aches as silver and mercury burned his flesh; the slight, unpleasant tingle of holy water. Doubled over, he opened his mouth as the black shadows of his demons poured out in a putrid mass. Blood and black slime spilled from his eyes and nose, ears, every human orifice to pool in a mess about his body. There, from the remnants of his demon familiars, formed a single, atrocious hound, its head that of a jackal, ears back, teeth bared. Alucard struggled to stand. Green eyes the color of moss opened to fix directly on Alucard's.

Alucard tried to summon his demons, but they simply weren't there. He looked at his hands, already beginning to burn. The white gloves had dissolved, leaving the red Hellsing sigils. They glowed red, and his hands began to smoke as the ancient symbols of power were literally etched, scorching into his flesh. Then they disappeared.

"Since you are so eager to use the human-made guns you despise from others, I will leave you to them." It spoke in Sekhet's voice. A soft purr in contrast to the hideous appearance. Noticing a small drop of blood at her paw, Sekhet leaned down to lick it up. Always tidy. She did not like mess. "You enjoy a good challenge, Alucard? Then I hope you enjoy your new status as, how did you put it? Oh yes, a comic-book type." Sekhet turned to leave, her claws clicking on the cement. "Perhaps now that you have nothing to offer Integra, she might finally release you from your servitude. Consider this my gift to you, one of my own." She gracefully turned and stepped over the edge into air. Her hound body transformed back into her human form mid-fall, and she landed on the cement a beautiful, if oddly dressed, young woman, seemingly walking on air amongst the humans. Nobody noticed her, nobody questioned the fall and the impossibility of her surviving it. They went about their hurried lives, and Sekhet watched them in eager anticipation as she passed through the streets.

*******************

Alucard lay in his own mess on the roof. Blood still leaked out of every pore and orifice. He did not know if he was alive, dead or somewhere in between. He hoped fervently that he was dead or dying. He had to be. He felt curiously empty, as though he was nothing but a hollow shell, no insides, and no real outside either. Alucard felt…gone. Except he knew he couldn't be entirely gone because he was thinking, and he could feel. He doubled over and vomited bloody slime, wondering if perhaps he was eventually going to vomit himself inside out. He laughed, and continued to wretch even as he laughed. He could not hear anything but the roaring in his ears, like a freight train running through his head. The agony he felt, a crushing in his abdomen and the feeling of many tiny silver needles thrust in every limb, was unlike any he had ever known. He had to be dead and in Hell. Well, it had been a good run. He'd always figured a human would be the one to kill him. If he was honest, Alucard always thought Integra might. Or rather, that she would be the only one who could. Pity. He had been looking forward to that.

****************

"You prob'ly don' remember this place, as you were jus' a small thing." Bently offered. They had arrived at a decrepit mansion on the outskirts of Gangtok in the Sikkim state. It was an odd monstrosity, leering over the beauty of Sikkim. The pungent scent of cardamom and ginger filled the air, and Integra could see the crops over the fields. And something else…oranges. Clean and crisp. She remembered this. Not the place, not the sounds or the feel of this stone beneath her hand, or the wind in her hair, but the curious mix of orange and cardamom. How could she remember this? She could not have been more than an infant when she lived here, if indeed this was where she had lived. It was clear to her that no one had occupied this place for many years. And now she had come back to the scene, with nothing more than the need to know, to understand the experiments her family had engaged in. The woman—no, the vampire in her dreams had told her to uncover the secrets. What was more a mystery to her was that she was now in India, following the clues to her past a vampire had left for her. Integra reflected on how unlike herself she had felt since having been so violently evicted from her post. She had never felt so unsure of herself in her life. So unsure of everything. The vampire Sekhet had told her that they were alike. Integra intended to discover the meaning behind that, and perhaps also the nature of her enemy. Even if that enemy meant Alucard. Alucard… What exactly was the nature of his servitude to her and her family? What did Sekhet mean when she said that bond had been severed by Sir Hellsing? That could not be possible. Why then would such a creature willingly allow himself to be mastered? Integra did not consider herself to be particularly naïve, and so was all the more determined to discover what lay between her and her servant.

"Integra. Over here." The entrance to the mansion had been sealed off long ago, but the wood barricade was rotting and easily ripped down. Integra pulled, wood splintering and nails flying around her. The smell of age drifted over her, and she had only one moment's hesitation before pushing the massive steel doors open.

The interior was dark and dank, smelling strongly of dust and moisture eating anything it could. Bently dropped the sack he carried and rummaged around for the flashlights. Integra walked to the windows, briefly covered by shredded tapestries. She pulled them down, letting sunlight rage through the halls like acid, burning through the dust and mold of years.

Integra walked slowly, reverently, silently letting memories flood her. Whether they were her own, or simply conjured from the depths of a forgotten dream, nothing more than fanciful flights that leered at her through web covered mirrors, portraits of unfamiliar faces, bookcases stacked floor to vaulted ceiling; Integra did not know. She did not care. Her own memories were not what she came for. She came to see, and to find. Any evidence at all that may shed light on her family's dealings with the Millenium Group, with Sekhet. Anything at all regarding Alucard. Through every room Integra crept, pulling down drapes, breaking seals on doors. She wondered what had occurred here that had resolved the decision to let the earth swallow all evidence.

She pulled books down, flipped through them, threw them to the floor. No time for respect. A new energy seized her, as she knew she had come to the right place. She was here. She had come back. The books were all chemistry, biology, history. Nothing new there, she thought. This had been her father's boyhood home, the home of her grand-father, and generations past. Well, one of them, at least. She pulled another book down and closed her eyes gratefully. The cover was stamped with the Hellsing family seal. She opened it gingerly, and used her flashlight to read.

October 5th, 1892

This was not what I had imagined. The vampyre Dracul is not a creature of ordinary measure, to which I have sadly become accustomed. Its power is beyond that of any ordinary blood-drinker I have ever encountered.

A full year after the Harker incident, and still it shows no signs of death or weakness. It allowed me to take it. No blood for a year, and the creature looks just as it did to dear Mina that first day. This—vampyre—does not need blood. It simply hungers for it. Like a child with a toy. No! That description is abhorrent to me. This thing is no child. It is cunning and brings destruction to all it touches.

Still…

Perhaps it is evil of me to even contemplate, let alone write, but…

To think what power must exist within that thing! If only it could conceivably be harnessed, and released upon my command? The righteous such as I, should we hold such power ourselves? Mere mortals? But surely if it were used to rid the world of other such evils?

Integra continued to read. There were significant gaps of several months throughout the diary. And no signature with which to appoint the writer, but she was certain it belonged to her great-great grandfather, Abraham Van Helsing. A scientist first and foremost, the man had made his first encounter with the undead here in India, so his papers had told her. Her father had given them to her during her lessons. They described creatures so filthy in their very souls that Hell spat them out in disgust. Soulless creatures whose very existence was an abomination in the sight of God and man. Integra perused the diary, finding nothing of value. All entries were reflections on the power of the vampyre called Dracul, a being Integra was certain meant Alucard. She did not care about Van Helsing's descriptions of his powers, for she was already well-acquainted with them. She put the book away and continued to look around. The massive library was so daunting it was depressing. She would never get through all those books if she lived several lifetimes. Perhaps it had been a wasted trip. Perhaps she was wrong? It wouldn't be the first time. Still…

Integra wandered through the rooms. They house looked as though it had been abandoned completely in the midst of the day. Nothing had been packed. Nothing had been taken. Everything had been left behind, as though its inhabitants were fleeing from something. Integra came into a study; at least she thought that was what it might have been at some point. The portrait on the wall looked vaguely familiar. It was a woman with long strawberry blond hair. Her eyes were bright blue, and her nose resembled…This must be her great-great paternal grandmother, Integra thought. Genevieve. Integra thought she looked too inviting for her own good. The eyes radiated warmth and the smile…Definitely a relative. She had seen pictures of her father's parents, and the Hellsing nose was something Integra was destined never to escape. Straight and narrow, given to her grandfather, father and now her.

Turning, Integra opened drawers in the bureau, finding nothing but letters to various noblemen in the country. She shoved them in the bag she carried, along with notebooks, several alchemy books and treatises. Her bag was getting heavy. She hoped she had collected anything of importance. Her eyes caught a small, hand painted portrait of the person who had be Genevieve. She was holding an infant, perhaps Alexander Van Helsing? Integra's great-grandfather. Integra picked it up and studied the portrait. From the style of painting, it must have been painted by one of the locals, rather than commissioned by an English artist. The infant Alexander wore something around his neck, a curious addition to his very proper English swaddling clothes. Integra shone her light over it, and her eyes widened in shock. It was a small dakini, embraced in silver and precious stones, strung upon a chain. Her dakini.

"Integra!" Bently called to her urgently. Startled, Integra dropped the picture, and the glass shattered at her feet. She jumped back, pulling the knife out of her boot, thinking that perhaps she should have brought more protection.

"Integra, we need to leave. Immediately!"

"Why? What has happened?"

"There's a mob of people outside the mansion. I haven' a gander wot their intent may be, but they look to be an unsavory sort." Integra nodded and bent to pick up the picture. Underneath the broken glass, the portrait remained unharmed. She lifted it, to find a small bit of folded parchment underneath. It must have been concealed behind the portrait. She began to unfold it when Bently's angered voice cut her off.

"Now!"

Integra stored the picture and its curious partner in her bag and followed Bently outside.

There was indeed a mob of people. And they did in fact look to be an unsavory sort. Integra stood up straight and inhaled deeply. This was not going to be easy.

A/N: So…an update!!! Two years later!!!! Yay!!!!! Okay, seriously, I'm sorry. And yes, anyone interested in reading this is probably going to have to go back and re-read the first 7 chapters before understanding this half chapter. Um…sorry? Unfortunately, life has been in complete flux for these two years, stuff I won't get into because it won't interest anyone. But, I would absolutely welcome suggestions, as I haven't written ANYTHING in quite a while. Obviously. That, and I can't write fight scenes for sh*t. Please advise me. Thanks to all. Happy reading.

~gugalanna