"…And Alucard will handle the situation in Kent; I think that takes care of this evening's situations." Integra straightened the stack of paperwork on her desk, and shut off the speakerphone. She tapped the end of her cigar on the astray and leaned back to relax in her wingback chair, for however short a time she had. Seconds later, a familiar silhouette shadow fall across her desk.

"I assume that Kent is the werewolf case," he said, taking on his usual solid form.

"It is."

"And why send me, and not a mortal detachment?" Integra sighed, putting out her cigar in the ashes.

"Because there will be silver bullets flying from the locals and you seem to heal from bullets much faster than a mortal," she said. Alucard smirked.

"No one ever found your grandfather's book on my weaknesses? He kept a very meticulous account."

"You have weaknesses other than sunlight?"

"Silver through the heart or brain, master; therefore I recommend that you send some mortals in armor, if you want me to return. Though, considering your attitude as of late, perhaps that was the plan?" the question didn't register, Integra was too distracted by the idea that—

"Silver can kill you? That easily?"

"Among others," he shrugged, striding to the east wall of her office and toying with her various artifacts on display. They ranged from the typical newton balls to more outlandish: skulls, large gemstones, and several poppets that gave off the telltale electric sense of magic, even when he handled them through his gloves.

"Stop. Touching. My. Things. Most of those are—"

"Yes, yes, irreplaceable, gifts of gratitude from dignitaries, but what about…Ah, yes." He found a heavy bookend, casted iron of a Greek youth with winged sandals. "The Helsings, thought they were so clever and secretive. Surely no one would think that 'Alucard' is a mere mirror…though no one has." He twisted the statuette's neck, and following the creaking metal-on-metal sound, there was a heavier thud of gears falling into place as the section of the shelf moved forward from the wall. "And no one would think that 'Hermes' would withhold information." The gears locked into their final position the back panel had lifted, revealing another shelf behind.

There were a few stacks of aged, fragile parchment, a cobweb covered book, and a small trinket on top of it that glinted under the layers of dust, like jewelry. Tendrils of shadow lifted the book and papers and dropped them on Integra's desk.

"Have a good read, I'm sure it's not any more gory than your last trip to the field." With two gloved fingers he carefully picked up the charm sitting on the cover and blew the dust off of it. "Tch, silver. Forgot that's what it was made of. Keep it, master, if you'd like; if not I'm sure the British Museum would pay handsomely for it." He looked over her confused expression. "You're awfully quiet,"

"….Count, what is this?"

"Merely another part of the Hellsing legacy that you inherited when you shot your uncle in the basement." He turned to leave as she brushed dust off of the book's cover. "I'll tell Walter send some armored mortals to Kent. If you need me for anything…Do not hesitate to summon me, Master."

"Right," she started flipping through the pages, preserved much better than the scrap papers that were in the compartment with it. Alucard shut the door behind him as he walked out, most likely for dramatic effect.

"You're dismissed!"

17th January 1897, Siberia

I made it to the post today. My wife says our son is getting along fine with the governess, and also well with Mr. Harker's son. Mr. Harker hasn't written to me since I confessed to him that I kept the body. Mina remains an utter saint, even though I'm sure that he has told her, and she keeps my wife company on my journeys. Mina has written to me as well about her persistence in introducing Lord Godalming to a host of young heiresses. My loyal student, Jonathon, is the only one of our little army who agreed to come here with me, and the only one to whom I have explained the entire truth.

What I have dragged from the barbaric mountains of Wallachia to this Helheim is not only a body, but the living monster. Jonathan keeps it alive by drops of blood from our own caravan draft horses; it takes so little to resuscitate.

We have discovered across a series of nights that while iron of his homeland is enough to keep it in chains, it causes no irritation to it whatsoever, and weakens each night at the links. Blessed iron does little better. Silver sears the flesh on contact, something that I had only ever witnessed before with werewolves. It causes pain even as separation and rejoining of the limbs do not, and is more than enough for us to leave it outside and exposed to the treacherous cold. The organs do not seem to heal if the silver is not immediately removed from them, and even then they take hours to fully regenerate.

These experiments have been our duty for nearly a two weeks now, and while the nights get colder and colder, not even submerging it below the ice is enough to cause any damage that cannot be reversed with a few drops of blood.

I would like to try total decapitation again. It healed once already from that, but I doubt it will last if the parts are separated for more than a few days. A bowie knife was what did the deed the first time, but I'd like to try a cleaver plated in silver next time.

John, my dear child, if you are the one reading this—and I pray you are not—know that our curiosity is not out of desire to inflict pain on this demon: hell shall have that privilege in the end. We only want to know so we know how to protect ourselves from them should we ever run into one as powerful as this.

That was the end of the first entry. The first. The journal had dated entries through to the end of 1900; how long had the trials gone on for? Did they keep him starved and brutalized for that entire time?

Beyond revulsion she knew she had to keep on going through it. Alucard would most likely never be willing to speak of this—even if she ordered him, the idea of forcing him to explain how she could kill him if she wished was not something that she wanted to hear directly from the source. He was the Organization's best weapon, if there was something that he couldn't do, she couldn't have him failing with queen and country depending on him.

Despite the summer warmth and her suit jacket she felt a distinct chill in the room and shivered. Ah, lovely day, reading about my-…about HELLSING's vampire's torture, a werewolf case, and now there is a ghost in my father's office... I'll get a witch on that tomorrow morning. More likely she would handle it herself, just as she had sent the gardener's benevolent spirit on his way last summer so he would stop scaring the landscapers out of the green house.

"You know that rosemary is a kinder way to banish ghosts than sage? And I've heard that it's more ethical, if that's the sort of thing that concerns you,"

"Since when do you practice witchcraft, Alucard?"

"Its simple, master, and its less like witchcraft and more….more like magic tricks."

"I don't mind calling it what it is. Teach me."

"As you command."

And that was the monster, that was demon that her great-grandfather tortured. The monster dressed in a black suit with thick glasses to hide his eyes. The monster that drove her to Foyle's the second the sun went below the horizon and led her to the occult section so she could pick up books to study while he slept. The monster that offered to aid her during the evenings, without command or request, out of what seemed kindness. The same monster who would turn pages by reaching over her shoulder and telling her which books were useful and which were rubbish.

The one who after her father's death would effortlessly morph to a small hound and sleep at the foot of her bed effectively protecting her from the night terrors she developed afterwards?

He obeys my every word out of memory of what they did…they broke him into submission. The seals were not held by sorcery, not by sacrifice.

It was not affection, it was not earnest loyalty, but a broken will and fear that made him into what he was today. That was the legacy he spoke of, that was the legacy her father told her about on his deathbed.

Integra didn't know how long she sat there contemplating this, but it was the evening issues must have been over with, because her desk phone was buzzing with the downstairs phone's extension on the LCD screen. She turned on the intercom connection.

"Yes Walter?"

"Dinner is nearly ready sir." He sounded tired, almost bored.

"Give me a few minutes, I'll be down." Her own voice sounded strange to her, and perhaps Walter picked up on it, perhaps he was just that good at knowing things.

"Are you alright, Integra?"

"I'm fine. I'll be there." She hung up and walked out of her office, and up to her room on the other side of the manor to change for dinner.