Seig Heil, Mein Major

Chapter 1: Wiedergeburt

Seig Heil! Seig Heil! Seig Heil!

On a downed zeppelin in the heart of London, a trio of odd figures lay. One male, and two females, situated on opposite sides of a large room. Broken equipment and shattered glass surround the three.

Of the two women, one wears a black blazer and black dress pants, a white buttoned shirt, black shoes and a red cravat. She also wears a pair of circular wire-rimmed glasses, and a dark green trench coat. Blue of eyes, this is Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Van Hellsing: Leader of the Hellsing Operation and one of the most influential people in England.

The other wears a dark red uniform, torn in various places, as well as black thigh-high stockings, ankle fold brown boots, and brown gloves. Her eyes are a vibrant, literally glowing red. This is Seras Victoria: Vampire bodyguard and former police girl.

The third and final member, like his two companions, is blonde in hair color and light of eyes, though his are a bright gold rather than blue or red. Somewhat on the heftier side of things, his hair is oddly styled, with a longer section coming up and then down again on the front left side of his head. For clothing he wears an expensive white suit with a long matching overcoat, white gloves, glasses, and a black tie with a red gem on it.

Of course, said suit, coat, gloves, and tie are covered in a mixture of red blood and darkly tinted oil. The glasses are broken on the left side, and the man himself appears to be missing most of his left side, exposing both guts and machinery.

This is The Major, his real name discarded a long time ago. Leader of the Millenium Nazi Reich, master manipulator and orator, as well as war enthusiast. Over the last several hours, he had lead an army of pseudo-vampires in a siege against London itself, turning the city into a burning hellscape.

He had even just witnessed the final culmination of all his efforts result in success. Alucard, Dracula, the monster with the body of a man, had just unwittingly fallen into The Major's trap. Having drunk the blood of experimental soldier Schrodinger, Alucards very mind had been torn to shreds, and scattered about space and time, seemingly killing him.

The Major couldn't be happier, despite the fact that he was staring down two very irate women who no doubts have plans to expedite the dreadfully slow process of bleeding out. Honestly, the whole situation was, in his eyes, perfect.

A bloody war resulting in thousands of deaths, his mortal foe vanquished at last, and even his own violent end had come for him. After so many years, so many decades, waiting for this day, The Major was jubilant beyond words.

"I planted the seeds of this war half a century ago...now, show me what has blossomed."

Slowly, and with dramatic flair that the Major can appreciate given his own tendency for over-the-top behaviour, Integra takes off her coat, and pulls out a gun while walking towards the Major.

His remaining gloved hand reaches down, grabbing his own pistol, which he aims at the figure approaching him. He pulls the trigger, sending a bullet flying past her head, missing by nearly a full two feet.

Part machine he may have been, but that really only increased his life-span and did little in the way of enhancing his physical capabilities. Case in point, another bullet rips from his gun, this time missing by another two feet on the opposite side of Integra's head.

In all his life, he had somehow managed to never once hit any target smaller than the broad-side of a barn. Another bullet fired from his gun, this one hitting the ground at Integras feet. Another shot, another miss, over and over.

Finally, Integra stands not five feet away from The Major, and raises her own gun for the first time. Simultaneously, two bullets launch into the air between them. One buries itself into The Majors head, sending a small splatter of blood into the air above him as his head jerks backwards. The other bullet only just barely hits Integra, ripping through the side of her left eye but completely missing anything more important.

"I finally hit something." His smile, which was perpetually on his face, stretched from ear to ear, imperceptibly widens just a little. As his body slams into the cold hard metal beneath him, his mind can only focus on one thing.

"Ah, excellent... This was exactly...what I hoped my war would be." And with that, The Major closes his eyes, his smile not fading an inch, and the world slowly falls away from him.

At first everything was unbelievably hot, as if the blazing iron of the fired bullet had somehow spread throughout his body. Then everything was freezing cold, as the machinery in him stopped ticking and his body started to shut down, and it's methods of homeostasis were rendered inert. Evidently he had spent too much time around the Doktor, if he was analyzing his own death in such a clinical fashion.

After the cold came, it went just as easily, along with all other feeling. Finally, all that was left was the sensation of simply existing, which The Major expected to fade away as well any moment now, something that both rankled and excited him.

The thought of death had never scared him, and he had even spent many a night looking forward to his own demise, intentionally leaving holes in his plans that others might exploit as the fair lady Integra and her pet Vampires had eventually done.

However, on the other hand it bothered him intensely that he might simply disappear. For fifty years, he had forced his body to survive, running off of the Doktors mad science and sheer determination. His will, his undeniably human spirit, that was what had kept him going for so long, both literally and metaphorically. The thought that it might simply fade away went against the very core of his being.

'What was the phrase? Ah, yes. Do not go gently into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.' Yes, that sounded more like him, The Major thought.

Not that it would make much difference, he believes. The wounds he had sustained were severe enough that even had the Doktor been in the room when The Major had been injured, there was no way he would be able to survive. Then why? Why was he still aware enough to think about all this?

The darkness surrounding him had not lessened, and any attempt at movement was met with failure to so much as feel any of his limbs, even the ones he hadn't recently lost. All in all, The Major was increasingly becoming bored, which for him is the worst of all fates.

'Ah, perhaps this is Hell after all? I might have found some enjoyment from pitchforks and torches, especially if I could observe others sharing my fate, so perhaps nothingness is my punishment.'

As time dragged on, and the concept of boredom became more and more pronounced, The Major became less and less pleased. If he had a face, he might have even dropped his trademark smile. This lack of existence was infuriating.

'Nein! I refuse! I shall not simply sit here and wait for the silence to take my mind. Nor shall I let myself fade away. I am me. I own every part of myself. Mein Herz, meine Seele, mein Leben, they are mine! I am me!'

Slowly, light starts to develop around The Major's peripherals. A great, burning light, golden in color much like his hair and eyes had been. It was as if a pyre had been started, and The Majors very soul was both fuel and blaze combined.

"I. Am. Me!" And with that announcement of pure determination, the golden glow burns brightly in the void, just as blinding as if The Major had stared at the sun itself. Suddenly, agony rips through his body once more.

Desperately trying - and failing miserably - to hold back howls of pain, a portion of The Majors mind is curious on how he can even feel pain anymore, as well as the fact that he can clearly feel what would be a left arm and leg, which he was distinctly lacking last he checked. As his mind starts to shut down in order to deal with the experience, he can faintly hear voices.

"Lively one, isn't he?" Realising that he not only has eyes once more, but that they're closed, he tries to open at least one of them, only for it to fall closed just as swiftly, his only vision of the world around him being a large curtain of white.

And so The Major sleeps. Honestly, it's the best sleep he's gotten in ages. The knowledge that he had achieved at least one of his grand goals in life - the endless war was kind of a bust, but so long as humanity existed so would war, so he doesn't feel too bad about that - lead to him actually enjoying slumber for the first time in a long while, instead of viewing it as a momentary reprieve from his near constant efforts to make sure his numerous plans panned out properly.

When his eyes open once more, he leisurely takes his time cataloging his situation. And the results of this catalogue make him raise an eyebrow, which takes a considerable amount of effort.

On all sides are great white bars that seem to stretch upward for quite some time. Beneath him is a sea of blue fabric. His body, while about as pudgy as he remembers it, is oddly proportioned. And he most certainly remembers the fact that he had not worn a diaper in a span of time working on a century.

Moving his mouth he spits out a hunk of plastic. A pacifier. How quaint. Of course, his logical mind wars against the rising anticipation of his inner, mostly hidden, otaku side. He recognises this. Well, not this exact scene, but close enough to it.

Taking another look around his new chambers proves his otaku side correct. He appears to have been reborn as a babe, laying still within a crib, the room around him no doubt his new residence, or perhaps simply a nursery. The distant door, perhaps no more than two or three meters away in reality, looks simply gargantuan and the pale blue and brilliant white decorations on the walls look suited to what one might see in a baby boys new domain.

A quick shuffle of his hips reveals that he is in fact still male, not that it particularly mattered to him. Even before he had been more machine than man, he had never been particularly popular with the ladies. It was simply another box on his mental checklist to cross off.

Suddenly, with a cacophonous sound that nearly gives The Major a headache, the door opens up, and a maid enters the room. Fairly pale of skin, and dark in hair and eye, she moves calmly towards the newly reborn Major, before sweeping him up.

"Good morning, young master. It is time for breakfast." It takes the Major a moment to recall how exactly most infants are fed, and another moment for his brain to restart after the thought runs through his mind.

Thankfully, before he can go through the process of figuring out how he would feel about being breastfed, the maid pulls out a plastic bottle with a soft plastic nipple, which is summarily shoved into his mouth.

A tad grumpy, he sucks away at the thing, only to have to force himself to not gag on the taste. How on earth were children able to drink this stuff? Perhaps it's his fault, having used a sizable amount of the funding he and his army had...acquired over the years, so to speak, in order to feed himself with only the finest of meals.

The second worst five minutes of his life later - nearly dying the first time still takes the place at number one - and the born-again-nazi was placed back into his bed, his eyes feeling oddly heavy.

'Mein Gott, i'd forgotten how much time children use to simply sleep. This is going to be a long ordeal, waiting for my body to be developed enough to figure out where I am.' And with that, he slept once more. When he awoke again, several hours later, he took some time to ponder his situation.

A somewhat secret hobby of The Major's had been spending several evenings enjoying the various forms of media that Japan produced. They may not have been too much help during World War 2, but they made up for it with such hilarious works of art, at least in his opinion.

A common theme among a certain section of their works would be the concept of 'isekai', or 'a new world', in which a character found themselves mysteriously transported to an alternate reality. It would appear the The Major had found himself in a similar situation, and it filled his new infantile heart with glee.

A new world, with new people. An all new canvas upon which to paint his vision. Is this what the Furor had felt, looking out upon Germany the first time he had had his visions of a Millenium Empire? Well, minus the racism.

A Nazi The Major may have been, but honestly, it was only for the violence. He could care less what color skin a person had, or what chunk of dirt they called home. All of them bleed the same red blood in the end. War is a universal constant, uncaring of who you were or what you were fighting for.

It was pondering what sort of worlds he might now live in that The Major finally met his new 'family' on his second day in this world. The door had opened, revealing another maid - for it was never the same one twice - who picked him up. Instead of feeding him though, she started walking off, taking The Major with her.

Taking this time to finally learn about his home, The Major came to one gleeful revelation rather quickly. Apparently, his new family was loaded. The short five minute jaunt took The MAjor across enough floor space that he can safely call this place a mansion, and he spied no less than a dozen maids and half as many butlers scattered about, taking care of one task or another.

Statues were littered about the place, as were portraits of a family of white haired folk. All of them with the last name 'Schnee' on the plaques beneath the paintings. Taking a peak into a nearby reflective surface, The Major finally spies his new appearance.

Dazzling blue eyes, and hair that was closer to silver than it was white. He supposes that this makes him a 'Schnee' as well. How fortunate. Here's hoping he doesn't end up having to become half machine again.

Finally, the maid ends up delivering The Major to a room, with three other people. One, a slightly older looking gentleman with the beginnings of a mustache on his lips. Another two are young girls, both of which older than The Major's new form, though by varying amounts.

The smaller one he would suppose is only one or two years old, with the other being five or six. All three have the same white hair that would appear so common in the primary family of the house, making them not only Schnees, but also The Major's new 'family'. Curiously, the figure who would no doubt be his mother is nowhere to be seen.

"Ah, thank you Clara. I'll take him from here." The older male stands from his desk, and walks around to take you from the maid.

Handing The Major's soft and vulnerable form over, the maid bows before swiftly exiting the room. The man sighs before slinking back into his chair, practically falling into it.

Now that The Major looks, while the youngest seems mostly confused and curious, the older girl looks a bit sad, as if trying to hide it, and the man looks as though he hasn't slept in a few days. Speaking of, he starts to speak.

"Hello there son. Nice to meet you. I'm Jacques Schnee, your dad. These're your sisters, Winter" the older one gives a nod "and Weiss." the younger one practically bounces up to the now named Jacques to say hello to her 'brother'.

"Your name is Whitley Schnee. The newest, and sadly last addition to our family. I know you won't understand for a long time, but I want you to know that I don't blame you."

The man keeps talking for a while, and while The Major - or rather Whitley as it would appear his new name is - makes sure to listen, his mind is on other things. Apparently his entrance into this world was as violent as his exit from his last.

Oh well. Not like he knew the woman, and he doubts that even if he did, he'd really care. He'd seen far more than enough death in his extended lifetime to feel remorse over something completely out of his control. If anything, he might feel a hint of disdain over the fact that the ladies death hadn't been his choice.

And that was how The Major, Nazi soldier and leader of Millenium, ended up with a new name and a new face in an alternate reality. Across his infantile face, a smile so wide and filled with genuine joy and excitement spread from ear to ear, making him look like he was half-way through a laugh.

His father, unaware of what he had wrought upon his home world, merely stroked his sons hair and continued talking about anything and everything. Although the inhabitants of this world - who only know it as 'Remnant' - didn't know it yet, a third player had been added to the shadowy game of chess being played with their lives as pieces. What a shame then, that he was never much good at chess. He much prefered Risk.

Seig Heil! Seig Heil! Seig Heil!