Disclaimer: I'm not making any money from this, and I do not own any of the characters from Hellsing. I wouldn't mind if Alucard owned me though... :3

This is an idea I've been playing around with for a while now, but just recently decided to write down. It's supposed to have some really dark moments, so be prepared. Starts off a little slow, but you'll start recognizing characters in a few chapters or so. This is my first fan fiction, so tell me what you think! I LOVE reviews, so don't be afraid to say what you think. I should go ahead and tell you that I am not a gun expert or anything, so if anyone out there who knows more about them finds some mistakes, feel free to correct me.

Oh, and I'm pulling from a lot of mythologies and odd ball sources, so anyone who can identify them gets brownie points!

Terror this all consuming shouldn't be real. A ten year old girl tears through the hallways of her home, frantically looking for an exit. A monster stalks her. Not a monster born of childish fantasy that hides in the closet or under the bed. No, this monster is worse, devastatingly real, with a thirst for blood and pain, with claws to tear through anything that stands in the way of what it wants.

And it wants her.

"Run little girl! Run all you like! I'll tear you to pieces when I find you!"

She runs past the kitchen into the den, forcing herself not to look at the bloody walls or her mother's mangled body on the floor. There is no time for sadness or outrage. No time for fear, though it pumps through her bloodstream with every step she takes. There is only survival - escape from the atrocities in store for her.

She throws open the door and bolts into the downpour outside. The ground is slick with rain, making her stumble. She trips and falls hard into the ground, splattering mud all over her face and clothes. The sky rumbles angrily. It's as though the weather itself is screaming at her. Run little one! Run! Don't let him catch you!

The heavy rain and pitch black sky allow no light for her to see. But she knows the yard like the back of her hand. She veers left, throwing herself towards the barn to hide until someone comes to help.

Someone will come. She tells herself. Someone has to come.

The monster has already been here. The horses are all dead, their throats torn out and their bodies ravaged. Her eyes widen at the horror of the sight. Every living thing she has ever known and held dear is gone. Ripped apart like paper dolls and scattered like garbage.

He wont do this to me.

The doors behind her blow open furiously. The monster has found her, and there is nowhere else to run. There is nothing left but to stand and fight. He stalks towards her like an animal. The darkness engulfs him, making him a menacing shadow with glowing eyes and sharp teeth. She turns on her heel, hoping to run for the back of the barn, where perhaps she'll find a weapon.

She doesn't make it further than three steps.

"Where do you think you're going, you little brat?"

He leaps, tackling her to the ground. She cries out and struggles wildly, but his strength is too much for her. His rancid breath pours across her neck as her head is wrenched to the side. Terrified, she lets out a loud howl of anguish and despair.

"I wont die this way! I wont!"

Her cry is punctuated by a thunderous BOOM. She gasps for air as a pain more violent and intense than anything she has ever known floods through her back. The monster holding her freezes then falls into a pile of dust, as if he were nothing more than a terrible figment of her imagination.

But something is wrong. The horrible pain in her back is real, as is the pile of ash that once was her attacker. She can't move, can't breathe without liquid fire tearing through her body like a thousand jackhammers. Footsteps approach, crackling on the dirt and hay. Through the agony, her heart thumps madly against her chest.

She refuses to die. She wont lie there and let whatever new horror behind her have it's way. A rush of stubborn determination floods through her small body. Tears running down her face from effort, she begins to crawl toward the back wall. She throws out her arm and frantically searches for something she can use. Her fingers tighten around an old broken broom handle.

The footsteps pause beside her trembling body. She feels the brush of heavy fabric across the backs of her legs, and the rustling of someone leaning over her. Pulling her weapon close and gathering her resolve, she rolls onto her back and lashes out. The survival instinct takes over, letting her ignore her injury as she stabs the broom handle wildly. A powerful gloved hand grabs her wrist and twists it, forcing her to drop the weapon.

"Well, well... what a vicious little thing you are."

The voice is dark and smooth, washing over her ears like black velvet. She blinks past the pain and attempts to focus on it's source. There is little light in the barn, but a flash of lightning illuminates the figure above her. She catches a glimpse of wild black hair and piercing crimson eyes before it goes black again.

"I will not die." she chokes out.

The creature - for no man would have eyes like that - tightens his grip on her wrist and chuckles.

"What will you do child? You are injured. Helpless. Now, what will a little girl with a stick do to me?"

She blinked, forcing back the tears that she knew were already pouring down her face. She could feel her senses dimming. Even the pain in her back was receding to a dull throb.

"I...will not...die..."

Another flash of lightning lit up his face. He was looking at her with intense curiosity, as if he were seeing something he didn't expect. Like she were some sort of puzzle or maze without a solution. He grabbed her chin and looked deeply into her eyes. Studying her.

"Ah..." he said softly, as if realizing some great secret. "No wonder. Nahual..."

As the barn fell dark once more, she felt his arms slide under her body and lift her up.

"Clever, brave girl." he purred into her ear. "Hold onto your strength. You will not die tonight."

She was dimly aware of the rain when he stepped outside. Colors and lights flashed by her, and the wind whipped at her face, as if she were flying. But she couldn't be flying. The life was leaving her body, and it was all she could do to remain conscious. Her eyes fluttered as the world around her dimmed to an ashen gray.

"Be strong little one. You must grow into your spirit. When you are ready, I will come for you..."

Syn woke with a start. She had fallen asleep on the couch again and her back hated her for it. She pushed herself into a sitting position, rolling her shoulders to work out the soreness.

"The boogie man visit you again?"

She looked up at the man writing quietly at the old mahogany desk nearby. He looked in his early thirties, but the streaks of gray in his brown hair betrayed his age.

"I asked you to wake me up Jonas." she said with a frown. "I can't help having bad dreams when I sleep on this damn sofa."

The gentle scratching of his pen halted. "Show a little respect girl. That 'damn sofa' is a lot older than you."

She snorted. "I wasn't aware that respecting your elders included inanimate objects."

"Being inanimate doesn't mean it doesn't have feelings.

Syn grabbed one of the cushions and threw it at him. "You are such a freak."

Jonas caught the cushion just before it connected with his head. "I'm not the one who talks in my sleep, now am I?" He took a sip from his coffee mug before turning his quiet, contemplative gaze onto her. "Are you alright Syn? You've been doing this a lot lately."

She let out a deep sigh and cradled her head in her hands. Her sanguine hair pooled around her, making her feel like she was surrounded by an ocean of blood. It didn't help her mood very much.

"I feel like I'm going crazy." she said quietly. "It's the same thing, over and over again. I can't tell the difference between my memories and my imagination anymore..."

That was the understatement of the year. Even as a small child, she remembered having weird dreams. But ever since the night she and her mother were attacked, the memory of it replayed in her mind as she slept. But instead of fading away with time as it should have, it simply got worse. It had been almost ten years, and the dreams were becoming more vivid and insistent.

Jonas was noticeably silent. He knew her moods almost better than she did, and trying to talk to her when she was like this never turned out well.

"I have something for you."

Syn looked up. Jonas motioned to a wooden case laying on his desk.

"I've been working on it for several months, and it's finally finished." he told her. "It was going to be a birthday present, but you might as well have it now."

Intensely curious, she got up and walked over to his desk. She lifted the lid of the case and gasped at what lay inside. A beautifully designed black handgun. Jonas was a custom gunsmith, and ever since she had come to live with him, she had developed a deep respect and love for weapons. She had even taken up designing a few of her own. But this... this was something that could only have come from Jonas' mind. Intricate Celtic knots ran the length of the barrel and down the grip.

"Did you use a Browning model 380 for the design?" she asked, lifting it from the case.

Jonas grinned. "Very good." he praised. "I tinkered with the barrel a bit and increased the magazine capacity to allow for 12 rounds, but otherwise it's very similar to the 380."

She noticed a small engraving on the left side of the barrel. Elegant cursive script spelled out the word 'Lasher'.

"You named it after an Ann Rice character?" she asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but Syn knew him better than to think that it was unintentional. She adored the books about the Mayfair Witches, and the demon Lasher was one of her favorite characters. She smiled to herself and put the gun back into it's case.

"I love it Uncle Jonas." She leaned down to hug him in thanks. "But my birthday isn't for another three months. Why..."

"Because you're my niece, and I wanted you to have it."

His interjection was punctuated by a loud, vicious sounding cough. Jonas doubled over, attempting to catch his breath. Syn frowned. Jonas' heart and lungs were terrible, and the long hours he kept only made them worse. Her concern only deepened when she saw the red stains at the corners of his mouth.

"Go to bed." She instructed, grabbing his coffee mug so he wouldn't have an excuse to stay up. "It's way past your bedtime, and I don't feel like babysitting you all night."

Jonas glared at her, then straightened and let out a deep sigh. "Oh fine. Be a bitch about it."

As she ushered him away from his desk and down the hall, Syn wondered how much longer she would have him.