Summary: The Dwarf in the Flask Homunculus summons 'God' using the collective souls of Amestris to become a 'perfect being'. Unfortunately for him, the creature he's pulled into himself isn't one to be harnessed and controlled without one hell of a fight...

A/N: It seems that Hellsing/FMA crossovers aren't all that popular, but after watching Brotherhood, I could NOT get this idea out of my head.

Disclaimer:(for entire story) Being this is FANFICTION dot net, I obviously do not own either of the two worlds i'm mashing together. Hellsing and Fullmetal Alchemist belong to their respective creators, the only thing I get from this is whatever amusement I can wring from this storyline. Oh, wait, i own any and all spelling etc. mistakes. Thats all my bad. Spellcheck is only as good as whoever programs it ( i blame YOU bill gates. why? Falafels. What? My answer is irrelevant to the question? Well that in and of itself should be suffiecent answer... ;D)

Warnings: This story is rated M for eventual violence, profanity, lewd behavior, dark humor, etc. There will be no pairings. Slight canon tweaking may occur, asides from the glaringly obvious bits that come with being a crossover.

Chpt. 1: The Void

To say it was dark here would have been inaccurate. To be dark, there would have to be a promise of light, but there was none. This place, this void, had never known the sun, never known the artificial lights created by mankind to stave off the fear that came with twilight. It was nothing really, an emptiness that was never truly empty, a place that by all means should not exist. It was the kind of place that the laws of physics, and even the laws of God said should not be.

And yet here he was.

Had he been in a more cynical mood, he might have suggested to no one in particular that a few street lamps be installed. Not that there where streets mind you, at least not any he was aware of. He was not, however, in such a mood. Any sort of emotion he may have felt up the realization of what he was going to have to do had quickly died, lost before it really began. There was no point to them, emotions. They would serve no real purpose, asides from leaving him feeling drained and holy unhappy when they deemed to leave him. And so, he felt nothing.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

But with every foe, no, every piece of him that he fell his subconscious had to push away the mounting storm of emotions. To say that the No Life King had no problem killing the lives inside him he'd spent so much time and energy gathering would be like sticking to the theory that the sun was the one rotating around the earth. It was plausible, on the surface, but once you step back and reevaluate things you may come to realize the truth you've held so dear only exists on the surface.

Tearing through them, one by one, two by two, the anger grew. It wasn't that he felt anything for them, these things that had once been people. If he had they wouldn't have been there in the first place. No, it was the fact that they were his, that angered him. That he had to destroy himself utterly and completely before he could live again all because of some damn Nazi bastard who didn't get the hint the first time irked him. Not that he had been complaining earlier mind you. Oh no, in fact he'd had a hell of a laugh then. After all, it'd been a long time since he'd gotten to cause that much death and destruction all in one sitting. Oh sure, the Judas Priest abandoning his principles, his humanity to become a monster of god had annoyed him, quite a bit in fact. And Walters betrayal? Well, he'd be lying if he said that one didn't come as a major blow below the belt. (he had lied of course, but that's besides the point) Yes, asides from those few brick walls in the road he'd had a marvelous time of it.

Until now, obviously. Trapped within himself, what an asinine thing. He'd still take it over being locked back in the dungeons for another decade or three. At least here he got to tear something apart whenever he wanted. It just sucked that it had to be him he was tearing apart.

He looked over the top of his current victims head, taking note of the dead eyes staring back at him. Some of them held uncertainty, and others recognition. And with that recognition came malice, and with that violence. Although whether the recognition came from seeing him tear apart their fellows or from something else he wasn't quite sure. As far as his experience went, they shouldn't remember, who he was or who they'd been. But then again…

He pushed the thought away. It was useless, like so much else in this place.

'923...924' The souls fell easily before him, dissipating away into nothingness as he mentally added them to his counter. After all, who wouldn't be curious to know just how many people they had inside them? Especially considering many had died at the hands of others, swept up into the mad flow of life he'd summoned to himself from the decimated streets of what was once London.

"Nine hundred twenty five!"

The skull beneath his boot crunched enticingly, even though by all means it shouldn't have. Souls being incorporeal and all. But the hell if that stopped him. Whether it was a bi product of his mind seeping through into this impossible place or further proof of his waxing and waning sanity, the fact remained that it happened. And he was just bloody fine with it, thank-you-very-much. Besides, either option probably led to the same conclusion.

"Nine hundred thirty!" He wrenched his forearm from the chest before him, then promptly inserted it into another with glee. The manic grin he'd become known for sliding easily onto his lips, promptly hiding whatever displeasure he felt at the sheer waste of this act, this, this almost suicide.

He felt his grin split, heard the laughter as it left his throat but on the whole felt wholly unconnected from it. The most he really registered was the fact that it did not, in fact echo back to him. And even then, he really only noted it with half a thought, having already noticed this many times before.

"Nine hundred forty two!" this too served no real purpose. There was no reason to announce the numbers that had fallen before him, no one to shock and awe, no one to horrify. Truthfully, he just liked hearing the sound of his own voice. It was soothing, in a way and helped stave off the feeling of being completely and utterly alone. The souls didn't count, of course.

"Nine hundred fifty thr-" He paused, both mid word and mid strike, attention immediately moving towards the vast nothing-ness that surrounded him. He waited, ignoring the man impaled halfway up his forearm, for whatever it was that he'd felt to reappear. He knew it would, that being the way of these kinds of things, it was just a matter of-and there, again. Like someone was rattling his bones from the inside out. With an unceremonious tug he dislodged himself from his current victim, gaze moving smoothly over the void itself. The feeling came again, stronger, and he noted the way the nothingness rippled as if it were water. His eyes narrowed, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good. All the possibilities that played out almost instantaneously in his mind where ill in nature, growing more gruesome the longer they ran.

It was the way the hairs on the back of his neck took that moment to stand up that he realized it was behind him, and whatever it was, it could see him. He turned slowly to look over his shoulder, twisting his upper body in a way that might have been somewhat painful had he been human. At first, there was nothing to see asides from the usual inky void and the meandering souls. It was the motion at the top of his vision that caught his attention. Tilting his head up he saw it, or more accurately, saw the side effects of whatever it was. The void was rippling, the colors changing hues in such a way as to be both subtle and blaringly obvious. And upon further inspection, he noticed a shape taking form, although he wasn't quite certain just what it was supposed to be. Despite the lack of form, he knew with no lack of certainty that it was aware. He could feel it as if it were an entity crawling along his skin. It was safe to say that every hair on his body was standing at attention. Whatever it was, it was something to be reckoned with, and he would have it no other way.

The feeling intensified, the core deep rattling in his bones reaching a frequency that both stilled and set them ablaze. He noted out of the corner of his eye that the souls he'd been engaging had backed off considerably, leaving him standing in open space.

"Cowards."

The words had no sooner left his lips than the ceiling (or was it the wall? He couldn't really tell) bulged inward towards him, coming alive with what looked to be poorly drawn veins. The distortion grew in size, gaining shape as it did so, leaving the void stretched taut and thin. Splashes of color appeared, as if being drawn from the outside world, fading only to be replaced until there was nothing, only a dull grey white reminiscent of fog. By now the disturbance had taken shape, the edges of it cutting into the fabric of his inner reality. He could feel the strain, feel the corners of the thing cutting into him as if it where a dull blade pressed against his skin. The veins, now stretched thin, squirmed as if in protest as the thing pressed forward until he could no longer see them. Every sensation he'd felt up until this point reached their peak, and had he been a mortal man it most likely would have incapacitated him. Instead, it only furthered his excitement.

"Come on then, show yourself! I wish to see my opponent! Don't tell me this void is to much for you.."

His taunt hung in the air, and for a moment everything stilled. Excitement filled him, flooding his veins and drowning his earlier displeasure as he recognized this moment, the moment before all hell would break loose. And oh did it. Just not in a way he would have expected. The void, stretched taut, ripped, at last allowing the rectangular object entrance, and enter it did.

He frowned, having expected something more…threatening. "A door?"

At least, he assumed it was a door, albeit the largest one he'd ever seen. It stood not ten feet from him, but towered easily twice that over him, and looked to be wider than he could stretch his arms. In truth it looked more like a giant concrete slab that someone had etched designs into. The only reason he thought 'door' was because of the thin line he could see running down the center. He would have dismissed it entirely as dangerous if it wasn't for the fact that he was more sure now than ever that it was looking at him.

The soft stone-against-stone sound reverberated eerily as the slabs began to part, swinging slowly outwards toward him. By the time the thing had opened completely, he'd turned to confront whatever it was that was being concealed, eyes raking over the inner blackness. He could make nothing out past a vague outline of something taking up most of the space. He moved closer, halving the distance between him and it.

"This is it?" He called mockingly into the blackness. "How utterly boring."

At the sound of his voice the shadows shifted, throwing the object in the door into sharp relief. He had just enough time to register what it was he was looking at before it opened. A vertical eye almost as large as the door itself, iris a brilliant violet color hosting in its center a pupil larger than he. He stopped, only slightly an arms length away. This now, was interesting. He looked up towards the center of the pupil and flashed it a grin. Something in it's depths shifted, and the eye came to life, pupil dilating and fixing on him. He felt something deep inside his mind stir, a primal warning, an ancient fear; whatever it was he had little use for it, and so ignored it.

He held it's gaze, watching, waiting for it to reveal it's purpose. He was so intent on the eye that he failed to notice the way the darkness around it was shifting, forming itself. He opened his mouth to taunt it into further action, but the words died in his throat. Eyes widening, he looked down at his left arm. A black, barely substantial hand gripped his forearm, the claw like visage cutting into the fabric of his coat. His eyes swiftly followed the impossibly long arm back to its source, which was, well, nothing. No, not nothing, he realized, they stemmed form the shadows.

He pulled back, finding very little give, even with his strength. He yanked his forearm upwards, twisting it to grab hold of the defiant shadow-arm, which was surprisingly, quite solid. One swift, easy movement and he'd managed to slice through the peculiar material with his free hand, the hand on his forearm dissipating instantly. Almost instantaneously another hand shot forward to latch onto him, this one catching the wrist of his right. He repeated his earlier move (only this time in reverse) only to find that by the time he'd torn through his target, three more had latched back onto his left arm. And this time, they where the ones that yanked, forcing his arm out and away from his body. He moved to free himself only to feel his right arm catch and be yanked back and away as well. He struggled, eyes snapping back to the pupil before him. It looked back at him, contempt and sick humor swimming in its depths. Baring his fangs in defiance he pulled his arms towards his chest, fully prepared to tear the things apart with his teeth. Try as he might however, they resisted him, refusing to budge more than an inch or so.

"Well then, I guess I'll just have to drag your sorry ass out of there!"

He leaned all of his weight backwards, throwing every ounce of his strength into the task. He'd barely managed a step when he felt the now familiar pressure catch on various parts of his legs. This didn't deter him. He'd be damned if he lost a fight to a god damned eyeball. Shifting part of his attention inward he nudged his idle powers, calling forth his shadows to do his bidding. At his direction they latched onto the things that held him captive, pulling and crushing. Even more he summoned, shaping them into spikes and launching them towards the pupil. The first few didn't reach their destination, parried by the shadows within the door, so he increased their number. Finally, three hit their mark, and as they did he managed to destroy the hold the door had on him.

His victory was short lived however. Before he could parry it, a hand shot out, grabbing him roughly around the neck. He made to sever it only to find his arms yet again caught. Every attempt he made to free himself with his own shadows was countered by an endless number of the hands, and what's more, they were pulling him. He strained backwards to regain lost ground, and for awhile not only held his own but managed to gain ground. The doorway creaked and the limbs holding him shook as he pulled them farther than they were meant to go. The pupil of the great eye swiveled, looking around at the shadow hands before finally settling back on him.

He laughed at the anger he saw there, sending out more tendrils to impale it with. They hit, causing the lid to close, severing his shadows as it blinked. The eyelid retracted with a barely audible snap, pupil re-dilating to focus in on him. The eye as a whole narrowed, revealing more black space. A dozen or so more hands shot out, just barely catching hold of him, their claws tearing into his skin in an attempt to gain purchase. Catch they did, and as a unit pulled at him, their combined strength dragging him closer. He kept his body ridged, trying in vain to plant his feet firmer into a ground that didn't really exist.

His shadows lashed out, both as spikes and as his Baskerville familiars, but it was in vain. For every hand he countered two more took its place within the span of seconds, and all the while he was slowly being dragged closer to the inside of the door. He knew he was getting nowhere, and so decided a change of tactics was in order. Without warning he lunged, catching his opponent off guard. Before it could retaliate he'd lodged his arm past the elbow into the pupil, twisting it viciously for good measure. He caught the eyelid in his other hand without looking, holding it still. He could feel the things' hands trying desperately to pull him away, and so using their own strength against them, tore his arm free before bringing it back to create a new wound. He was up almost to the shoulder this time, his face inches from the glossy surface, and only the burning red of his eyes reflected.

The lid in his hand strained, trying to both open and close in an attempt to be rid of his hold. He smiled devilishly before ripping his arm free once more. The grip on his limbs and neck tightened, but he paid it no heed, surveying instead the damage he'd caused. The two arm sized holes where closing, slowly yes, but closing non the less. He tilted his head slightly, as if in thought before lashing out again, with both his arm and his shadows. He felt almost every hit land, causing the eyelid he held captive to increase it's effort tenfold. He felt the strange shadow material give, and one final tug had the lid freeing itself, seemingly oblivious to the bit of itself that'd gotten torn off. He managed to pull his arm out just as the eyelid cut across, severing the shadows he'd left impaled in the thing. The eye swept back open and he lunged again, once more stabbing his arm into the pupil.

As he made to pull out, the pupil dilated, a horrendous pressure encompassing his limb. In a matter of seconds it felt as though all the blood in his veins straight up to his shoulder had frozen. It was like being stabbed by millions of tiny needles all at once, and what was worse, it felt as though they where pulling him. His eyes immediately went to the point where the pupil ended and his arm began, his fears confirmed. He watched as inch by inch his arm disappeared into the blackness before him, his attempts to remove himself failing. And what's more, the hands latched on to him were yet again pulling his forward. Refusing to be bested, he swung his foot up, catching it on the iris and pushed in an attempt to halt his forward movement. He cast his gaze about, only to find more hands darting around his shadow defenses to latch onto his clothing anywhere they could gain purchase. He summoned more spikes, sending them crashing anywhere and everywhere they could reach, only to find no resistance. Those too where being sucked inward, and he found he was unable to recall them.

He was in past the shoulder now, a fact he did not find amusing. He pushed harder with his foot, only to feel the surface of the iris give, almost as if it had opened up to swallow him. Which it probably had. The force he'd been pitting against it backfired wonderfully, sinking his leg in up to the mid thigh. He struggled valiantly, but it was in vain. Within no time half of him was awkwardly sticking out while the rest of him was god knows where. He was running out of options, the last few choices left him not ones he was really looking forward to. Basically it was either sever himself with his own shadows, or plunge head first into an angry bloody eyeball. And he had a nasty feeling that either way, he was going to end up in the fucking thing.

He fixed the depths of the pupil with one final, defiant stare. "Fine, I'll bring the fight to you, you bloody piece of shit!"

A quick shift of his weight found him plunging into icy darkness, the hands refusing to let go even when he'd been wholly submerged. He struggled, but now there was nothing to exert his force against. The forward motion was making him feel light headed, and the cold was seeping down to a place where even he could be bothered by it. It was as though he was being dragged along the ocean floor, crushed by thousands of miles of water that had never known the warm touch of the sun. The lightheadedness increased, his awareness slipping as if he wasn't getting enough oxygen, at odds with the fact that he didn't need to breath.

A speck of slowly growing white appeared in his vision, and for a moment he was gripped with the horrible, and wonderful, idea that he was finally going to die. He crushed down the indignation at being bested by an eye, let it be destroyed by the whiteness that was slowly growing to consume him. He relaxed his straining muscles, letting the hands take him where they pleased. The last thing he registered before his mind left him was the ever present skepticism towards god, the afterlife, and his current peculiar situation.

A/N: Tell me what you think eh? I'm curious to know what you guys think about throwing Alucard into the FMAverse. Next Chapter: Alucard realizes that maybe he's not as dead as he originally thought