Well...um...hello again ya'll. It's been four months since I've updated this fic. A lot has happened since then. I graduated from my second year of high school. I turned sixteen. (Yes, it's been a sixteen/fifteen-year-old writing this.) I went on a school trip to Germany. I bought a German-translated manga volume of Black Butler. I went to the Mall of America and binge-bought 150 dollars worth of manga. I wrote a Kill Bill/Hetalia crossover full of action, cursing, and bloodshed. I've also been writing on a Hetalia fanfiction that involves neither pairings nor yaoi. I started driving my dad's car. I got my first really big paycheck from my summer job. Other than that, nothing much happened. I must say though, after all that, it's nice to be back in the Hellsing fandom. *happy sigh* People know me here, I have my highest-grossing fic in this category, and Hellsing is fun to write. Yeah, it's good to be back.

July 19, 2015

3rd Person POV:

As Captain Hans Gunsche stood by silently and watched the (very few) remaining Hellsing soldiers scurry about, fetching medicinal supplies and more ammunition, he shifted the semi-unconscious Scrap in his lap. She had stopped crying and whimpering, but was obviously in no condition to get out of his lap, much less be of any use in combat. A concerned inspection showed that the gouges around her now-human ears and eyes had stopped bleeding, but they still were –quite naturally– causing her pain.

Seras, standing sentry by the windows in case of further attack, saw Scrap's condition as well, and was even more worried than the werewolf, in no small part because the blood caked around the wounds made them seem far worse than they actually were. From her perspective, it seemed like Scrap had torn her ears to ribbons, and gouged out her own eyes. Leaning her Harkonnen cannon against the wall, she quickly approached the duo, and the werewolf looked up at her as Scrap made a small shuffling movement, curling up against his stomach. He nodded cordially towards the vampiress, and Seras realized she had no idea what to say, scuffing her foot on the blood-stained carpet. "Um, er…"

Something bumped against her hip, and she looked down at the medical pack Gunsche held out to her.

She looked up, startled, and he pointed to her arm…or what was left of it. Honestly, in her worry over Scrap and the other men, she hadn't even noticed the bolts of pain lancing through her whenever she moved the stump, but now that she saw it, she gasped and flinched. "Oh! Um, right!" she stuttered, grabbing the medical pack and then pausing uncertainly, all too aware of her condition. With one hand, she could neither open the pack nor dress her wounds, and she looked at the werewolf again as his eyes moved to her arm, then the stump expectantly.

For Hans's part, he was somewhat confused as to the Draculina's hesitation. She clearly needed to stop the bleeding, but she hadn't summoned a familiar, nor even sprouted shadows to take care of it on her own. He had pointed to her stump to remind her of that need; the medical pack was for the men around the room, once she had healed herself. As he placed a gentle hand on Scrap's braided hair, a swift inquiry filtered into her confused little mind, one that got an equally swift, if somewhat garbled, answer. He removed the hand, looking up at this –Seras Victoria– with new respect. He didn't think he had ever even heard of a vampire denying their bloodlust for this long, and especially considering the circumstances around them, it was impressive.

It also explained quite neatly why she hadn't summoned shadows or familiars; there were none to be had.

Well, that was easily fixed. Hans quickly stood, placing Scrap on the ground, and stepped towards the vampiress, making her squeak and flinch at their height difference; the werewolf towered over her, the very tips of her spiky blonde hair reaching up to his chest…maybe. He peeled off one of his gloves, then rolled up the sleeve of his greatcoat, exposing the tanned skin of his wrist. Seras blinked at him, then quickly realized what he was offering and waved her only remaining hand in front of her face. "No, no, no! I'm fine, I don't need it! Really!" she stammered, and he raised an eyebrow at her, then sighed through his nose and pulled out his notepad, quickly scribbling something out and handing it to her. Seras looked down, scanning through the methodical script with surprise.

While your goal of staying human is noble, you cannot afford to be weak right now. The men that have died here tonight could have lived if you had been stronger; then again, they might have been killed. You have no way of knowing what would have happened if you were a fully blooded vampire instead of a weakened fledgling. But now you have a chance to protect all the victims of London, something you cannot do unblooded, missing an arm, and recently spellbound. I will not give you much; a few drops, nothing more. If will give you strength for the battle ahead.

As she was reading, she heard a soft hissing sound, and an absolutely delicious scent suddenly assailed her nostrils, making her look up blindly as her eyes dilated and turned promised, the werewolf captain had neatly sliced open his wrist with a sharpened fingernail, and only a few droplets of blood had leaked out before he allowed his natural healing to seal the wound. As she stared at the ruby drops, she felt her throat catch and burn, the nerves in her fingertips tingling as a primal, ancient hunger rose in her, the hunger she always had to fight when she was around blood. She tried to weigh her options carefully, remembering how wrong it felt to drink even the scant stream of blood Integra had provided earlier, but it was hard, hard to fight against instincts she had never had before, hard to resist the damning temptation.

Eat. Drink. Be merry. What was that from, again? A movie? A book? A show? Did it even matter?

Her eyes darted away, trying to see anything but the red stream of blood, and rested on the wounded and dying men scattered about the room. She could have protected them. She winced and looked away again, her ruby-red gaze lightning on Scrap, so pitiful, so broken. She could have helped her. Finally, still desperately avoiding the towering giant before her, she looked out the window, and saw the beginning glow of the sunrise match the fiery light of the burning city. Her gaze hardened, and she looked back at the werewolf, clenching her fists.

The night has started lightening. The day will dawn. Without regard even for the light of the sun, I fly towards the dead city. A dawn dispatch!

She leaned forward, and drank.

The Major watched happily as Maxwell screamed into the microphone, his hands clasped behind his back. "That boy…he ist not bad when he puts his mind to it." he chuckled, listening to the steady "whop-whop-whop" of the helicopter approach. He then raised a negligent hand and called to the vampires below, knowing that even over the sound of the approaching airships and explosions, they would hear him. "All Battalion forces, achtung! Counter-UV Ray equipment! Assemble!" he commanded, watching the missing mass of brown-coated soldiers beneath him suddenly form into a churning river, streaking with all of their might towards the encroaching battle, shrugging on masks and calling out for their comrades to join the assembly.

Schrödinger briefly flickered out of existence behind him, then popped up again, his ears tilted back slightly. "Herr Major…um, the Captain, he ist-" he began uncertainly, but the Major chuckled and shook his head. "He hast joined up with his half-child, then, has he?" he asked indulgently, and Schrödinger nodded several times, abashed. "Es tut mir leid, Major. I should have-" he tried again, but the plump warmonger smiled and waved it aside. "It matters not. After all, one can hardly expect the last member of his race to abandon his protégée, can one?" he asked, and Schrödinger, having little opinion on the matter, shrugged. The Major laughed aloud, folding his arms behind his back once more. "Well, we vill see how it turns out! I, for one, can't wait to see how the tables vill turn!"

10.21 AM, USA Central Time