[Twilight/Hellsing] "Most Boring Mission Ever" (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for Twilight/Hellsing Edward/Alucard sparking vampires must die Been a little while since I watched Hellsing (or read the manga, or read Twilight for that matter). Blood, violence and character death.
Reports had come in to Hellsing Headquarters of a sudden rash of cattle mutilations in the countryside of Wales: sheep and cows with their throats ripped open and the bodies completely drained of blood. The local police had tried to pass it off as the work of wolves, but wolves had been extinct in the British Isles for several centuries. All in all, it made for a passingly good cover story to divert the masses and satisfy the media, neither of whom really thought to ask too many questions when offered an explanation that at least made sense.
Sir Integra knew better than this: the killings had all the ear marks of a vampire hunt, but no humans had been directly harmed, at least yet. Even still, their police liaison argued that while the lives of the locals might not be at stake, their livelihoods were, since many of the attacks had taken place on the smaller farms, whose owners could not afford to lose any more livestock.
Normally, she hesitated to send Alucard out for a simple incursion like this and she would leave it to some of the other covert ops units that worked in the shadows, but this warranted a quick clean up before it got further out of hand.
The following night, Alucard and his back up unit of skilled human operatives descended on the distant sheep pasture of the next farm that seemed most likely for the vampires to hit upon, on their next raid. The farmer had even agreed to have one of her own sheep slaughtered and the remains laid out to serve as bait, to draw the vampires out into the open.
Alucard, pacing the cropped grass under a waning moon, simmered quietly, the scent of the slaughtered sheep making him hungry. Never mind that it came from a mere beast, and never mind the packaged stuff that came from rejected blood donations, it made him think of hunting, of scenting a potential victim's fear and pursuing them, then moving in for the kill...
He lifted his head, scenting something else on the night breeze, a scent vaguely resembling his own, but different, somehow weaker, as if tainted by something that diluted its nature. He knew that half-vampires were merely the stuff of legend and wishful thinking on the part of deluded romantics, longing for immortality, but the scent made him wonder if there might not be something to the legends.
"Alucard, any sight or scent of the target?" the voice of the commander came over his earpiece.
"No sight, but there is a a scent," Alucard replied, with a dark hint of delight. Something moved in the bushes, and a figure emerged, a young man, the moonlight glinting off his skin, casting a shimmer over it like the surface of a diamond.
Alucard stared, head tilted. Well, this was something he had not seen before, either in his mortal life or his immortal no-life. He veiled himself, moving closer, keeping his keen eyes on the creature as it roved about the pasture. At length, it found the sheep carcass, pausing before it, licking its lips, but quivering, even taking a step back, as if it were afraid of the bloodied animal.
He stepped closer to the creature, almost within arms reach across the sheep carcass, then lifted the veil. The young man -- scent or not, he would hardly deign to call it a vampire -- took a step back from him, his golden-brown eyes wide, as if he started at the sight of the interloper.
"Well then, will you not eat what remains of that animal?" Alucard demanded.
"Who are you?" the young man demanded.
"The better question belongs to me to ask, and that would be what are you?" Alucard asked, curling his upper lip back from his fangs.
The young man looked at him, non-plussed by the sight: at least he did not run or scream in fear, but that disappointed Alucard. The chase would have made the night far less dull. "You're a vampire."
"Yes, I am, but what are you?" Alucard asked, reaching out with his mind to touch the young man's mind.
"I am Edward Cullen, I am a vampire, too," the young man replied.
A chuckle rose in Alucard's chest and he let the sound ripple out into the night. How foolish and silly: considering his actions and considering the things Alucard could see in his head, the young man really was little different from the romantics with their pasted-on fangs, drinking red wine and passing it off as blood or taking sips of blood from other humans and calling it blood drinking. He let the chuckle grow into a hearty laugh and then a mocking cackle.
"You're a boy. You fool, were you not so pathetic, I would take offense at the way you misuse that word: you're barely more than a human, by your actions," Alucard said, regaining some of his composure. "If you can't bring yourself to even look on a dead sheep or to hunt like a true predator, you're not worthy of calling yourself a vampire, you glitter-skinned maggot."
"Excuse me, I am as much a vampire as you are," this Edward Cullen replied, stiffly.
"Just because you drink blood, that does not make you a vampire, not a true Nosferatu," Alucard replied, drawing his sidearm and leveling it, the wrist of his pistol hand propped on the opposite forearm. "So do mosquitoes: and you are just as insignificant."
"You're not going to kill me, are you? You can't shoot me with that. I can't die--"
Alucard pulled the trigger, sending a bullet flying; it splocked into a spot between the wretch's eyes. The boy staggered back a step and fell to the grass, his unlife ended.
"Target destroyed," Alucard announced, for the commander's benefit. "Mission accomplished."
Too bad the youngster had stayed there, instead of running, he thought, reholstering his handgun: it would have made the night so much more exciting. Instead, he died like the insect that he was.
Reports had come in to Hellsing Headquarters of a sudden rash of cattle mutilations in the countryside of Wales: sheep and cows with their throats ripped open and the bodies completely drained of blood. The local police had tried to pass it off as the work of wolves, but wolves had been extinct in the British Isles for several centuries. All in all, it made for a passingly good cover story to divert the masses and satisfy the media, neither of whom really thought to ask too many questions when offered an explanation that at least made sense.
Sir Integra knew better than this: the killings had all the ear marks of a vampire hunt, but no humans had been directly harmed, at least yet. Even still, their police liaison argued that while the lives of the locals might not be at stake, their livelihoods were, since many of the attacks had taken place on the smaller farms, whose owners could not afford to lose any more livestock.
Normally, she hesitated to send Alucard out for a simple incursion like this and she would leave it to some of the other covert ops units that worked in the shadows, but this warranted a quick clean up before it got further out of hand.
The following night, Alucard and his back up unit of skilled human operatives descended on the distant sheep pasture of the next farm that seemed most likely for the vampires to hit upon, on their next raid. The farmer had even agreed to have one of her own sheep slaughtered and the remains laid out to serve as bait, to draw the vampires out into the open.
Alucard, pacing the cropped grass under a waning moon, simmered quietly, the scent of the slaughtered sheep making him hungry. Never mind that it came from a mere beast, and never mind the packaged stuff that came from rejected blood donations, it made him think of hunting, of scenting a potential victim's fear and pursuing them, then moving in for the kill...
He lifted his head, scenting something else on the night breeze, a scent vaguely resembling his own, but different, somehow weaker, as if tainted by something that diluted its nature. He knew that half-vampires were merely the stuff of legend and wishful thinking on the part of deluded romantics, longing for immortality, but the scent made him wonder if there might not be something to the legends.
"Alucard, any sight or scent of the target?" the voice of the commander came over his earpiece.
"No sight, but there is a a scent," Alucard replied, with a dark hint of delight. Something moved in the bushes, and a figure emerged, a young man, the moonlight glinting off his skin, casting a shimmer over it like the surface of a diamond.
Alucard stared, head tilted. Well, this was something he had not seen before, either in his mortal life or his immortal no-life. He veiled himself, moving closer, keeping his keen eyes on the creature as it roved about the pasture. At length, it found the sheep carcass, pausing before it, licking its lips, but quivering, even taking a step back, as if it were afraid of the bloodied animal.
He stepped closer to the creature, almost within arms reach across the sheep carcass, then lifted the veil. The young man -- scent or not, he would hardly deign to call it a vampire -- took a step back from him, his golden-brown eyes wide, as if he started at the sight of the interloper.
"Well then, will you not eat what remains of that animal?" Alucard demanded.
"Who are you?" the young man demanded.
"The better question belongs to me to ask, and that would be what are you?" Alucard asked, curling his upper lip back from his fangs.
The young man looked at him, non-plussed by the sight: at least he did not run or scream in fear, but that disappointed Alucard. The chase would have made the night far less dull. "You're a vampire."
"Yes, I am, but what are you?" Alucard asked, reaching out with his mind to touch the young man's mind.
"I am Edward Cullen, I am a vampire, too," the young man replied.
A chuckle rose in Alucard's chest and he let the sound ripple out into the night. How foolish and silly: considering his actions and considering the things Alucard could see in his head, the young man really was little different from the romantics with their pasted-on fangs, drinking red wine and passing it off as blood or taking sips of blood from other humans and calling it blood drinking. He let the chuckle grow into a hearty laugh and then a mocking cackle.
"You're a boy. You fool, were you not so pathetic, I would take offense at the way you misuse that word: you're barely more than a human, by your actions," Alucard said, regaining some of his composure. "If you can't bring yourself to even look on a dead sheep or to hunt like a true predator, you're not worthy of calling yourself a vampire, you glitter-skinned maggot."
"Excuse me, I am as much a vampire as you are," this Edward Cullen replied, stiffly.
"Just because you drink blood, that does not make you a vampire, not a true Nosferatu," Alucard replied, drawing his sidearm and leveling it, the wrist of his pistol hand propped on the opposite forearm. "So do mosquitoes: and you are just as insignificant."
"You're not going to kill me, are you? You can't shoot me with that. I can't die--"
Alucard pulled the trigger, sending a bullet flying; it splocked into a spot between the wretch's eyes. The boy staggered back a step and fell to the grass, his unlife ended.
"Target destroyed," Alucard announced, for the commander's benefit. "Mission accomplished."
Too bad the youngster had stayed there, instead of running, he thought, reholstering his handgun: it would have made the night so much more exciting. Instead, he died like the insect that he was.