Prologue

Revenge is a Dish

She could barely breathe as she ran, the thick cloying smoke everywhere denied her the relative comfort of fresh air. All around her flames crawled, consuming everything in their path even as the sound of screams rang out. The stench of burnt flesh, ash, and death hanged everywhere, in her eyes the sight of men in robs massacring people she had always thought of as family.

"Father," she cried, looking for the man she knew could save her and take her away from this hell. She never even saw the beam before her before she tripped over it, falling flat on her face as her glasses cracked underneath the pressure of her weight.

She bit back a scream as she felt the fire lick at her exposed leg, catching her dress, her body froze at as the flames began licking up towards her, only for a series of small flashes appear in her blurred sight, cutting away at the dress and divesting it of the flames.

"She's here," she heard the voice of her father's always faithful butler, Walter, yell out as the man lifted her up, his normally slick-backed and perfectly styled hair frayed and wild, smudges of ash on his face.

"Thank God," came the voice of her father as he appeared beside them, with teenaged blond in close tow. His clothes were disheveled and burned, blood and grime emphasis the desperation of the moment. He looked at her for a few seconds before looking to Walter.

"Walter, you need to get them out of here."

"Father," what are you talking about," she cried, "you have to come with us."

Her father simply looked at her, offering her a warm smile before placing a hand on her head for a moment.

"I'll always be with you, Integra. Never let yourself forget that."

"No, Father," she cried, watching as two men robed in blue appeared in the hallway, the flames licking everything except them.

"Go, Walter. Make sure she grows up to be a fine, young woman."

She felt herself moving now, being carried away as she watched her father charge the two men with saber drawn.

Blue eyes snapped open suddenly, a ragged breath escaped pale pink lips, as the pupils dilated taking in the light and reacting to the emotional condition of the their owner before returning to their natural state. After they normalized they simply sat there looking at the ceiling for the longest time before their owner worked up the energy to slowly remove the bedspread and swivel herself around to place her feet on the ground, papers that had laid all over the bed fluttering to the floor.

Casting a dispassionate eye towards them she then slowly brought her hand up to her head, delicately tanned skin meeting equally refined and tanned skin on her forehead.

Just a memory, she thought abysmally, her hand sliding towards the nightstand, flicking on the light, the darkness retreating to safer corners as she grabbed the pair of glasses and placed them on her nose, adjusting it to just the right position. Satisfied, she finally summoned the energy to get to her feet as she slowly padded through the room and stepped into the bathroom, shedding her nightgown and looking into the mirror at her body.

What should have been the body of a bronzed goddess was marred with the faded pink of battle-scars. The remnants of a burn here, the parted skin from a blade there, many of them older than she wished to remember. But the one scar that dominated her attention was the one on her right shoulder, a bullet wound given to her as a gift from her uncle. She unconsciously brought her calloused fingertips up to it and gently brushed it, as if willing for it to disappear along with the memory of that betrayal. But it wouldn't go away and with a silent snarl frozen on her face, she whipped around and padded into the shower turning on the head, and letting the hot scalding water burn her in much the same way that piece of wood had branded into her left calf her very first scar.

Ten years, she thought to herself in quiet introspection, ten years and that memory refuses to leave me no matter what. Is that what you had intended for me father? To be reminded of the ghosts of the past no matter what?

For Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, the life of carefree happiness had ended ten years ago when her family had been brutally massacred by agents of the Magus Association. There had been no warning nor had there been any attempts at reconciling their differences, the Magus Council had merely classified the Hellsing family as a renegade family for their practice of the dark arts and deemed their extermination necessary. It was made only worse that the very person who had betrayed them had been her very uncle.

In the end, she was the sole surviving legitimate Hellsing family member, forced to go into hiding with the graces and protection of Her Royal Majesty for contributions her family had made to the British Crown dating over five hundred years. Protection that had granted her years to slowly plot and turn herself into the vehicle of her family's revenge. It was only the proper, if there was one thing a mage of the dark arts understood it was that blood for blood was the only fair trade available for the actions in which the Magus Association were guilty of.

A knock at the door to the bathroom caused her to look up and towards the door, where her butler, Walter C. Dornez dutifully stood, in one arm a towel and in the other a robe.

"Trouble sleeping?"

She chose not to respond, instead merely placing herself back under the water.

"I'll take that as a yes," he murmured as he gently placed the robe and towel down on the counter.

"I'll go a brew up some tea for you," he announced, before leaving her in the shower.

He knew she would be quite awhile longer, whenever his master got like this the only solution was to give her space and allow her time to decompress.

"Another nightmare," a soft voice called, causing him to look to the newcomer and appraise her with a critical eye.

Seras Victoria was a story of equal tragedy in the annals of Hellsing history, a victim caught in the crossfire of the feud between the Hellsing Family and the Magus Association. Her father had been a close friend to the former head of the Family, Arthur Hellsing. When the Magus Association declared war upon the Hellsings, the Hellsing Family went into hiding, forcing the Mage's to hunt the friends of the Hellsings, in this case Seras' father, the police commissioner in the town where the Hellsing estate resided. It was only through the timely arrival of Arthur that Seras was saved from the horrific fate that had befallen her family.

Since then she'd become an adoptive member of the family, an older sister figure to the current master. Bbecause of the debt she had insisted she owed to the family, she had become the sword and shield for the Hellsing Family. Studying in the occult dark arts, advanced weapons training, asymmetrical warfare, even learning how to wield a sword , she had quickly become a feared name on the same level as the infamous Magus Killer, Emiya Kiritsugu, himself. Hellsing's Hound was the unofficial title the Magus Association had given her with recommendations to only engage as a last resort when alone.

But for him, she was still Seras Victoria, the ditzy yet kind girl that had been dragged into the Hellsing Family by circumstance.

Still...

"And where have you been Seras," he demanded, before getting bombarded with the unmistakable scent of blood, sweat, gunpowder...and ozone.

She gave one of her patented nervous smiles as she rubbed her head, not even noticing the fact that she had transferred blood into her flaxen blond hair.

"Been out," she replied nervously, as she eye-smiled, "doing stuff."

It was now he paid more attention to her disheveled appearance. It was Hellsing custom that all members wear well-tailored clothing, if one should die they should die in fashion, but upon closer inspection he noted blood smears, grime, and even a few specks of flesh. The holstered custom-made .454 Casull-chambered pistol on the outside of her jacket, unbuttoned. A telltale sign if any that she had been in a battle.

"Doing stuff, Miss Seras?"

"Dealing with the trash," she replied cheerfully, "I brought Inty a little gift."

"Oh my," Walter replied, his monocle shining as he tilted his head down and adjusted it, a knowing smile on his face, "I do believe she will appreciate such a gift. Where may U ask is her gift?"

"In the basement. Should I retrieve the family heirloom?"

"No, I believe you've done quite enough. Why don't you clean yourself up? I doubt our generous benefactors would appreciate their ornate decor to be stained with the mediums of our trade."

She looked confused for a moment then looked at herself, spotting her rather...macabre accessories, causing her to laugh nervously knowing how much Walter was a 'proper English gentleman'

"I think I'll do that, tell Inty I'm back."

Walter then watched as she skittered away, a faint smirk gracing his features before fading as he reviewed what Seras had told him.

He knew Integra would be quite pleased with this development. The gift in question was quite important to her. Then there was the fact of his own interest in the gift.

Walter C. Dornez was a man of very few tastes, taking simple pleasure in being the caretaker, guardian, and parental figure for his young master, the idea of revenge was a downright ungentlemanly idea that should not be dallied upon. Still, he wasn't a true paragon of British gentry, he had done far too much before he became who he was now, so it would be quite acceptable if he...lapsed just a bit.

Still, business before pleasure.

"We've received confirmation from MI6 that the chatter between the Church and Tokiomi Tohsoka has reached an all-time high. Yesterday, Kotomine Kirei re-entered Japan. He was then traced last night to the Tohsoka estate. We have yet to receive any confirmation that they have been able to finalize the rumored alliance between the Church and Tokiomi. However, it is safe to assume that the return of one of the Church's Executors to the man in charge of his mage's training portends that they are on the verge of resolving it."

Walter looked up from the folder to where his Master Integra sat, elbows on the desk as she stared at him, lit cigarillo clamped tightly in her lips , the smoke wafting in the air over her head.

"Changing topics, it appears that the Einzbern's are all now but confirmed to be taking part in the Holy Grail War. With the hiring of Kiritsugu Emiya and the recent purchases in arms, items, and possible safe houses in Fuyuki City, the Einzberns are hellbent on ending their losing streak. There have been some rumors that the Magus Killer has married into the family but we haven't been able to confirm it."

"And what about Zouken?"

"We can pretty much confirm he will not be taking part in the Grail War. While he has made a purchase from the Tohsaka family of their youngest daughter, it will take too much time to prepare her for this war. With Kariya's death he has no proxy he can use."

She snorted; muttering under her breath, 'Serves the pedophile bastard right'.

"Quite," Walter responded with an amused twitch of his mouth.

"We are still unsure of who the Magus Association will be sending to the War. There are rumors that it will be Lord El-Melloi since he is one of their senior combat mages."

"Any news on Servants?"

"Unfortunately no. I've tasked MI6 with providing us psychological profiles on the likely players, but they won't be able to provide us an in depth analysis until Tuesday. Do you think they have already summoned."

"Unlikely. Realistically a year is needed to have the servant overcome their possible...foibles. It makes it easier to not be noticed so the Servant can operate autonomously without the accompaniment of the master. The only downside is the amount of energy necessary to maintain the Servant will likely make it evident that a summon has been made, but there are ways around it of course. I doubt any of the players are going to summon earlier than they have to."

Walter simply nodded as he closed the file.

"You have a meeting with Monsieur Bernadotte concerning the contract expansion to one of permanence."

One of the few intact assets that had remained of the Hellsing family's arsenal was the contract they had with the mercenary group Wild Geese. After the fall they had become everything for Integra, bodyguards, strike force, defense teams: even trainers for Seras and herself. They were a sort of extended family for her. Still, they were mercenaries, extremely loyal mercenaries but still mercenaries, which meant they had to be paid

"Make sure Seras is present while we negotiate," Integra commanded with a knowing smile, "I think her presence will make the Monsieur more generous with his services."

It was a well known fact that Monsieur Bernadotte had become quite enamored with Seras, almost blindingly so. Friend or not, Integra was not reluctant to exploit weaknesses if necessary to get her way.

"Of course."

"Is there anything else, Walter?"

"Nothing else worth mentioning at this time."

"Very well, I'd like some time to think. I would prefer not to be interrupted."

"Of course, Sir Integra."

"Oh, and Walter? Where was Seras last night?"

"Oh, she was taking one of those enthusiastic walks through the woods according to her and ran into he-who-shall-not-be-named in the process. He's currently residing in the basement."

That got the reaction he thought he would as she shot to her feet palms slamming down on the desk, her eyes lighting up in fury and excitement.

"Why the hell are you telling me this now?! When were you going to tell me?!"

Sighing, it was as he feared her reaction would be. This obsession with revenge every once in awhile left her more passionate than she should be.

"It was meant to be a surprise for you tonight, Sir Integra. Now that you know, it will be a distraction all day since no doubt you wish to go forth with the summoning of the family's heirloom."

She stared at him for a moment, he returning her stare unflinchingly, causing her to back down.

"You're right," she responded, "contact Monsieur Bernadotte, tell him we shall meet tomorrow. I can't focus on negotiating with him right now."

"Of course. I take it you wish for me to prepare the summoning ritual?"

"That will be fine Walter."

Sensing the dismissal, he gave a small bow to his master and departed, leaving her to her own thoughts.

This was the day she had waited an entire decade for. The conditions were just right, the pieces were properly placed. All that needed to be fulfilled was this step and she would be well on her way to fulfilling the promise she had made to turning the Magus Association to ash.

Finishing the saunter down the stairs to the basement, Seras silently flanking her as the came to the door. Pausing for a moment, she then pushed the door open to enter the chamber.

Immediately she was struck with the coppery smell of blood. It was everywhere, but it was necessary for the ceremony in which she was about to partake in.

There, in the center of the chamber was a man flex-cuffed to the chair, a black hood over his head. He was currently slumped forward in the chair, obviously unconscious.

Restraining her anger for a moment, she looked around him, noting the seal he sat within. It was one made completely from her blood, a necessary medium of the circle, the requirements for the servant she sought to summon extraordinarily precise in order to fulfill.

She looked over to Walter who was bowed over slightly, in his hands a sheathed sword. Reaching out, she grabbed it and brought it by her side.

"Are the preparations complete," she asked.

"They are."

Nodding slowly she stared at the man a few more moments before barking.

"Seras, wake him."

"With pleasure," she growled, adjusting her gloves as she gingerly stepped into the circle and coming to a stop in front of him.

She then drove her fist into his gut, causing the man to grunt before moaning in pain, his head slowly coming up as he slowly gained consciousness gasping for breath.

"Who dares strike me," he rasped, spluttering evident through the hood, "when my men find you-"

Integra ground her teeth as she stepped forward, grabbing the black hood and ripped it off his head, revealing the face that she could never forget even after the last decade, the face of a man she swore to kill.

"You'll what, Uncle," she asked in sickening sweet in tone, looking into his widening eyes, "I hear Seras did a fine job dealing with your men."

Eyes flitted past her face for a moment, evidently taking in the sight of the Hound of the Hellsing and the face of Walter, before shifting back to hers, the man's face paling further.

"I-I-Integra, my beautiful niece," he began, only for an open palm strike to hit him in the forehead, snapping it back.

"Don't you dare refer to me as family you cowardly bastard," she snapped, "you betrayed family. For what? Power? Greed? You really think that killing off my family would earn you what you sought?"

"I would have survived at least," he babbled, "your father should not-"

"My father did what we should have done a hundred years ago when we were stronger. The Magus Association only tolerated us because we actually had the power to bleed them out if they dared to fight us. Sooner or later they would have turned their gaze to us to have eliminated. You sold out everything our family stood for just so you could scurry into a corner and be left alone until the Association decided they no longer needed you. You make me sick. But thankfully, you still have a use."

"R-R-Really?"

See stepped back, now allowing him to see what she held in her hands.

"Why of course," she responded with a hint of smugness, "you are going to provide me with the means in which I shall have my revenge."

It was then that he recognized exactly what she held in her hands, his eyes widening even further than before as he began struggling.

"No. You can't. You can't do that. NOT HIM. Do you have any idea of what he will do?!"

"Oh, I know perfectly what he can and will do. He is, after all, the patriarch of our ways. I think the news that the Hellsings are the last of his practitioners will be suitable motivation to fulfill what he failed to do back then."

She then unsheathed the sword its scabbard, admiring its deadly beauty for a few moments, now completely ignoring her uncle who was desperately pleading for mercy as he kept struggling in his bonds, the chair and cuffs giving no ground to him.

This is the path I have chosen, she thought to herself, a path paved in the blood of my enemies, in my creed.

She then reversed the grip around, looking down upon him.

"Integra, N-"

He was cut off as the sword plunged through his chest, flesh and bone parting to cold steel as the blade pieced through the chair itself. In one motion, the life of Richard Hellsing, traitor to the Hellsing family, was extinguished. She then placed down the scabbard at the corpse's feet without even minding the blood that was already seeping onto the floor.

Note even casting a look to admire her handiwork, she stepped back, pulling off her glove, she brought her finger up to her lips, teeth clenching down on her index as she broke the skin, blood beginning to pool at the end of the finger as held out the hand now, finger pointed towards the form of her uncle. As if sensing what was to happen, the blood seal began to glow in response as Integra began to chant the necessary incantation for what she needed to do.

"Let blood and ash be the brick
Let bone and soul be the mortar
Let vermillion be the color I beseech strength from
Let rise forth an elemental force by which all shall tremble in terror
Let the nine gates of chaos open
Let the blood-thirsty jaws of revenge be sated in deed
Let it be fulfilled. Once. Twice. Threefold.
Let three magnitudes of revenge be wrought upon all that have wronged thee."

As she finished the incantation, the summoning circle flashed into a blinding crimson, only to fade away into smoke that seemed to hang in the air before dispersing slowly in a nonexistent wind.

Gone was the body of Richard, along with the chair, for in the center of the circle where he had been there now knelt a form, cloak arrayed around him even as long ebony hair billowed around him, seemingly possessed by the same wind.

On the ground before him was the sword in which had been previously impaled in Richard, now fully restored to its original splendor, the keenness and sheen of the blade even more evident now, as if previously it could not retain the luster of its original status. The man picked the sword up, rising up to his feet even as he towered over her, his figure cast an aura of unfathomable intimidation even as he placed the blade back in its scabbard.

It was then that his eyes, which had previously not been seen through the mop of hair became visible, a deep and unnatural crimson color that caused even her skin to crawl. The eyes stared straight into her and through her, and for the briefest of moments, she felt herself fall into them before a voice that seemed to resonate deep within the primordial part of her being.

"My Master."