Author: mechasamurai ie. my fanwork journal.
Summary: After a slightly distorted series of events relating to Alucard and Anderson's little spat in chapters 69 - 71, we find a berserker priest pursuing his former Iscariot "sinner" comrades. This follows Heinkel Wolfe as, in her final moments, she comes to an eye opening realisation.
Disclaimer: Hellsing and its characters belong to Kouta Hirano,
the song "Imagine" written by John Lennon. Banner made by mwar. Har har.
Notes: I'm not usually one for Iscariot-anything really, nor am I particularly fond of either Heinkel or Anderson (I don't dislike them, I just don't find them that interesting.), however after writing this I think I might give Section XIII another shot. Maybe. Hm. Enjoy! Spoiler warning (possibly, kind of, not really..) for, hm, let's say chapter 67?
It isnt hard to do.
Heinkel raised her pistol. Her full lips pursed, the Vatican gunwoman stood motionless, sweat beads slowly slipping down her brow. The moonlight, obstructed by the crumbling buildings of London, was outshone by the eerie tangerine glow of fires still burning throughout the city. Twinkling in the orange light, tears welled in Heinkel’s eyes as she fought to stay in control of herself. Overcome with terror, Wolfe, engulfed by the bloody corpses of Section XIII, did not mourn her comrades. Instead, her widened eyes, pulsating in horror, reflected the image of a beast; a monstrosity of divinity whom she had been so devoted to, striding towards her with a grin, a crown of thorns swallowing his head, as she looked in fear at her berserker commander.
“HEATHENS!” He bellowed, expelling a bullet effortlessly from his shoulder, “MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YER SOULS, ABOMINATIONS, AS AE PURGE THE LOT O’ YER!”
Crushing under foot a severed arm clutching a katana, Paladin Alexander Anderson stalked onwards, towards the sole survivor of his former band of holy men. Heinkel quivered. Tears streaming down her ash-smeared face, she let out a harpee-like scream, fleeing her assailant frantically in the direction only the desperate or foolish would dare. The Zeppelins floating overhead were nothing to her in comparison to the treacherous slaughter she’d just witnessed.
“DINNAE THINK ME BLIND TO YER SINS, HEINKEL.” Called Anderson, now several meters behind his target, “YE SHALL RECEIVE YER JUDGMENT!”
“Father…” she grimaced, wheezing, ashamed to the point of loathing the man whom she’d looked up to since joining Iscariot, continued to run until his maniacal preaching was merely a soft humming.
The nail in his chest, contemplated Wolfe, had ironically had the adverse affect to the stakes they’d driven into the hearts of vampires, slaying any humanity he had left and creating a monster. Was this the will of God, Heinkel wondered. This devastation- was this channeling from their creator? Drawing to a breathless stumble, Heinkel fell upon her bloody hands. Looking out upon the festering marshes of bodies enclosing the streets, Wolfe could no longer distinguish Christian from Protestant. Always Iscariot had punished those who strayed from the Lord, but now Heinkel couldn’t tell sinner from saint. She looked out upon the bodies scattered around her and for the first time she didn’t see religion. What she saw were people, people whose deaths she could see no purpose in.
If Father Anderson was the vessel of God and this bloodshed was righteous, then Heinkel accepted her sin. For even with her selflessness, serving God, she’d ended up right in the middle of Hell.
No religion too.