Shadows and Smoke
A Quiet Church in Dublin
The air inside the church was stale with old incense and the memory of war.
Father Alexander Anderson knelt at the altar, murmuring prayers that carried weight like stone. The door opened behind him.
"Sir Hellsing," he said without looking. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Integra stepped into the aisle, coat trailing behind her like a storm cloud. David walked silently at her side, cloaked and hooded—anonymous for now.
"I've come to speak of prophecy," Integra said.
Anderson stood. "You don't believe in prophecy."
"Not usually. But let's just say… we've extracted some unexpected truths from Walter Dornez."
Anderson raised an eyebrow. "Interrogation?"
"Let's say he talked," Integra replied, gaze steely.
She handed him a thick dossier. Inside—the future. The Millenium plan. The Nazi vampire army. The coming siege of London. His own fate.
Anderson flipped through it, silent at first. Then: "This is madness."
"No," David said, stepping forward, voice calm and low. "It's history. You just haven't lived it yet."
Anderson looked at him, eyes narrowing. "And who the hell are you?"
"Someone who remembers," David said. "You don't have to trust me. Just trust the opportunity you've been given—to change what's coming."
Anderson stared down at the pages again. "You say this all came from Walter?"
Integra nodded once. "Every detail."
She didn't flinch.
And Anderson, ever the fanatic but not a fool, understood. If the enemy knew what was coming, and the battlefield could be changed... it was no longer heresy.
It was strategy.
Back at Hellsing Manor
Walter knelt, bloodied, before Alucard—still alive, barely. The fight had ended not with death, but understanding.
Alucard crouched before him, almost… respectful.
"You're still loyal," he said. "But your strings have long since frayed."
Walter coughed. "She knows everything now. Doesn't she?"
"She knows enough," Alucard said. "And she has a new knight in her court."
Above them, I stood in the dark, watching.
The story was changing.
And I was the variable they never saw coming.
Rome – Iscariot Headquarters, Underground Archives
Father Enrico Maxwell's voice echoed through the marble halls like a sermon wrapped in silk and steel.
He walked with calculated authority, robes flowing behind him, hands clasped behind his back. The Vatican had grown comfortable. Arrogant. Even as shadows stretched toward London and whispers of war stirred the air, he remained assured of his place at the top of God's chain of command.
So when Anderson burst into the chapel-turned-command center flanked by four armed Iscariot knights, the silence hit like thunder.
"Father Maxwell," Anderson growled.
Maxwell turned, annoyed more than alarmed. "Paladin Anderson, you have no authorization to barge in here unannounced."
Anderson didn't flinch. He reached into his coat and threw down a bloodstained folder. It slid across the polished floor like a guillotine blade.
"Explain this," Anderson said coldly.
Maxwell's eyes narrowed as he picked up the file. Inside: photographs. Correspondence. Secret meeting transcripts. Surveillance images of Millennium operatives shaking hands with men in Vatican robes.
His robes.
"This is blasphemy," Maxwell hissed, instantly on the defensive. "Forgery—heresy—"
"Don't lie to me!" Anderson snapped, voice echoing through the chamber. "We know. I know. You've been trading intelligence with the monsters. Letting them grow. Feed. All to justify your war with Hellsing."
Maxwell composed himself, but his mask was cracking.
"I did what was necessary for the glory of God," he said. "The protestants have allowed evil to fester for centuries. A great purge is coming. Millennium is a means to an end."
Anderson stepped forward, towering, righteous fury blazing in his eyes. "You consorted with Nazi vampires. There is no glory in that—only damnation."
The Iscariot guards closed in on Maxwell.
"You dare turn your swords on me?" Maxwell spat. "I am the authority of Iscariot!"
"You were," Anderson said, drawing a bayonet. "Until you chose the devil over the Church."
He looked to the others. "Take him. He answers to the Inquisition now."
Later – Iscariot Holding Cells, Below Vatican Archives
Maxwell sat chained to a cold iron chair, blood on his lip, pride more wounded than flesh. Across from him, Integra Hellsing stepped into the room, flanked by Anderson and David, who kept his hood drawn low.
"Well," Integra said coolly, lighting a cigarette. "Look at that. The high priest of hypocrisy."
Maxwell sneered. "You're a walking abomination, consorting with demons and hybrids."
"Maybe," Integra said, blowing smoke in his direction, "but I never helped them invade my own world."
David leaned in. "Start talking, Maxwell. Tell us everything you know about Millennium—before Anderson loses his patience. Or I lose mine."
Anderson cracked his knuckles.
For the first time, Maxwell looked afraid.