The Black Priest- Prologue

(This stroy is the property of Dark-Moon-Master)
DMM: I give credit for this stories creation to my rather annoying muse Anne, who has an unhealthy obsession with vampires and, hate for the catholic church. But without her nonstop, mind numbing, moronic blather in the back of my mind, this depressing, gore filled, chaos ridden, and yaoiful story would never have been created. I suggest you save what’s left of your innocence and sanity by clicking the back button now. Those of you who wish to continue, may the gods have mercy on your souls.

Anne: DMM claims no rights to Hellsing or any of its characters. Let the horror, excitement, and explicit yaoi, begin.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Prologue

The old priest waked serenely through the burning village towards the church. He walked as if the carnage going on around him did not exist. The tall and rather rough looking man behind him was less nonchalant. His flinty eyes took in everything and revealed nothing. His right twitched, instinctively going for the sword strapped to his side. Together they climbed the steep incline of the hill the church was perched upon and walked through the great door which had been thrown open by an overeager soldier who now lay dead on the floor.

Inside the church a haggard and frightened looking group of women and children huddled together in fear, watching them warily. Kneeling in front of the alter was a man that, even when bent over in humble homage, radiated power and authority. Finishing his quiet prayer the man slowly rose to his feet and turned to face the newcomers. In his hand rested a sword that looked as if it had been forged by demons and gave off a cold menace that promised retribution. Despite the swords obvious weight the man stood as if it weighed nothing at all. While his sword radiated menace, his face showed an inner peace that could stop even the most violent of men.

His deep and resonant voice filled the church with music as he spoke. “Welcome, you’re Eminence. I have been expecting you for quite some time now.”

The old priest bowed his head in greeting. “Your welcome is less than warm, young Veloris. I had expected more from an old pupil of mine. Then again, you never did meet my expectations, did you?”

The young man smiled mirthlessly. “I doubt anyone with a heart could meet your expectations, old buzzard. As for the welcome, well, I can only blame myself for being rather eager to destroy your minions and thus keep them from hurting my family.”

“Your ‘family’, as you call them, have committed a grave crime against god by housing a demon such as yourself. You have warped their minds and corrupted their souls. They must be purified.” the old man stated in a voice like poison.

“It is you who has been corrupted. By your greed and vanity you have sentenced your soul to an eternity in hell. No other punishment can atone for the crimes you have committed against gods children.” The man’s voice echoed ominously throughout the church.

“How dare you?! You are a demon who masquerades as a human and feeds on the blood of others! Your soul was damned the moment you took your first life! It is you who will suffer an eternity in hell!” the priest screamed, his eyes taking on a mad gleam. “Luckily I have brought with me one who will make sure you are no longer free to poison good Catholics with your lies.”

The rough looking man behind the old priest stepped forward, sword drawn. He had been listening the entire time and was of the opinion that the old man was mad. He obviously didn’t know the difference between a virtuous vampire and an evil vampire(1). The man before them was obviously a virtuous vampire. His body practically glowed with divine presence. But he was being paid to kill him, and once the vampire was dead the village would be safe. That didn’t mean he agreed with what he was about to do.

The vampire seemed to know what he was thinking because he nodded in understanding. Turning to the group next to him he spoke in reassuring tones.

“Take the children and head for the old wolves den in the forest. Don’t come out until the fighting has stopped and you think it’s safe.”

“But what about you Father?” one of the younger women asked.

“Don’t worry about me child. God provides for the faithful. I walk with his divine light always.” He replied, telling them in his own way that he accepted his fate.

One of the older women understood and spoke to the girl.

“Come child. Father Damien knows what he’s about. We’d best go before anymore soldiers come.” She and a few others began herding the children out the churches back door.

The old woman looked back at Father Damien before going, “You be careful Father. It’d be a right shame if you left us fer good. God be with you.”

“God be with you as well Margerie.”

And with that the old woman followed the others into the night. Father Damien turned his attention back to his ‘guests’. The Hunter crouched into a fighting stance and braced himself for inevitable charge. He was confused when all the vampire did was raise his hand at him. That confusion faded like snow in July when he saw the spell light headed his way. The Hunter quickly dodged to the side before charging his opponent.

Father Damien raised his sword to meet the others. What ensued after was an epic battle of strength, wits, and magic. The old priests mad laughter echoing around them, discordant with the ring of steel against steel.

It soon become obvious to the Hunter that the vampire was holding back. His blows barely matched the strength he knew the creature possessed. His spells were always slightly off course. The vampire obviously knew his time had come and was only fighting for the benefit of their ‘audience’.

Damien began weakening his blows even more, knowing the Hunter had finally caught on, making it appear as if he were slowing. Soon their mock battle ended with him on his knees before the Hunter, his summoned sword vanishing in a puff of black smoke. Damien closed his eyes and a peaceful smile appeared on his face. He uttered one final sentence before the Hunter’s sword took his head.

“I will return, and woe betide those who stand in god’s way. Amen.”

And with that his body turned to ash. The only clue left to who had been was the copper cross that lay among his remains. The Hunter sheathed his sword and lowered his head in respect. Never would he again know such an honorable opponent. The vampire, despite his nature, had been a noble person, and a true servant of god.

Soon afterward the mad priest pulled back the soldiers and let the villagers to rebuild their home. But not before executing a few for his own entertainment. The Hunter received his payment and left, never to return. To this day no one knows what happened to the ashes of Father Damien. Yet he lives on in the spirits of the villagers who vowed never to forget the man who showed them the true light of the One God.

The End