Steve Chapter 887: Hell would descend upon London (Patreon)

London’s outskirts—inside the reception hall of Hellsing Headquarters.

Integra sat behind her desk, arms folded so her intertwined fingers rested beneath her nose.

Everyone who had just returned from South America was gathered here: Fang Mo, wearing a cheeky grin; Alucard, grinning back in sympathetic amusement; a fidgeting police-girl standing not far away; and the mercenary captain Bernadotte, lounging on the sofa and smoking.

“Let me get this straight…”

Integra’s face all but spelled out her confusion. “You’re telling me…you drove a van all the way back from South America?”

“Precisely,” Alucard acknowledged with a pleasant smile.

“…”

Integra fell silent for a moment. After a short pause she lit a cigar, trying to calm herself. “So this vehicle can drive across the ocean, can it? Whose—-exactly whose—-black-budget tech is that?”

“Well…n-not exactly…”

The police-girl shook her head quickly, then—almost on reflex—cast a glance at Fang Mo. “But that van, it—”

“It flies,” Bernadotte interjected.

“???”

Integra was stupefied.

She recovered quickly enough, realizing this had to be Fang Mo’s doing. She swung her gaze toward him. “Care to explain, Mr Wang Jiangchen?”

“It’s the Grand Marshal. I installed a Grand Marshal in the van,” Fang Mo said, making a quick hand gesture and wearing a grin like a swamp rat. “Take-off—boom—skyward.”

“Could you act normal for once!”

A vein bulged on Integra’s forehead. She slammed the desk. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused in South America? At the very least give me a proper debrief!”

“Come on, that’s just how Eastern power systems work,” Fang Mo began, seeing her blood pressure spike. “You know I’m a jiang-shi—a hopping vampire. Haven’t you ever heard the term ‘flying jiang-shi’?”

“Flying…jiang-shi?”

Integra blinked. She had indeed come across the idea in her research: some vampires, after mastering their arts, could apparently fly unaided.

“Even if that term means nothing to you, surely you’ve heard of sword-riding flight?” Fang Mo spread his hands. “In my homeland people control flying swords and ride them through the sky—”

“At the very least that requires an actual sword, doesn’t it?” Integra shot back.

“Sigh. Explaining things to a Brit really is tough…” Fang Mo shook his head theatrically. “If you knew Eastern culture you’d realize ‘sword’ is just a concept. To a master swordsman, grass, wood, bamboo, stone—anything can be a blade. So if I say it’s a sword, I can ride it.”

“You—” Integra frowned, suddenly sensing something off. “You’re fooling me again, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” Fang Mo lied with conviction, waving a hand. “Ever heard of conceptual deities? Over at that other place, the Hogwarts crowd claim a broom lets them fly. Someone even tried to ride a Roomba to school. So why can’t I make anything a sword? Doubt me again and I’ll make the whole of London take to the skies.”

“I—” Integra felt a headache coming on.

She recalled the live footage she’d seen earlier: during the standoff with that vampire called Tubalcain, Fang Mo had simply clenched his fist in the air—and the enemy commandos, together with their APCs and helicopters, had been crushed into a single colossal ball of solid concrete.

That impossible display of power…

No matter how she thought about it, such might was beyond any undead creature.

To be honest, the instant Integra witnessed it she’d felt a dream-like unreality, a visual shock so overwhelming it resembled a miracle—power surpassing all science and sorcery.

“You…” She looked at Fang Mo with mixed emotions. “What on earth are you?”

“I’m an undying Corpse-King—an Elegy,” Fang Mo answered solemnly.

“If you could stick to one identity I might not have this migraine.” Integra rubbed her temples. “Every time you spout nonsense I lose track of what you really are…”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Fang Mo chuckled. “You don’t have to worry—because I’m not even a thing at all.”

“…”

Integra felt the world go dark. “I should never have tried talking to you… Alucard.”

She turned to the No-Life King at her side.

“Kukukuku, my Master,” Alucard replied with a grin. “I trust you witnessed the exquisite scenery of our previous battle? Your heart leaps at the prospect, does it not? Heh-heh-heh… The joy of war is about to descend upon us in full.”

“You bastard, you’ve become like him too?” Integra’s face darkened further. “You’ve clearly been corrupted by that lunatic!”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Seeing his master’s exasperation, Alucard threw back his head and laughed.

“Master… Uncle Yă…” The lone sane person present seemed to be the police-girl, who watched the two monsters tormenting her director and had no idea what to do.

“Stop laughing, damn it!” Integra hurled her cigar. “Give me a proper report—everything, now!”

“Tch, there isn’t much to say,” Alucard ceased laughing and pointed at Fang Mo. “It’s as he said: they truly are the remnants of those madmen—Millennium, or rather… the Last Battalion.”

“So it really is them?” Integra’s expression hardened. “What’s their plan?”

“War, war, and more war,” Alucard smiled. “To kill or be killed, to drag the whole world into endless conflict, to revel and intoxicate themselves… composing a symphony of war and death, dancing gracefully in the grave.”

“Uh… what?” Bernadotte muttered from the sofa. “That’s insane.”

“Exactly—insanity.” Alucard spread his arms. “No purpose, no grand scheme—just pure enjoyment, trampling the living, the dead, the entire world… hopelessly addicted.”

“The worst-case scenario…” Integra’s face grew still more grim.

A foe with a plan could be countered; a lunatic was unpredictable.

“Forget South America for now,” she decided after a deep breath. “I must inform the others immediately. Don’t wander off. The Queen may convene a Round-Table Conference. Especially you, Alucard—you’ll likely need to provide details.”

“Heh-heh-heh, I’ll be right here,” Alucard nodded, eyes sparkling. “I sense fascinating events on the horizon…”

“And you, Mr Wang Jiangchen,” Integra added, scowling at Fang Mo. “Try not to cause trouble. Things may soon become very serious.”

“Well… they will be serious,” Fang Mo stroked his chin and nodded slowly.

“Mm?”

Integra froze mid-step, turning back. “You…know something?”

“More or less.” Fang Mo nodded again.

He had already noted that the Hellsing storyline was brief. In the original, after acquiring intelligence from Tubalcain, Britain held a Round-Table meeting; the Vatican joined; and right in the middle, Millennium appeared, Schrodinger in tow, and the Major declared war on Britain and the Vatican. Mutinies, aircraft carriers hijacked, Alucard dispatched, zeppelins over London… all within twenty-four hours.

Which meant, at most three days from now, Hellsing’s “mini-arc” would be cleared.

“If I’m right…” Fang Mo spoke up, never concerning himself with “spoilers.” “Those lunatics will soon attack London. This city is likely to become a mountain of corpses—millions slaughtered wholesale.”

“What did you say?” Integra blinked. “How could you know that?”

“Divination,” Fang Mo gestured toward Bernadotte. “Before heading to South America I told you he had ‘death written all over him,’ remember?”

“Hey—”

“I recall that,” Integra confirmed. “But…how does that relate?”

“It’s related.” Fang Mo spread his hands. “Before returning I looked at Londoners and saw everyone with the same death-mark—none of them surviving the month. The entire city. What could cause that? A meteor from space?”

“It’s…them…” Integra’s face turned ashen. “Do those maniacs have nuclear weapons?”

“No nukes—old-world army, after all,” Fang Mo shook his head. “Probably occult tech. My reading is clear: within a month London becomes a dead city. My advice—evacuate civilians fast.”

“That’s… impossible, surely?” the police-girl protested. “Millions of people—we can’t move them in time.”

“Exactly,” Integra agreed, face heavy. “We just have to stop those lunatics first—London must be defended.”

“Fine, suit yourselves,” Fang Mo shrugged. “Remember, this warning was on a whim. If disaster strikes and you regret it, be ready to kneel and beg me.”

“You…” Integra hesitated.

She sensed he was serious, and a foreboding crept into her heart. Would London really be attacked? If millions died… And if things became irretrievable, could this enigmatic monster truly save the city? What would that even look like?

She glanced at Alucard—her trump card. If he ran wild, he could annihilate a city in hours. But he was a destroyer, not a savior.

She recalled Fang Mo’s “miracle” in South America… Could he reverse catastrophe? And would she have to kneel?

Wait—what am I thinking?

Integra shook her head hard.

“Thank you for the warning,” she said, drawing a deep breath and looking earnestly at Fang Mo. “I’ll report this at once. For now, I must inform the others.”

With that, Integra turned and left the reception hall.