The rain of ash over London did little to cool the hot blood spilling in the streets.
"Please! No!" a Nazi grunt whimpered, backing away on his hands and knees. "I'll worship your Go—"
His plea was cut short. Father Alexander Anderson bludgeoned him into the pavement with a booming, echoing laugh.
An Iscariot grunt stepped forward, wiping blood from his visor. "I think that was the last one. Good thing too. I feel you're running out of bayonets."
Anderson stopped, turning slowly. "Care to correct yourself?"
The grunt visibly flinched. "S-sorry, sir! You have bayonets for days!"
"Bayonets for days..." Anderson muttered to himself, a manic grin stretching across his face. "Iscariot."
A nearby grunt glanced over at the captured leader of the Hellsing Organization. "Father Anderson... I believe I speak for all of us when I ask... Why did we go out of our way to save this, uh..."
"Woman," Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing interrupted coldly, adjusting her glasses.
"I didn't want to assume," the Iscariot grunt muttered.
Integra looked over at the towering paladin. "I was actually wondering that myself. Alucard would have left Maxwell to die."
"Probably after putting a bullet in his leg," she added dryly.
Anderson slammed his fists together. "I am a man of three things: God. Virtue. And disobeying that prat MAXWELL when it suits me! And if I'd let the woman die, I would have been none of the three!"
The Iscariot grunt stared at him. "Wait, so... You just defy your master's orders on a whim?"
"Aye!" Anderson beamed.
Integra sighed, rubbing her temples. "Good God, it's strange to see this from the outside."
Meanwhile, high above the burning city aboard the Vatican flagship, the atmosphere was far less heroic.
"Er, Bishop Maxwell?" Father Riegel murmured hesitantly.
Enrico Maxwell jerked awake, wiping a bit of drool from his chin. "Oh, shit. I fell asleep waiting. You think watching London turn into a literal hellscape would keep you riveted. But once the screams die down... So, what did I miss?"
"Well, according to the reports, America is imploding," Riegel said, handing over a clipboard.
Maxwell shrugged. "So, Millennium has infiltrated them as well."
"No. Actually."
"Okay..." Maxwell blinked. "Well, have the Papal Knights arrived yet?"
Riegel winced. "Actually, we were unable to conscript them into our efforts."
"What?!" Maxwell slammed his hands on his desk.
"Ah- but do not worry, Bishop Maxwell!" Riegel squeaked, raising his hands defensively. "We were able to get... some... eager volunteers."
"Volunteers?"
Right on cue, the doors to the command bridge burst open. A man in flamboyant Italian vestments marched in.
"From Italia!" the man shouted. "I am brother Andrea Marco Francesco Luco Mateo Alejandro Lozendro Fredrico—"
"Yes, yes. And your order?" Maxwell interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Andrea puffed out his chest. "I bring with me the Pure Noble Ordine della Rossa del Corna di Resa San Bartironmeto, alla Serieta del Segni Torre Derise el Sierte—"
Maxwell let out a heavy sigh.
"—Divisione Ricettazione," Andrea finished. "We bring 510 paladins of the order."
"Grazie," Maxwell groaned. "And you?"
A man in a sombrero and a swirling cape stepped forward with a dramatic flourish. "From Mexico, Don Diego de la Vega! I bring: The Mexican Inquisition!"
Maxwell blinked. "I did not expect you."
"No one ever does!" Diego grinned proudly. "We bring 888 conquistador inquisitors!"
Before Maxwell could process this, a man with a thick Polish accent nudged Diego aside. "Shalom! Bartłomiej Jeleniak from Poland! I bring the sacred order of the Temple Beth Zion!"
Maxwell stared at him. "Oh, I've not heard of your order. You're... sure you're Catholic?"
"Oh, of course!" Bartłomiej nodded rapidly.
"You worship the Lord Jesus Christ?" Maxwell pressed.
"Hey, if we're killing Nazis, I'll worship a side of bacon," Bartłomiej replied easily. "We bring 447 menschen."
"Hey bud," a polite voice called out from the back. A man in flannel and a tactical vest waved. "David Bouchère from Canada, bud. I bring the crusaders of the Salvation Army. I got me here some 300 n' change good ol' boys from the Knights of the Hangin' Noose."
Maxwell rubbed his eyes. "Wow, alright, okay! Thank you for... swinging by. Oh, God!"
Another man with a thick Southern drawl stepped up, wearing white robes that looked dangerously familiar. "No worries," Jed said, spitting into a cup. "Now I noticed y'all brought some crosses to burn. If ya run out, don't worry, 'cause Jim brought more in his truck!"
Maxwell's face paled. "That's uh... really not necessary—"
"Jim, how many more crosses we got in that truck!?" Jed yelled over his shoulder.
From the hallway, a voice echoed back, "'Bout a few!"
"'Bout a few," Jed confirmed to Maxwell.
Maxwell leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "This is going to be a long crusade."
Steeling himself, Maxwell grabbed the ship's intercom microphone, his voice broadcasting across the entire fleet and the radio waves of London.
"Listen up! Those who have come to serve the unyielding Word of our Almighty God," Maxwell bellowed, his voice rising in fanatic fervor. "We've come together this night, under the glow of the London inferno, in the eyes of our Lord for one divine reason... FUCK the new pope!"
The command deck burst into wild cheering.
"That Argentinian windbag has ruined us!" Maxwell screamed over the noise. "Prattling on and on about the poor! We are the house of God. Not a fucking soup kitchen!"
"Thank you!" Andrea shouted from the crowd. "Even we're sick of feeding people. And we're Italian!"
"And what does he do with the golden throne?" Maxwell continued, spit flying from his lips. "Replaces it with a wooden chair! Probably carved by more poor people!"
"Jesus was a king first, carpenter second!" Diego shouted, waving his sword.
"And do not start me on the homosexuals!" Maxwell raved. "Oh, if you love them so much, why don't you fucking marry them? You seem so okay with the concept!"
"Yeah, fuck bro!" David Bouchère added, shaking his fist. "It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and another dude and they're havin' sex!"
"And he has the gall to renounce the Old Testament as mere stories!" Maxwell roared, reaching his crescendo. "'We should be more like Jesus and congregate with whores, and homosexuals, and POOR people!'"
"Yeah!" Bartłomiej yelled. "Perhaps we can all just agree that, MAYBE, Jesus wasn't the son of God!"
Maxwell completely ignored him, raising his hands high. "We are the congregation of a wrathful God. We shall begin a new Papal succession, and I shall lead us in the Ninth Crusade. For I am your leader. The new Pope! And after we are finished purging England of its demons and heathens, we... will—"
"Round up all those dirty ni—" Jed started.
"Okay, YOU need to chill!" Maxwell snapped, cutting off the intercom briefly.
Meanwhile, in another district of the ruined city, the elegant maid Sakuya Izayoi stood amidst the carnage.
"Sigh... These people suck," I muttered, casually stepping over the pile of bodies surrounding me. Dead Millennium soldiers littered the pavement.
"Sieg!—" one surviving Nazi soldier screamed, raising his rifle.
Before he could pull the trigger, I launched a silver knife straight into his neck. In the blink of an eye, before I vanished and instantly reappeared directly behind him.
"Useless," I murmured.
A split second later, the soldier's body burst open as multiple delayed slices cut him to ribbons.
I turned toward remila. "Mistress, this part of the city has been taken care of—"
Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked a nearby building, blowing it into a cloud of fiery debris. Sakuya didn't even flinch.
"So fun! Let's play again!" Flandre Scarlet cheered, floating in the smoke as she fired a barrage of colorful, devastating danmaku bullets into a fresh squad of Nazi soldiers.
I sighed again. "Nevermind, my mistress."
The thrumming beat of massive helicopter blades drew her attention upward. Huge Vatican transports were descending from the clouds.
Remilia Scarlet sat elegantly on a nearby ledge, unaffected by the chaos, and set her teacup down with a soft clink. "Interesting," she murmured.
Over the loudspeakers of the descending fleet, Maxwell's voice boomed down over the terrified citizens of London.
"For ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said: 'I will dwell in them and walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be My people.' 'Wherefore come out from among them and be ye separate,' sayeth the Lord... 'And touch not the unclean thing, and I will receive you!'"
On the ground, a little boy tugged at his mother's sleeve. "Mommy, what's that man talking about?"
"Yes, my fellow Christians... We've come to save you...!" Maxwell proclaimed.
A man in the crowd gasped in relief. "Hooray, it's the Catholic Church—!"
"FROM YOURSELVES!" Maxwell roared.
The man's face fell. "Oh no, it's the Catholic Church..."
"Yes! Cleanse the Earth of these sinners! May the Lord have mercy! For I! For I! have! For I! have! NONE!"
Watching the slaughter unfold from their vantage point, Integra turned her gaze toward the Iscariot leadership. "You know, I think your boy Maxwell's letting his new authority get to his head a little... You should probably have a talk with him."
Heinkel Wolfe shifted uncomfortably, sweating under her coat. "He's... he's just under a lot of pressure."
"You do not deserve God's MERCY!" Maxwell's voice screamed from the sky. "If He will not turn you to the afterlife, THEN I WILL!"
"I mean, words only have as much meaning as we give them," Heinkel muttered, trying to justify it.
"Sinners will be allowed no quarter! Kill them all! LET GOD SORT THEM OUT!"
Integra smirked. "You're right; a lot open to interpretation there..."
"Perhaps one of us *should* have a talk with him..." Heinkel admitted.
"I SHALL BE THE NEW GOD OF THIS WORLD!!" Maxwell shrieked over the speakers.
Anderson cracked his neck, his eyes narrowing as he gripped his bayonets. "Aye... let me go have a wee chat."
"Oh, I have an idea~" Integra chimed in, a wicked smile on her face.
"Woman...!" Anderson warned.
"Why not write down a formal protest?"
"Don't you dare...!"
Integra leaned in. "You can nail it to his door..."
"Don't you *fuckin' dare*...!"
"...Like a Protestant!"
Anderson's eye twitched, but before he could retaliate, a red blur landed gracefully in the courtyard.
"Well, if it isn't Alucard's sidekick," Anderson sneered, shifting his focus. "Back for more of what I gave ya last time?"
Seras Victoria stood tall, her eyes glowing a fierce, predatory red, her arm a swirling mass of shadow matter. "Why don't ya try sticking it in me again? I might like it this time..."
"Father Anderson!" Heinkel gasped, blushing.
"Context, Heinkel!" Anderson barked.
Integra stepped forward, cutting through the tension. "Seras, report! And--...e-explain."
Seras took a deep breath. "Peace is secured. Everyone's dead. Ate Pip—full-fledged vampire now."
Anderson pointed a bayonet at her. "And you're going to *die* a full-fledged vampire. It's a shame your blood sugar daddy won't be here ta see it."
Suddenly, the ambient noise of the war-torn city seemed to fade. A heavy, oppressive bass echoed through the air as ominous background music began to resonate from nowhere and everywhere at once.
A massive shadow fell over the courtyard. Emerging from the darkness, a figure in a red crimson coat and a wide-brimmed hat dropped straight into the center of the crossfire, landing right between the stunned Catholics and Nazis.
Alucard stood up, drawing his massive pistols with a grin that split his face.
"Well, well, well, I leave for a day and the Catholics are crusading," Alucard mocked, his voice dripping with dark amusement.
"While the Nazis are invading! ANDERSON! It's been only two days but it feels like years. And youuuuumm..."
Alucard stopped, squinting at a massive, silent Millennium officer standing nearby. He clicked his tongue. "How are... Wanna say... Logan? Anderson, what's this guy's name?"
The Captain merely responded with a low, menacing growl.
"Oh, better watch out for... 'Growls,'" Alucard laughed.
"Alucard!" Integra shouted, losing her patience.
"WAAAT!" Alucard whined.
Integra drew herself up, her voice commanding and absolute. "Release restraint level—"
"NOW hold your horses!" a loud voice interrupted. A man in a KKK hood stepped into Alucard's line of sight, waving a hand. "I don't know who y'all think y'all are, but my name's Jeff Boris of the South Carolina Baptist confe—"
*BANG.*
A single explosive round from the Jackal tore through the air, instantly vaporizing the man's upper torso into a red mist.
Alucard slowly lowered his smoking gun, looking around casually. "Hmm, must have just been the wind.."
Integra didn't even blink at the sudden execution. "Fuck it; dropping the formalities, Alucard..! Go for a walk..."
Alucard's grin widened to impossible proportions, his eyes glowing with centuries of unbridled malice. The seals on his gloves began to burn with ancient occult text.
"When hope is gone, undo this lock and send me forth on a moonlit walk," Alucard chanted, his voice dropping into a demonic register. "Release restraint level... zero."
Watching from the safety of a towering skyscraper, Sakuya Izayoi crossed her arms, looking down at the swirling vortex of shadows and souls beginning to consume the city streets. Flandre and Remilia stood beside her, watching the show.
"They're fucked," I said plainly.