Hellsingr (Full Version)

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Remington -> Hellsingr (5/15/2010 19:27:25)

-CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER-

A dark figure rode in black atop a dark horse. The figure resembled a man: the resemblance wore pitch black clothing, the firm brim of his hat almost paper thin. His cape and hair blew in the wind as he rode across the dark wastelands of the Earth. What was strange about this man was not his cloth or his cape. It wasn't the long slender arc sword slung across his back, nor was it the young unchangingly handsome and emotionless face that was partly hidden by the shadows of his hat; it was the horrible thoughts that clouded the virtue of his mind, the sickening aura that filled the air when he walked by. It was the horrid past that left mental wounds; his mind screamed out when he thought of these memories, many of which seemed just out of reach for him to recall. This was no ordinary man in appearance. This was no man inside.

The world of which this man rode across was a barren waste. It seemed as though he was the only one left to taste the sick breeze which blew across the earth, a silent wind on which hung the strong vomit inducing, pungent odor of the dead. In these parts, the sky was almost always dark. The ground was dark as well, tainted with the blood of men. The blood had darkened and so had the land with it. As well, the ground was cursed from the nuclear ravaging and carnage of past wars; was it still capable of being called earth, even if no longer could it harbor the life of insects and plants?

This man traveled deep into these wasted lands, scorching deserts, cursed valleys, and dark foreboding forests; but why? It certainly couldn't have been his noble will and honor that led him; surely it wasn't that, for who now would waste their time helping the few poor people of this world? So what could it be that drove him, this dark figure? The dark figure himself probably didn't even know; but maybe that was it: the insatiable will to seek and destroy something that could give him an answer. It couldn't have been some noble code that guided him. Or maybe it was both?

Throughout the ring of His Story, Monarchs and Dictators have robbed men of their freedom and promised them security. The men were left with nothing, wallowing in filth, surviving by their wrongful deeds and the grace of the more fortunate. Now, long after the bloody wars that scarred the earth, after the cries of terror that shook the land and the whistles of horror as impending doom was dropped from above to ravage the lives that ran from it; a surviving evil rose from the waste and wreckage that remained of the once great human civilizations. It had lived in the stories and nightmares of men all along, but now walked the earth in a mass as un-living as the dreams of happiness and delusions of grandeur that once filled people’s minds. The Higherorcs had taken their own place in His Story.

Before him, the dark figure met a lonesome and dusty town where he would rest for the day that was soon to come. He held hateful wishes of traveling by day, by the light of the sun. Something made him hate that light so vehemently and yet still something made him fond of it. It was a distracting conundrum the dark figure chose to deal with as little as possible. This dark figure rode into the town slowly on his steed. The streets were completely empty, void of any motion, any life. The dark figure found an unwelcome feeling lingering in the back of his mind; a feeling he often knew well on missions such as this: he knew someone else of a similar caliber (but in this case far less) was there, but someone, possibly, with fouler intentions than himself.
Through the darkness of night, out of the saloon to the dark figure’s front left, a lifeless body flew several yards through the air hitting the ground on its side, sliding through the dirt as though it had been beaten to a pulp then thrown from the battlefield inside. The man was assuredly dead. The dark figure dismounted and walked his steed over to tie him up. He then slowly made his way inside the saloon.
There he found a wrecked room with bodies all around in crumpled heaps and buried under the wreckage of tables and chairs. In the center of the room there stood a giant of a young man. He was at least eight feet tall, had short gray blonde hair, wore nothing but jeans and a sleeveless ornate jacket, and had noticeably large fangs in his mouth. His muscles were massive.

"Have you any last words?" the dark figure, new to the fight, said coolly.

"What the hell are you talking about, punk? I'll drain every last drop of blood from your body for even thinking you could take on a Higherorc! How dare you insult your lord like that, dammit! Humans! You have no respect for the one’s who protect you and offer you immortality!!" replied the wrecker in a cocky and angered tone, as though he could feel the man before him was far more skilled but did his best to ignore the simple fact.

"It seems you don't understand, boy. I am a Noble Hunter, a killer of our kind."

"What do you mean? NO, wait! You can't be him can you? NO, NO,-"

And with a streak of light, gore spewed from the vampire’s throat as he fell backwards lifelessly. If any normal blade had made this cut, even on a vampire as weak as him, he could have recovered in a few seconds-but not from the wound of this dark figure's sword. No one had seen him unleash the beautiful sword, but the now the unanimated and lifeless vampire had once felt the cold steel run across his skin.

The dark figure slowly walked over to the large body. "If I had gotten here sooner," he said to the bartender who was just arising from behind the bar where he had been hiding. “Then there would be a lesser body count. Since I was late, I take it that these deaths were my fault, so I shall dig the graves and bury them all as a small burden, unless you would rather have them burned to make certain of no return."

"You don't have to do that. Just take care of the Higherorc there. I'll let the families take care of the rest, that is, if there are any left. The fight in here didn’t take too long, so I suspect he made short work of everyone else as well. It’s a shame no one noticed this any earlier. I’m not quite sure what all has happened myself: I’ve been here all day, working. You had better be on you're way kid."

The dark figure picked up the giant and left quietly. He carried the hulking body into the middle of the road where he had seen the first of the dead men. The body of that original man was now gone, but the figure in black paid it no mind, for he knew what had happened and that he must hurry with his job. He lay the vampire's body down and pulled a can of salt from his horse's saddle. He poured the salt all over the corpse and lit a match from his pocket.

Before he could drop the match to incinerate the body, he noticed the throng of corpses surrounding him. The sick air snuffed out the flame of the match. The scene was still covered in moonlight, but the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon. The dark figure simply stood in the icy air. It seemed that the vampire's curse had already worked its way through the entire town. All it really took was one minion to start spreading it, and the Noble Hunter now stared dozens in the face. Stillness.

The hunter rushed back into the saloon as the throng made a pounce for the body in front of him. Inside, several corpses were surrounding the man behind the bar whom he had just spoken to. There was a streak of light and circle of gore splattered on the floor around the shadowy figure. The corpses fell apart from the three massive cuts that had been made across each of them.

"When the sun rises, every one of them should be incinerated. All we have to do is wait it out until then," said the dark figure.

"It's sad: the whole village is dead isn't it?"

"Probably."

"I wonder where I'll go after this. Tell me then hunter; what is your name?"

This dark man stood there quietly, ready for battle. Within moments, the doorway was being forced apart as dozens of the animated bodies tried to cram through all at once. They all had pale skin, and some of them rotting flesh. Most of their clothes were rather clean looking for the dead, but their eyes rolled back into their heads and their gray flesh were no deception for what they truly were.

"I am..."

The dark figure simply stood in that same spot in front of the bar, sword in hand. He only had to last a few more minutes in the dark. The mass of dead, tired of standstill of trying to cram through the doorway, busted down almost the entire front wall, dozens of them hammering their way through. But the dark figure still stood motionless. When they drew closer, he raised his sword with an unwavering hand.
He pulled it back, as if ready to thrust. When they were within arms reach, the man unleashed a flurry of slashes, hacking entirely through at least 15 of the recent humans. Arms, heads, and legs flew everywhere as bodies and the guts from them covered the floor.

"...Hellsingr."


There was a flash in his eyes. Hellsingr prepared himself for another strike as the corpses moved faster and prepared for another assault. This time three of them jumped in the air one after another, but all hit the ground simultaneously with entrails spewing from the cadavers. This man was fearless. His skill was stunning. Not one of these poor slaves could challenge him, and neither could all of them at once. Hellsingr sheathed his sword not having to wipe a single drop blood from the shining blade: it was his speed that kept it so clean. There were still at least sixty walking corpses left before him, but the sun would now take care of them: it was finally beginning to rise.

"Hellsingr?"

Light poured into the one room building. The sun had already turned to ash everything outside, and now it took care of all the animated dead inside. Screams rang out from the tortured monstrosities. Their skin boiled and sparked, blistering and popping beneath the light of the sun. A sickening white smoke rose from each of the slaves. The sad ending to their sad story had come: each of them slowly burned away to ashes. Hellsingr hurried outside. The body of the vampire he had just slain only moments ago was gone. He would have to continue hunting him, seeing as how his minions had moved him elsewhere. How could he be bested like that from such a young and foolish vampire? That Higherorc knew little of their true power. Oh well, if Hellsingr ever found him, he would have no trouble putting him back down; it was the one who had organized this whole event who really took prominence in his mind. Someone had rescued this corpse for some sick reason yet to be known. Hellsingr could only guess it was another of the Higherorcs’ sick pseudoscience experiments that broke the laws of both magic and nature.

Hellsingr slowly walked back inside to see to the bartender. “Forgive me for not being more efficient with my job sir," the dark figure apologized in a deep and solemn voice that would quickly bring to focus any wondering mind and still keep it lost in deep meaning. “Do you require anything to make your way to another town, or perhaps you plan on staying here? I will be following the trail north."

"No, I should be fine- but if you wouldn't mind me traveling with you for my protection, hunter, I can pay you well. The road ahead of you is dangerous, and I'm afraid I'll have no chance of fighting of those monsters and fiends like you will, nor could I possibly make it to any other town. I’m afraid that is the only direction I can go for survival"

"Very well, no pay will be necessary, consider it me making up for my own failure. But believe me when I say this; a moment will come when you will wish you had not decided to survive."

"Such is the work of a hunter, isn’t it? Handling situations no one else has the guts to go for. Alright then, just let me gather anything I may need, and feel free to scavenge the town for anything of use to you."

The short balding man shoved some things from behind the bar into a bag, and then made his way to his house across the street to finish gathering. He put it all into a wagon and hooked a horse up to it. Meanwhile, Hellsingr searched the town for any items that may be of use. He gathered some salts, silver, stakes, crosses, dried food, water, two metabolic pills, some money, some swords he could sell, and some other weaponry he gave to the traveler. This included a rifle, four pistols, two crossbows, a shotgun, and one burst rifle that was solar and electrically powered.

Now as prepared as they could be and yet possibly still ill-equipped for the terrors that await, the two men set out on their way north to the next town. They moved along the highway never traveled, Hellsingr hiding as much of his body as he could from the sun. The road ahead of them was long and dry, a desert lacking of any life. There would be no water for miles in any direction. It was the door of death that the two men knocked on, but they had to; no time could be wasted waiting for the sun to set again.

The two men had been traveling for hours when Hellsingr began to feel the effects of the sun. This was in way good. He began sweating and grabbed his canteen. Sweating wasn't something Hellsingr usually did. It just wasn't in his blood to do so, and when he did, it usually meant he had been in the sun too much in the past few months. Some times it would take years for him to hit another heat spell, but not in the perilous desert he now crossed. The water was still icy cold, chilling as it ran down his throat. Hellsingr felt better, but he knew that wouldn't be for long in this heat. He would need to rest soon or be forced to suffer an intense dehydration that could easily lead to death. The man next him was sitting under a shade on his wagon. He had plenty of water and ice, and would probably spare some if Hellsingr needed any.

"I am reminded that I have the knowledge your name hunter, but you don’t have mine. I'm Stan," said the old man, breaking the silence.

"Can you tell me why that noble was in your village?"

"No, sorry, I can’t give you any facts on that. I think he was just there to cause trouble myself. You know, just hungry like the Higherorcs get."

"He wasn't very old. Do you think there maybe a stronger vampire around here?"

"Well, I heard the next town has trouble in it. Since only one person every few years or so comes from there, I would say it's pretty rough. The road there isn’t a cakewalk either. So, simply based on that knowledge and what you know that I don’t, we could assume that we are going in the right direction."

"Tell me, why did you come?"

"Because, if I went any other, I would end up dead, of course, and you needed to take this road, so I figured I'd tag along and stay alive a little longer. Those are my only reasons. Nothing more: I really have no wish for this hunting business."

"I'm sorry to get you into this kind of trouble. I'll be honest, you may end up dead, all that depending on the strength of the Higherorcs we are about to face."

"Hmph, yeah, I know I'm about to die, but all my life's been spent in that small little town. I would rather die following a hero like you around than in bed back there as the sick old man I will soon become. I've only got seven years left until I turn 80. Out here, the last of my life may be shorter, but at least I can say I did something worthwhile with it. Maybe it will make up for the other 73 years I spent making this gut!" He laughed.

‘So, he has more reasons than he knows,’ thought Hellsingr.

After that, the journey was silent. The two travelers rode for at least six more hours until the sun started to finally die away. The heat disappeared, and cold night air swept across their faces. The sweat on their bodies made them even colder.
Hellsingr gave his horse a kick, and flames burst from its mane and ankles. This was to ward off any unwanted cohorts and keep Hellsingr's body from tensing up. The cold air and moonlight were better for him than the blaze of the sun and the hot thick air of the daytime, but too much of it made him a little shaky, like too much adrenaline rushing through one’s veins. He needed to stay calm and steady to reserve any strength he could as well as safeguard his mind. On through the dark and cold wasteland the duo traveled, already tired and beaten.




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Remington -> RE: Hellsingr (5/28/2010 23:41:24)

-CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER-

It was deep into the night that the two men rode silently: Hellsingr with his collar high around his face, welcoming in the cold midnight air, and the old man who was growing weary from their hours of endless travel. The silence was broken: "So, what exactly was your business coming to my town? I understand you were after that young vampire, but who paid you?"

"I don't usually talk about my clients."

"Oh, I'm sorry then..."

"All I can tell you is that he is a Human Noble who's business it is to keep the Higherorcs in line. As I'm sure you would agree, the Higherorcs have drained enough life from the Humans. The Higherorcy is dwindling, Higherorcs facing extinction, so it is my job to help make sure they are wiped out before they can regroup return as tyrants of the earth."

"That's a lot of information to share for someone who doesn't talk about his clients."

"Maybe."

"Hmm, so, are you to hire by more than one man?"

Hellsingr sat silently. The answer was obvious and both riders new it, the old man was just trying to keep from collapsing in weariness. Though Stan’s body wanted to quit, to just lay in the desert and die, something wouldn’t let him. Something forced him to go on.

"I assume you were already hired to kill the vampire who slaughtered my village, correct?"

"I have a list."

"What can you tell me about him? I assume you were given a biography of some sort?"

"All I can say is that it's my job to kill him. I know nothing else."

"Say, how do you know we're going in the right direction?"

"A hunch."

"AAh haha! What an odd young man you are. A hunch: Well since you are a hunter, and you seem to know what you're doing, I don't see a reason not to trust you. I don't think it's much farther anyways. I can't wait to see how this plays out. Such an interesting young man."

With those last words, the silence returned to the realm of the two travelers. Stan was right: the road ahead was difficult, but for some reason, he always felt he could continue no matter how physically drained he seemed. What was it that carried him on like this?

The sun began to rise again. Ahead of the two men were what looked like two mountains standing all by themselves. Behind them nothing could be seen. They were in the middle of a desert and it would take them at least until nightfall to reach the town that lay between the mountains. Hellsingr was low on water, and if he ran out and a fight started, he would be in some trouble. Stan was getting low on water too. This man was slowing Hellsingr down, but at the same time, he wouldn't be able to make it through here without him. The water he had supplied kept Hellsingr and his horse going. If Hellsingr had been riding at full speed, then his Nightmare would have surely died. The demon horse was strong, but even it was affected by the intense rays of the sun. The wastelands were bad, but the deserts were worse. Hellsingr was only good to travel by night, and he was always getting caught in the wastelands during the daytime. He could make it through; it was just trouble to do so. It always took him at least two days of rest to fully recover when these heat spells hit. He could survive at the pace they were going, but he might have trouble in a real fight.

As Hellsingr and Stan continued moving, they became surrounded on either side by tilting bronze crosses and gravestones. "Some of these are graves, and some of them are fake... The black crosses must be fake deathwarders, so be ready," Hellsingr told Stan who was looking troubled now. Stan shivered. Hellsingr kept riding on through the morning sunlight. "Don't worry about anything jumping out now. If they do attack they'll wait until at least late in the after noon when any demon would begin to regain his power from the night."

Noon came, and Hellsingr was right; still no attack. 13 o'clock came, and still there was no attack. By 15 o'clock, Hellsingr was nearing the edge of his strength. He opened his canteen and finished the last of his water. Whoever he was facing had planned this out almost perfectly. "Stan...are you ready?" Hellsingr asked. He was short of breath and ready to fall off of his steed, crumpling over. “Yes, I'm ready..." Stan was tired too. Something in the air had changed. He wasn't as willing to go on as he was earlier. He had to continue though. It was important that he stay ready to protect Hellsingr who was coming near the end of his strength, or something like that-his mind was clouded. Both Hellsingr and Stan were seriously affected by the blazing heat and deathly radiance of the sun, especially after being exposed without rest for such a prolonged period. Hellsingr would probably live until night, unless they were attacked.

Stan heard a noise come from the side of the road. "Don't stop! Whatever you do... don't stop moving. We have to make it... to the town up ahead," said Hellsingr. The noises continued, and Stan realized that they were being surrounded by undead minions. Hellsingr kept riding. Ordinarily he would have had his steed burst into flames, but he had already taken enough damage from the sun that the heat might finish him all together. "Just keep moving. Maybe...we can... wait... it out... until... dusk..."

"Conserve your strength Hellsingr," whispered Stan.

"Don't... worry... about... me.... I.... can.... take.... care.... of.... it...."

The mass around them was getting thick. It was coming down to that Hellsingr had no choice but to do combat with these dead. He was beginning to weeze now. His heart was beating slower, but much harder. He slid down off of his nightmare and slowly walked out in front Stan who was previously beside him. Hellsingr drew his hand from under his cloak. He was holding a platinum, silver, and gold cross. Hellsingr didn't have the strength to run around hacking through his enemy, so he made this his weapon of choice. He held the crucifix out in front of him. The mass stopped closing in. Hellsingr stood silent with his arm out-stretched. Stan grabbed the burst rifle Hellsingr had given him back at the last town.
Thoughts of that home ran through his head. He grew shakey as anger filled his body. He positioned himself in the back of the wagon and prepared to fire. He couldn't keep the site steady. What the hell! He was pissed off enough already, so he quit expecting to make accurate shots. The field of dead behind him was thick anyways.

At the front Hellsingr stood analyzing his enemy. He was also waiting for the sun to set. The mass realized this and began trying to move forward. The first line began smoking, burning away from the holy light of the crucifix, but this didn't stop them. Hellsingr and Stan knew that the stalemate was over. They had to act. Stan was nervous. Hellsingr was weak. They had to do something to stop the on coming threat. And so they did. Stan screamed as he unleashed hell on the maggots before him! Hellsingr hurled the crucifix directly into the throng. It burst into flames, searing through the undead with a holy retribution. It swung to the right some and flew straight back into Hellsingr's hand. The crucifix was on a small chain nearly invisible in the coming darkness. The chain was connected to a brace that Hellsingr wore around his wrist. The cross still glowed with a righteous light. Behind Hellsingr, the mass of dead were dropping quickly. Stan was relentlessly firing blast after blast from his rifle. The energy shots exploded through at least four or five undead at a time. The sun was lowering.

The moon had already been out for a while, but now that the sun was leaving, it began to shine with more potency. Hellsingr felt a cold chill run down his spine, one of fearsome empowerment. Nearly a thousand undead still surrounded Hellsingr and Stan. Hellsingr, now realizing the already immense number had grown, threw his crucifix straight up into the air. The titanium chain pulled tight as the cross resisted the fall back down to the deadly earth below it. The encroaching corpses stopped dead in their tracks. Stan stopped firing as well. Everyone there at that moment glanced up into the sky and gazed at the holy sign. Two fireballs began circling around the emblem, gathering size as they went. They looked like comets creating tails to mark their paths. The circle began to grow in circumference. As it grew, it made its way toward the ground.
It hammered through the throng of animated cadavers incinerating every one of them. The smell of rotten flesh was joined by the heavy stench of burning flesh. Both the horses jumped and whinnied at the sight of the flames and the massive heat that came from them.

As the fire died down, Hellsingr slowly stumbled over to his steed. Exhausted and barely able to properly mount, he cantered forward on his steed. Stan was already prepared to follow. So, once again, wasting no time, the duo traveled in darkness, deep into the night.




Hellsingr and Stan continued their journey into the valley between the two mountains without stop. They were close to the town Stan had heard of and knew they could rest their weary bodies there. The moon had helped Hellsingr continue, but it the sun had already done its damage. "You're no ordinary man, are you?" asked Stan.

"What do you mean?"
\
"That sun did some heavy damage to you. It took quite a toll on you're stamina. Any regular man either would have made it through that desert, or died trying;but you, you're different. You would have made it through no matter the circumstances, yet it would have hurt you worse. Your body has been damaged greatly; your insides have been fried to a crisp.
It must be as I thought: You, Hellsingr, are a Higherorc!"

"How long have you known? Don't tell me it comes as a surprise."

"I had my suspiscions when I thought I heard you say so at my bar. I wasn't sure, but I am now."

"So, what will you do, now that you know?"

"Nothing different. Just because you're a Higherorc doesn't change what I've seen you do. You're the first real noble I’ve ever seen, the only one with honor."

"I'm not as honorable as you may think."

"Then I hope I'll die ignorant. I would like to think the world still has hope."

"The world never had hope. It was destined to die ever since the day He created it."

"Hm, so, a Higherorc and a Christian. I'm rather surprised."

Hellsingr sat silently.

"Were you always a great warrior?"

"No."

"That sounds like an interesting story to be heard or read. So?"

"I...don't remember."

"Haha, if you don't want to talk about it then that's fine, but don't let it cloud your mind. You could be greater, but something's holding you back. I suppose it's up to you to figure that out, boy."

Silence followed after that. Hellsingr and Stan were coming close to the village. It really hadn't taken them too long: the night was still heavy and the moon full and at its peak. Hellsingr was still weak. He had become sick to his stomach as well. He shouldn't have let himself take so much damage from the sun, but what choice was there?

The two men entered the town. Torches were evenly placed on either side of the road. Houses and small businesses lined both sides as well. The first building to their right was an Inn. Judging by the size of the town, it was the only one. Something in the air didn't sit right with Stan. Hellsingr, although noticing an inescapable false sense of home, didn't like this place either. What choice did they have? The two sick and weary travelers would have to stay at least the night at this town. Hellsingr dismounted his steed and tied it up at the entrance of the inn. "Stay here nand I'll go inside and deal with things."

"Alright then."

Hellsingr slowly disappeared inside the foreboding inn. Stan was on edge entirely. He had already gotten two of the four pistols they had found in the last town. Munchen: this was the name of Stan's old home, but now it was nothing. Happy memories flooded into Stan's mind. The town he was in now was nothing like Munchen. Munchen wasn't perfect, there were a few too many drifters causing trouble, but all the folks that called it home were gone now. All the people who would have given you the shirt off their back, all the children playing games in the street, all the men and women working hard to provide for themselves, but not forgetting to take care of anyone who really needed it: that was Munchen. A tear came to his eye. He gave a small laugh inside. What an interesting turn of events. What sad day it had been for him. He had lost everything in moments. Now he had gotten himself into trouble. This vampire hunting was a younger man's game, something he was too old to handle. He didn't want to go on.

Hellsingr came out of the inn with his signature slow walk. Stan felt something different in the air from seeing him. He had to continue the fight. It wasn't some war or anything, but it was important someone remember Munchen: that someone pass on the story that once was. 'Since I am the last, It is my job to carry on the honor, memory, hopes, and dreams of Munchen!'

"He said there's a place in the back...where you can put your cart."

Hellsingr's weakness to the sun had not fully recovered, and every hour the man went without rest he drew nearer to his death. His face was cracked and dried now, blood running down it. His arms shook, not with an overpowering strength, but with a deadly weakness. He took long, deep, raspy breaths, making his chest expand and contract very slowly. With each breath, a scorching pain filled his insides. His legs trembled with the rest of his tortured body.

Stan wasted no time in settling his horse in. He took what irreplacable items they needed inside and left the rest in the stables. Hellsingr had bought them two rooms and paid the keeper tenfold what was asked. "Before...you retire...Stan...
...tell... the inn...huuuh-huuuh...keeper...to...bring me...a....flask.....of....lunar water...and...to....fill my....canteen
....to the....top."

"Very well."

Stan did as he was asked, bringing a silver flask of this 'lunar water' to the dying man. He entered the room of the wounded knight, making each step as quick and quiet as possible. Stan handed the flask to the man who sat sprawled and dying in a small chair. "*Hackgh-cough-cough*." Hellsingr hacked and cough until blood flowed freely from his mouth. Stan could plainly see that standing around would be pointless, but how could Hellsingr drink the water now? The man was sure to die. Hellsingr had beaten himself. Nay, nature slew the great hunter who held an unnatural curse. Yet in time, cannot anything unnatural be described as natural. Time was a measurement Hellsingr hadn't felt the effects of in ages, at least not the physical ones.

Rather than try and force the water down Hellsingr's dried and bloody throat, Stan simply removed the hunter's large hat. He drenched the dead man's head in the icy cold water. "*HUUH*!" Hellsingr drew in a deep breath as though he had been under water for hours, then proceeded to vomit large amounts of blood onto the floor. His skin was returning to its natural beauty. "Hurry old man! Get more of that water!!" whispered Hellsingr, seeming very short. At this moment he was very different. He had lost his usual stoic nature, and now what remained was a short tempered and irritated man. Once again, a gush of blood spewed from his mouth onto the floor, showing the large fangs in his mouth. Stan returned with a pitcher full of the mystic water. Hellsingr yanked it from the old man's hands and began pouring it on his face, his mouth wide open. The water splattered over his body, drenching him.
His skin had returned fully to it's normal beauty, but his face still showed the same temper mental features. Then, slowly, it reverted back to its normal, stoic gaze. Water, blood, mucus, and vomit covered the floor and a sick smell filled the air. "Now I see why you paid them so well, hahaha!" chortled Stan. "I need to rest," said Hellsingr in a low voice, tired. He took his slow signature walk over to the bed, where his body fell, beaten, weak, and stained with the burns of the sun.

Stan left to his own room, where he showered and dressed for bed. It was deep into the night when Stan's memories quit torturing him. It was at that time that the old man fell deep into a deep sleep. The sounds of night filled the, and it seemed as if there was a lingering peace about the land, but only a fool would believe this.




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