On the sacred mountain, Bul-Kathos drilled Rorschach in basic training. Nearby, Ancient One sipped sparkling water, relaying Vishanti's words to Bul-Kathos, as Vishanti's power couldn't act without a summoner. Ancient One bridged their communication.
Night had fallen; the day passed swiftly.
The Seven Demon Kings were too dire to ignore, even for Vishanti.
Other recruits—save Bruce Wayne, Natasha, and Hawkeye, still training—returned to the city, joined by Steve.
Steve planned to form an Avengers team to tackle looming threats, targeting these barbarian recruits first. He arranged a dinner with Rumlow to share his vision and bond with the new blood.
"Cap, you're sticking to this old training ground?" Rumlow whistled, eyeing the underground space, his twin hammers dangling from his waist. Spacious, but not quite fitting Steve's stature.
"Can't claim my pension yet. SHIELD set this up—it's decent enough," Steve replied. His return hadn't gone unnoticed by the military or council, who debated how to handle the revived legend. They focused on curbing his influence, overlooking his basic needs. No driver's license, no paycheck.
"Cool," Luke said, scanning the training area, itching to punch the hanging sandbags.
"Dinner's the plan, right?" Jessica flicked her hair, casual. Her clothes—sackcloth from Matt's warehouse stash—were thrown on by Luke post-recovery.
Matt stood silent, still in tattered gear.
"Gotta change first. Your weapons scream trouble," Steve said, eyeing their arsenal: hammers, machetes, axes, and maces. On the street, they'd draw five clips' worth of police fire. SHIELD's oversized van barely got them here unscathed.
"You got clothes for us?" Jessica grinned. Her outfit was makeshift, courtesy of Matt and Luke.
Luke took a playful punch from her, grinning cluelessly.
"Agents are grabbing something fitting. The weapons are trickier," Steve said, hanging his shield on the wall.
Rumlow plopped down, used to sitting on the ground—chairs couldn't handle his hammers' weight. Matt instinctively tucked his weapons into a backpack, drawing stares.
"How'd you do that?" Luke stammered.
"What?" Matt blinked.
"The backpack. You don't have one?" Jessica said, her axe vanishing from her hand.
"You too?" Luke gaped.
"Let me try," Rumlow muttered. His hammer flickered, then reappeared. He wasn't there yet.
Nephalem abilities included spatial storage. Matt, with the strongest bloodline, mastered it early. Jessica, infused with Orak's blood, outranked Rumlow and Luke in capacity. Rumlow was close to unlocking it; Luke, the weakest, hadn't sensed it yet.
"Bloodline strength, maybe?" Matt murmured.
"Tal Rasha's secret realm was brutal. Gotta step up," Rumlow said, handing his hammer to Matt for storage.
"Jessica," Luke called hesitantly. She rolled her eyes, stashing his weapon in her pack.
"Jealous. Carrying this shield's a hassle, but I need it for trouble," Steve chuckled, unfazed by envy.
"Know a good barbecue spot. Once the agents bring clothes, we'll eat," he added.
"Why didn't the ancestors choose you?" Rumlow asked, curious. Steve passed the mountain's test but lacked an ancestor's favor, unlike Matt.
"Maybe I'm not their type," Steve said, climbing the ring and grabbing boxing gloves. "Who's up for a spar?"
Steve's combat skills were elite. Only Rumlow might match him in hand-to-hand, if they ignored raw strength.
Elsewhere, Nick Fury sat in his office, scalp prickling at John Wick's presence. The man who'd gunned down his Life Model Decoy over a dog still unnerved him.
"Planning to shoot me again?" Fury quipped, eyeing Wick.
"Can you revive people? Then a dog shouldn't be hard," Wick said coldly, clutching his pet's corpse.
Fury rubbed his temples. Reviving humans often left mental scars—strange symbols scrawled on walls. A dog? Would it mark territory with cryptic signs? Dogs didn't have the bladder for that.
"You sure this is your price?" Fury asked, skeptical.
"If you can do it, I'll join you," Wick replied, his gaze icy enough to suggest he'd shoot Fury's head off—disarmed or not.
"Fine. Leave the dog. You'll see it alive soon," Fury decided, waving Melinda to escort Wick out.
Before he could process, an agent burst in. "Director! Tony Stark's missing in Afghanistan!"
Fury sighed, too drained for his usual expletive. Stark's disappearance was big, but his mind was fried. "Send a team. Report when you find him."
The agent, a military transfer, saluted stiffly. "Yes, sir!"
SHIELD was bloated with council and military plants, sent to curb Hydra's influence—or carve up SHIELD's power.
In the UK, Coulson lingered, probing Hellsing's operations. SHIELD knew Hellsing handled supernatural threats, but their combat strength was a mystery. Coulson aimed to assess—and possibly poach—their forces.
"How long we watching, sir? Want me to grab dinner?" his driver whispered.
"No. They're moving. Follow," Coulson said, pointing at a black van—more like an armored transport—rolling past.
The agent floored it, engine always running for quick pursuits.
In a blood-soaked building, Father Alexander Anderson wielded his bayonets, pinning a ghoul to the wall. Those bitten by vampires but unworthy of vampirism became these flesh-hungry monstrosities. Holy flames on his blades seared the creature.
The floor was littered with human remains. The building, overtaken by vampires, was a graveyard. Innocent victims lay with cracked, tear-streaked eyes, testifying to their agony.
Anderson's bayonet scraped bloodied walls as he advanced, stooped but resolute. His ruthlessness stemmed from compassion for humanity, his faith a beacon of righteous fury.
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want," he intoned, his voice eerie yet holy. A thrown bayonet pinned a fleeing ghoul. "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures…"
His blades morphed into glowing Bible pages, swirling around him like flames. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."
Pages flew, sealing the building in golden threads. "Now, you fear!" Anderson bared his teeth, crushing the ghoul's head under his boot. Blood splattered, but his white trousers stayed pristine.
The ghoul burned to ash in holy flames. "Even monsters get a dazzling end? Disgusting," Anderson sneered, his bayonets forming a cross under moonlight.
Gunshots rang out. Anderson straightened, facing the source.
Outside, Coulson and his agent watched. Five minutes earlier, they'd seen a red-coated man and a gun-toting girl in khaki enter. Gunfire followed.
Coulson stopped his agent from intervening. "Stay out of monster fights."
Hellsing's operatives were at work. Coulson's job was to observe, not interfere.
Inside, Alucard and Seras Victoria slaughtered ghouls. A ghoul fell to Seras's shot, but before victory sank in, she collapsed, pierced by flaming bayonets etched with golden runes.
"Blessed bayonets?" Alucard grinned, turning to their source.
Bible pages flooded the corridor, nailing walls like spotlights, sealing the space. Anderson stepped into view, his cross glowing like a firefly.
"We are God's agents, His earthly punishers. Our mission: eradicate those who defy Him, to their last shred of flesh!" Anderson's bayonets formed a cross. "Amen!"
Sparks flew as his blades clashed.
At Hellsing's headquarters, Integra clipped a cigar, unlit. "Director! Vatican's Section XIII, 'Iscariot,' is moving!" an agent reported.
"Iscariot. Vatican's unofficial executioners, their strongest force," Integra said calmly. "Demon hunters, heretic slayers, named for Judas. Who's deployed?"
"One man. Paladin Alexander Anderson."
Integra's butler glanced at her. Anderson wasn't to be trifled with.
"Anderson and Alucard meeting—what happens?" Integra mused, already knowing the answer. She stood, hands slamming the desk. "I'm going to Bedlam. Get me a gun, a sword, two guards. Walter, handle the Vatican."
She strode out, composed but swift. The butler bowed.
Outside, Coulson saw holy light flicker through windows, tense.
Anderson—killer, executioner, regenerator, Angel Dust. Origin, race, age: unknown. Vatican's anti-monster ace, like Alucard to Hellsing. Merciless to non-humans.
"Fine moon tonight, monsters!" Anderson faced Alucard, steps apart.
Seras groaned, struggling to rise, pain searing from the burning bayonets.
"Such sweet agony, monster girl. But this won't kill you," Anderson mocked. "I missed your heart. It's been ages since I hunted proper vampires. I won't let you off easy."
"Vatican's Iscariot?" Alucard asked.
"The very same, Hellsing's lapdogs," Anderson sneered. Hellsing's use of a vampire like Alucard to fight monsters was anathema to the Church.
"You're Alucard? A vampire siding with humans, killing monsters? Stocking your pantry?" Anderson taunted, unable to fathom Alucard's motives.
Alucard advanced, unfazed. "The ghouls here?"
"Dead. Small fry. Not even a warm-up," Anderson replied.
Seras gasped, flames licking her wounds. Warmth was bad news for vampires.
"You're all that's left," Anderson stated.
"Is that so?" Alucard smirked as they closed the distance.
The fight erupted. Alucard's custom pistol clashed with Anderson's bayonets, sparks flying. Anderson's blade pierced Alucard's shoulder. Alucard grunted, firing from his arm's crook. Anderson's counter slashed Alucard, blood spraying as he fell into shadows.
"Fighting a vampire at night? Brave, but foolish," Alucard mocked.
"Master!" Seras cried, flames weakening her.
"Quiet, Seras. Blessed bayonets," Alucard said, moving to free her. The flames weren't lethal—yet.
Anderson rose behind him, bayonet piercing Alucard's back. "Ha! Ka! Gah!" Anderson's chilling laugh echoed as holy flames sizzled.
Monsters deserved cruelty for their savagery.
Alucard flipped free, firing both guns mid-air. Anderson fell, then rose, charging unscathed. His bayonets slashed Alucard's waist, holy flames eating at the wounds.
They parted briefly. Anderson charged again, blocking bullets with his arms. Eight bayonets flew, shattering glass with their force. Alucard shot down some, but four pierced him, flames raging.
Anderson slammed Alucard's head into the wall, cratering it. Two more bayonets pinned him, sealing his counterattack. Bible pages burned against Alucard, filling the air with scorched blood.
"Amen!" Anderson roared.
"Regeneration?" Alucard rasped.
"Humanity's weapon against you," Anderson replied, unleashing a storm of bayonets. Alucard hung like a pincushion, head bowed.
Fiery wings flickered behind Anderson.
Outside, Coulson swallowed hard, seeing holy flames' traces. "You're right," his agent muttered.
Coulson called Fury. "Director, Hellsing's fighting Church forces. Possible complications."
"Keep watching," Fury said, rubbing his forehead. If Hellsing lost strength, he'd need new allies. The Church wouldn't lend theirs.
The battle raged on.
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