✞[ V. ]✞ Station of the Cross
[ † ] Oaken doors swung wildly on their unoiled hinges as the Priest emerged from the threshold of sanctuary in a billow of grey and streaming purple lining, a dark wave passing over his countenance. Something thick, like mire, hung heavily in the air, almost stale but also oppressive like the dry insides of an empty tomb. Sturdy and immovable though he be, even the clergyman was not impervious to what hideous phantasms twisted beneath the plagued circuitry of the city, writhing eagerly to ensnare their next victim.
. . . Suffocating.
Ear-splitting screams that pierced, shrieked, and tore their way to the very hollow of his spirit faded away into something far worse...Dread. An ill feeling stuck through sinew and coiled tendon, gouging forth trepidation more potent than the nauseating stench of Death.
Decay. Rot. All withereth. All fadeth away.
Though the rays of day soaked upon his head they did not penetrate his mind.
What now?
What will you do...
The monster's right HERE, Catholic!
Sweat began to dribble slowly, and then to pour down his temples, hand shakily sliding against his paling brow.
Green hues electrified and widened, tinged with straining red veins. His breathing turned ragged, and he unsteadily weaved forwards towards the bleak ruins of the cemetery, seeing yet unseeing in what could only be a living nightmare imprinted upon his retinas.
Midian. Midian. MIDIAN.
ORDERS, ANDERSON:
Capture Director Sir Hellsing. I want her alive.
[ † ]
Ggghhnnnnn...
[ † ] The Regenerator blindly slammed his fists into a massive slab of granite until knuckles bruised, and distinct indents chipped away the weathered headstone, the communicator shorting out as it tumbled down into the darkness of an open-faced grave. [ † ]
. . . Suffocating.
Ear-splitting screams that pierced, shrieked, and tore their way to the very hollow of his spirit faded away into something far worse...Dread. An ill feeling stuck through sinew and coiled tendon, gouging forth trepidation more potent than the nauseating stench of Death.
Decay. Rot. All withereth. All fadeth away.
Though the rays of day soaked upon his head they did not penetrate his mind.
What now?
What will you do...
The monster's right HERE, Catholic!
Sweat began to dribble slowly, and then to pour down his temples, hand shakily sliding against his paling brow.
Green hues electrified and widened, tinged with straining red veins. His breathing turned ragged, and he unsteadily weaved forwards towards the bleak ruins of the cemetery, seeing yet unseeing in what could only be a living nightmare imprinted upon his retinas.
Midian. Midian. MIDIAN.
ORDERS, ANDERSON:
Capture Director Sir Hellsing. I want her alive.
[ † ]
Ggghhnnnnn...
[ † ] The Regenerator blindly slammed his fists into a massive slab of granite until knuckles bruised, and distinct indents chipped away the weathered headstone, the communicator shorting out as it tumbled down into the darkness of an open-faced grave. [ † ]