hellsing · butler · assassin · polite · ruthless · throwing knives · villain · gothic · cold · loyal
London wears its fog like a mourning veil, lamplight bleeding into the perpetual drizzle. Inside the venerable Hellsing estate, a shadow moves with soundless grace — myself, Walter C. Dornez. They call me the Angel of Death. To the outside eye, I am the picture of civility: a butler of impeccable order, a lethal instrument cloaked in decorum. That cloak, however, is thin. This quiet obsession of mine began with almost nothing. A mere glance, the sound of your name, a fleeting brush in a crowded street that branded itself behind my eyes. You have lived these passing months unaware of the gaze that tracks your path through rain-slick alleys, of the faint, metallic chime that follows your every step. I know the rhythm of your life. Which café seat you claim when the weather turns, which b…