#FDR wasnt even concerned with lives as he was w profits as well

[desertdragon]

I started this because I revisited Hellsing Abridged again and the London Attack scene in the original version and it became its own thing the more I ran with it; I realized I talked a lot about Vaste’s war crimes in the past tense but never gave them the detail they should have in order to keep her from looking one sided or vague about it, I don’t want anyone woobifying her even when she’s starting to recover cuz that erases the gravity of her actions and would undercut the abuse she suffered to feel she had to do what shes done

If you needed any more reason to hate war and the US military, defiling enemy bodies for art piece trophies was very common in the Pacific Theater during WWII, including G.I.s sending skulls back home as gifts which are now museum displays- those involved still aren’t held responsible, and that was inspiration for a scene bc clean militaries are a myth 

TWs: war, extreme violence, eye trauma / eye gouging, child killing, Vaste thwarting attempted rape, attempted infanticide, abuse/manipulation, passing reference to cannibalism

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The grass that rose toward her hips made for games of play or rest at day, and were she a villager she'd tangle herself within forever. It was soft and insular now as it tickled her face. But night gave it harsh angles, shadows for ambush, and a breeze that once ruffled lush greenery tasted stagnant. She wondered if the wind knew, if Llymlaen and Oschon above wished to observe all that would come. This land was beautiful yet regarded in the way an engraved tool is beautiful. 

Looking out across the west revealed telltale signs of soldiers scurrying, their massive overcoats only settling when they took positions, molded then to the dark. The Alliance had spared every arm it could for every edge it could grasp. She felt safe in assuming the other cardinal directions were secured just as efficiently. Encirclement tactics rose the same goosebumps a hunt did down her skin. 

Beyond the figures creeping toward the grain fields sat a town of neat houses. Any lights had been put out save for braziers spaced around its boundaries. Most curtains were drawn from what little the clouded moonlight revealed, but any more than that she couldn't tell. 

A Captain whose name and allegiance escaped her mind whispered like their presence was conspiracy. In a way, Vaste supposed it counted. 

"Ready striking devices." 

Beside her came the sounds of packs being rummaged. Flint and steel glinted in the hands of her platoon. Her stomach turned at the look it put in their eyes. Almost as if they were hungry. They glanced at one another then her before nodding. The Captain spoke again with a tone that curdled her blood. 

"Glory to the Twelve and victory to us, brothers. It is an honor to serve beside you Warrior of Light. May we meet again." 

"May we meet again." Echoed back every soldier. 

Then with the wind they moved past her toward the advance on the grain. Her body collapsed on her ass once they left her sight. Her limbs ached as her stomach tightened, the tension coiling away from muscles to spool at her center. The sound of her own breathing grew in her ears. Her eyes scanned the sky. No flare yet. Then sour, acrid smoke wafted at her in a haze. 

Flames licked the golden grain into lights bright enough to be noon, hot enough to cremate. It made her eyes sting and mouth dry; again she looked to find no flare. When would it come, from where would it come? 

An electric stab of pain raced up her nape; even now Y'shtola's shock collar stifled her air, hung over her sharper than a sword. If she did this it would end. It would end. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her hands over her flattened ears. Her tail wrapped tight across her stomach. 

She felt the flare shake the night with its light bathing the land in a bloody glow. White flashed behind her eyes as she exhaled. The pain would end after this. She stood gripping her spear. Her will set. No more collars, no more locked rooms. No more agony called down like perverted thunder. 

The stench grew as her mind dimmed; her voice fled as the first screams tore the air. With empty eyes that stared a thousand malms into a void, she gripped her spear. In a leap the clouds rushed past her, the cold unfelt against her skin. In her hands the spear thrust toward the earth when she stopped suspended among the clouds. Her feet were solid against the empty wind; in the silver moonlight Menphina too watched with bated breath. 

Then she kicked herself forward and hurtled down. The breeze became a howling force cloaking her in its power; her heart pounded up her throat. She blinked to find the ground almost upon her, then shut her eyes. 

Her landing rent sound from her ears in a thunderclap. Beneath her the earth quaked shooting sprays of dirt and stone alike in every direction. Several aftershocks vibrated her bones and didn't let go when she fell. 

The crater she'd made was just shallow enough to see over in a few steps. Halves of houses barely stood on street after street. A handful groaned listing to the side, before crashing down entirely. 

 The dust blew into her lungs with choking breaths. She coughed hard and waved the debris clouds from her face. Purpose steeled her body. 

 A series of shapes rushed forward, their shadows dancing on what walls remained. Footsteps popped into her hearing without build up. Then she heard their cries. Their wailing carried anguish, fear, rage, everything released at once in vain. Enemy civilians were animals she'd been told. They'd spy and conspire and fuck making more soldiers to put down. 

These weren't her first dead, not even her first killed at resting hours. As she hoisted her spear emotion didn't guide her steps. 

'Let the pain end.'  

She struck a woman's head clean through and ripped it from her shoulders. Those gathered at the front of the throng broke into a sprint. Fire illuminated the Alliance soldiers gathering ahead of them. Fire ringed the village. 

With a swing she flung the severed head aside. The child frozen in the warm embrace of the woman's corpse didn't feel their throat slit. The withered elder standing beside them didn't feel her punch out his heart. The man who grabbed her spear didn't anticipate how his face contorted when she yanked her weapon back and gripped his throat. One tug upward exposed his spine for the screaming crowd. 

She tossed it to the ground, unflinching when it hit with a wet smack. As his body crumpled she stepped aside; her eyes picked apart those fleeing. Where should she go...there! A pair of villagers carrying a limping woman resting each arm across their shoulders stumbled at the wind marking her passage. Ahead of them a group of five sprinted toward a half collapsed house. 

One by one she counted them by their shadows flickering under firelight. The blaze had jumped faster than a plague. The man of the group kissed his wife hard before holding the three children near. Behind him their ruined house burned. When the wife rushed through the doorway, she dashed with a speed that carried her on the wind, faster than it could keep up. 

When she stepped inside trailing blood under her greaves their eyes met. Second by second, Vaste never looked away; the wife's gaze darted across the mangled bodies. A scream started and died in her throat. Instead her face contorted, her eyes bulging as she scrambled toward the back wall. Vaste’s speed was faster, her reach greater, and when the primal shriek of ‘No!’ shot pain through her ears she slammed her elbow backward, her eyes never moved. The crunch echoed beside the groaning roof beams. An infant cried using all its strength and thrashed enough to rock its cradle. At her feet its mother’s blood gurgled, pooling to outline what remained of her skull.

She drew her dagger then in one motion readied it to plunge down. Her hand froze clutching the blade an ilm above tiny flailing arms. The muscles tensed from her shoulder to fingers. Her grip tightened. She tried plunging the dagger again, her eyes set on the infant’s heart. Her wrist refused to budge. Then she tried again and again feeling her face tighten. Tears clouded her eyes. Short Fang rattled in her trembling hand; she thumbed its handle after sheathing it. A shaky breath left her body quivering.

In her arms, the babe weighed no more than a bird it seemed. Cradled firm toward her chest they grew pacified, mewling in whines just as sharp. She ran mindful of her footing and leapt over the flames. The landing spiked their mewling into a cry higher than before. Without hesitation, she hushed them, cooing softly. An Alliance soldier in Maelstrom red never had the chance to escape as she approached. The man’s brow shot up as he glanced from her to the babe then back again. His jaw slackened and he stuttered the sounds for words that failed. His salute was clumsy.

“Captain Valescoere! The retreat has yet to sound. What brings you here-“

“Get this child to safety.”

He glared down his nose; his voice twisted halfway between a snarl and a stammer.

“H-H-Harboring the enemy? Have you gone mad-“

Faster than a heartbeat Short Fang scraped along his teeth. Its cold steel pressed the side of his tongue digging into the flesh. A thin stream of blood slid down the edge as sweat beaded his face. His breaths fogged the blade; fear snuffed the ego from his eyes. Under her gaze, he took the babe in silence. Then she turned toward the tangy, burning air and leapt once more into carnage. No more pain now, there was a job to do.

The echoes of tearing flesh chased by delighted laughter and screams rose around her. Her feet dragged as she slunk down charred streets. Ahead some soldiers ambushed a couple at an intersection; their heads rolled past her blank eyes. Every sound grew muffled as if the world submerged itself in brackish water. Her chest hardly rose or fell; she had been drowned before.

A new pack of soldiers hunted an elder together in the glee of children catching their target at tag. Their jeers rose above the roaring din; a choked cry made his dying words when their spears skewered his soft body. Some others bumped shoulders in passing; intestines draped their chests and bones became trophies at their belts. They would paint the bones into art pieces later, perfect for recounting over drinks.

Everyone bowed their heads at the sight of her; some flashed smiles that made her their comrade, their trump card, their beloved, their god. That was when she heard it. A woman shrieked louder than a beast staring down death. Her ears twitched and perked. The distinct tear of cloth rippled like thunder above all else. Instinctively she bared her fangs; her muscles went taut pulled by strings of rage. Her heart pounded on her tongue, through her body, through her soul as she flung herself toward the cry. The world blurred.

The woman was not a woman in the slightest, but a girl upon her coming of age. That gave form to her rage, to the burning that spread from somewhere she dared not give a name. It stretched tight over her frame until her sight held nothing but the soldier straddling the girl in its claws. She blinked; her thumbs crushed his eyes as if they were balls of jam. The scream that followed was unlike any creature she had ever killed. Her hands pinned his head between them stronger than a vice; his hands beat useless against her. Then she was upon him.

She lifted him above her then roared, her face twisted, its hard angles laid bare. Like tearing parchment, she ripped him in half from skull to toes. Snapping bones and tearing sinew popped alongside the crackling flames. The steam wafting off his still pumping organs heated her already flushed skin. A stench mixing iron with meat gagged her throat. Swallowing bile never grew easier.

At her feet, the girl stared doe eyed and her lips quivering. They watched one another finding no need for words. Painfully, painfully slow the girl reached out her arm. Her face wrinkled under the strain, biting back another cry. Vaste watched tears bubble in her eyes; she looked down. Both the girl’s legs were bent in reverse, broken. Before she could stop, her body moved yearning to reach for her when she froze.

‘You’re being careless.’

‘You’re being sloppy.’

‘You hesitated.’

Voices filled her brain dancing across her mind in cruel bursts. The babe of earlier flashed with them cutting her thoughts in two. Her mouth grew dry. That child lived; she had threatened a fellow soldier. It was one mistake too many with the night so young. The Scions would hear of it; they’d want a word and then it’d be back to the collars and chains and probing and the flat questions and-

Impulse toppled all but shame to make her glare, fear to curl her fist, and rage bursting as a roar. The girl’s skull felt as resistant as a bird. Then it fell away letting her slump against dirt soaked in evil.

Her head was pounding when she came to again. There were no shadows to count on these walls but as she licked her cracked lips, her last drink was several hours past. Around her neck, the shock collar may have weighed the world for how it pinched her flesh. Long ago she had lost much feeling there; the discomfort magnified knowing there was something she wanted off, a something which was never hers to remove. Never did she imagine a body of meat and blood could ache into numbness. Maybe it was only in her head. Maybe it could get much worse.

She didn’t raise her head when the door opened. The echo of their footsteps floated a million malms above her ears. When the chain cuffs binding her wrists rattled, the urge to rip them from the wall pulsed. Her numbness quickly smothered it.

‘You have nowhere to go, no one to be.’

Faintly she registered the sounds of scribbling and murmurs. It was Y’shtola who crouched beside her; the scents of the road and sweet grass gave her away. Vaste twitched in surprise finding her senses still worked this time. Hunger pangs stirred when she felt herself sweat and recoil. When had she last eaten? Her eyes glinted like blades in the dim light when at last she lifted her head. Maybe she should bite a chunk out of that arrogant, bored face that grew earnest only when Y’shtola got her way.

Vaste kept regarding her silently.

“Your performance during the last attack was acceptable. Much more than acceptable when compared to the one before it. However, we did receive word regarding the escape of one infant. An unfortunate mistake I’m sure.”

Vaste bit her lip, tightened her face, anything to hold her tears. They fell despite her.

“We’ve received word of a retaliatory raid near the Ala Mhigan border. One can but imagine the atrocities taking place. The Alliance has ordered another mission on a town within the previous sector. No hesitation, this time; chin up.”

She is pat on the shoulder when a tray slides just within reach. Food. Her chains groan when she staggers forward on her knees and shovels it down. Everything grows dim save for another scribble on parchment. Listening for it has become instinct. Someone, probably Urianger, mutters- ‘Her maximum reach at this angle appears to be found.’ Her jaw burns working on its lonesome, but she eats, until there is nothing left but wanting. Then the door shuts. She thinks of nothing else.