St. Peter's Basilica, which is called in Italian "Basilica di San Pietro in Vaticano", is a large church in the Vatican City, in Rome, Italy. It is often called "the greatest church in Christendom".[1][2] In Catholic tradition, St. Peter's Basilica is believed to be the burial place of Saint Peter, who was one of the twelve apostles of Jesus. It is believed that Saint Peter was the first Bishop of Rome.

The Basilica alone is huge, nearly towering and almost locked in time with stone gargoyles, amazing paintings, tiles, and wood work.

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A lone man stood before a towering building. He never gazed up as the wind bellowed past him; sending dead brown leaves in a twirl towards the west. His posture was strong as his hands were shoved deep into his pockets of a great dark green coat.

With the moon deflected by heavy cloud cover, the sky was leery; dark in many spots with only hints of thinned clouds as the moons reflection of the sun shined into them. He liked it; it reminding him of a Falls night in Germany where couples clung to one another for warmth.

Deep in enemy territory, the man hardly let his blue stare slip as he silently walked up the steps to the "Basilica di San Pietro in Vaticano." Towering in Human standards, he was easy to pick out as a strong individual. He overlooked most men with his height as he strode in. He and his small team were only there at first to observe.

Sadly, the truck in which he and other members of his force were in, was over turned, and attacked by the religious fanatic organization called Iscariot. This man before this great church had killed most of them, sadly the organization terrorists had killed all of his men.

Holy items and FREAKS never mixed well. He was glad that none of the priests had silver on them, there of not much of it.

Alone now, he searched for a place to hunker down; perhaps someplace in the enemy's territory so they would not look there. He came across something prime, that being the Basilica di San Pietro in Vaticano. Silently opening the large door, he entered, closing it soon after he entered.

Slowly, his boots making the only sound in the large hall, the lycan found himself in a large chamber. He didn't know what it was; though it looked like a long large meeting room with rows and rows of benches, an organ, and a gigantic cross with a wooden portrayal of Jesus Christ on a the cross, hanging high into the air, a statue of The Virgin Mary off to the side, her head gracefully tilted and hands held in prayer.

To this, he took slowly to a pillar off to the side, away from it all and stood in shadows. He would not sleep as he awaited for the sun to rise before he would move.

The unholy beast had been mistaken in one regard thus far, the Cathedral was not empty. Another figure prowled it's expansive cooridoors that night hungry for blood. Not monster nor dog, but a man. Beyond that, a madman, one of God's chosen psychopaths who had devoted his life, his body, and his soul to one goal...the extinction of all things inhuman. The great doors of St. Peter's Bascillica swung shut with a loud groan and like slow deliberate waves across the sea, faded pages of scripture affixed themselves to the walls and ceilings before glowing with a heavenly shine. With the spiritual barrier in place, the killing Judge finally decided to make his entrance. A literal tornado of piety erupted before the alter as the remaining Bible pages swirled and whipped about in an unearthly gust. Amidst their numbers, a great form came into view. A man who towered over most, his round glasses catching stray beams of light and reflecting out with an eerie shine.

Though only his silouette was easily visible, the man's deep scottish brogue was crystal clear. "An tha Laird cast out the heathen king Nebuchenezzer inta the wilderness an made him unta a wolf. A living testament tah mankind's dominion over tha beasts beneath them." with a flick of his white gloved hands, the Paladin was suddenly armed with a deadly pair of blessed bayonets. The silver running along their edges seemed to almost moan for the blood of the Papacy's enemies. "Yea cannae hide froom me hellhound. Yer vile presence is a blight upon this Holy Land an it is mah sworn duty tah expunge it!" Father Alexander roared out into the shadows of the church as he flipped his blades into their iconic cross position. "It's been a while since I had a bit o exercise, dinnae disapoint meh pup." the priest hissed almost to himself as his innate bloodlust began to boil over once more.

He half tilted his head up as he heard the Bible pages stream out, cutting the air and pinning themselves on all the walls and ceilings of the great church. His expression remained cold and blank as he turned his head to track the Bible pages from the shadows.

He remained in the shadows as this priest spoke. When the priest entered the Lycans visual range, the Lycan knew exactly who the priest was.

Alexander Anderson....

Keeping his face low in the collar of his great coat, the hat sitting crookedly upon his head of white gold hair, Captain Hans let one foot emerge from the shadow in which he hid. Silently, it was followed by his body and other foot as he simply looked at Anderson with a blank expression; his eyes still blue as he looked on.

He stood, unmoved watching Anderson from afar, shaking his head once as a warning when Anderson looked in Hans' direction.

heh, so it is you...Millenium's favorite little pet Alexander thought to himself as the werewolf emerged from the darkness. Many would balk in fear at the presence of so mighty a beast but not Anderson. He was a man who had faced all the horrors of the blackest night and he had never blinked. Today would be no different. Today, he would emerge victorious as always. A sinister smile split the scottish clergyman's face as his long fingers tightened on his blades. The Bayonet Priest had never been a patient man, he fully believed in striking fast and hard in all his battles. With that in mind, the Iscariot flew into motion, his right bayonet sailing through the air at a blistering pace. The blade flew with such velocity that a light blue trail seemed to stretch out behind it as its' image was distorted. Unbeknownst to the lycan, Anderson's opening attack was not limited to a single bayonet. The Executioner had hurled his second bayonet aswell less than a second after the first. The blades were perfectly in line with one another so that the first bayonet hid the presence of the second. Even if the werewolf deflected the first weapon, he would have a rather nasty suprise in store for him.

Hans didn't even blink as the Priest attacked with no word, Anderson being famous not only amongst Hellsing, but Millennium for his crazed attacks and zany attitude to all that was not human.

Hans seemed to smirk into his great coat as Anderson flung the bayonets at him; not moving till it seemed like the blade was a hair away from embedding into the Lycans flesh. Right at that moment, Hans 'vanished.' The only thing one could see would be white fur twisting and turning up into the rafters of the great old church.

Upon this reaching the rafters, unaided by any wind, Hans re-morphed, back into his human form. Before the priest could join him in the old wooden rafters, Hans removed his coat from his shoulders, draping it over a few skinny beams in a manner to look like he was occupying it.

He did, however, keep his hat upon his head and the guns holstered at his side before he shot up farther into the wooden beams and into the darkness.

The Priest snarled as the bayonets passed through the cloud of silver mist without inflicting any true damage. He knew the lycan was fast but he grudgingly had to admit he had underestimated the animal's speed. It would NOT happen again. Anderson's emerald eyes tracked the beast up into the ancient wooden rafters of St. Peter's. Millenium's greatest soldier appeared to have discarded his coat and fled deeper into the shadows. "Laird place tha Steel o tha Holy Ghost in mah spine an the love o tha Virgin Mary in mah heart even as Ah descend inta pitched combat wit this most foul o Satans bastard sons. Fer Thine is tha power an tha glory fer evar an evar...AMEN!" with that declaration of faith, the Killing Judge crouched down before rocketing upwards with a mighty leap. His augmented strength allowed him to reach the rafters easily enough and soon his prey came into view once more.

Eight shining bayonets appeared between the Paladin's dexterous fingers for only a moment before they too were hurled with devastating force at the Nazi werewolf. The slipstream around the flock of blades howled in the echoing hall for the demon's tainted blood. Anderson, however, had stepped things up a notch. These were not the basic bayonets he had employed the first time. These were the explosive variations, their butt caps packed with semtex explosives and ready to detonate upon contact whether they pierced the werewolf or not. Even if the monster could manage to avoid this hailstorm of righteous fury, the blast would likely catch him. Had Father Anderson not been blinded by his beserker rage, he may have taken note of the damage these weapons would inevitably cause to the sacred Bascillica of St. Peter. As it was, the Paladin Monster Slaying could focus on nothing but the utter destruction of his enemy. If that meant the destruction of a building then so be it.

As the blades pierced the darkness, Hans pulled both of his guns, taking aim and shooting down four of the eight. After that, in the blink of an eye, Hans shot away from his position, away from the blades as they embedded themselves into the old wood. A shock-wave of splintered wood frayed out, thanks to the explosion.

Hoping that the priests own weapon would prove to be a distraction to the priest(the only reason Hans destroyed only half of them), Hans let gravity take a hold of him. Gravity always reliable, brought him back down though onto the beam in which the priest stood.

Hans had one gun holstered, the other in his left hand and pointed down. Hans never brought his spare gun up as he caught his footing on that beam; sprinting forward at the priest. When Hans was right before him, the werewolf dropped down squatting, swinging the leg that was farthest away from the priest off of the beam, down into the air and then up into the priests side of his head. He completed the maneuver by pivoting on the foot that was still balanced on the beam, aiming to knock the priest down and back into the chapel.

Grinning in excitement, Anderson saw the werewolf destroy the first set of bayonets whilest evading the second. The beast was certainly agile, Alexander had to admit that much. The explosion that the bayonets let out released a powerful, sonewhat disorienting, blast but Anderson managed to keep his wits about him. Watching the lycan's descent, Off-With-His-Head Anderson forced himself to remain still. Tha's right. Cum an get meh ya bastard! he snarled as the werewolf drew closer. It took all of the Iscariot's will not to launch a pre-emptive strike when the Millenium member landed on the beam but he had to wait a bit longer.

As it happened, Alexander did not have long to wait and a moment later a heavy boot collided with his head just below the ear. Had it been anyone else, their head would most likely have been crushed. However, Anderson wasn't anybody, he was nothing less than a Divine Instrument of Heaven's Wrath and it was time to show it. Grinning like a bloodthirsty monster himself, Alexander's eyes sprung open and his right hand became a blur of motion. The white gloved hand gripped down tightly on the Captain's hair evan as he fell backwards. A hard tug brought the silver haired soldier falling with him. They would be suspended in free fall for just a moment but it was more than enough. The Executioner had finally managed to pin the lycan down and he was going to make it count. A fresh bayonet flew into Anderson's left hand and with a gleeful smirk he thrust the blade forward, aiming for Hans' solar plexus.

Hans, being caught off guard, felt the skin on top of his head lift; lightly off of his scalp from the Priests grip on his hair.

The Lycans blue eyes widened for a moment... until he saw the Priest arming himself with another blade.

Wildly Crafty...

Hans eyes that were once ice, changed into glowing ruby's; narrowed into slits as Anderson had Hans under him as they fell. While Anderson aimed to thrust the blade into the center of Hans chest, Hans brought into play the hand that held the spare Mauser. With the elongated barrel, he brought it over his chest just barely in time. The end of the blade did strike the barrel of the gun, sending sparks shooting about.

When Hans had successfully dodged that blade with his gun, his face began to twist into a snarl as more fangs appeared along with the set he already had. Using his spare hand and arm, he elbowed with much bone breaking force, into the inner elbow of the Priest, attempting to break the Priests hold upon his own hair. Even if it did or not, this gave the werewolf just enough movement to get closer to the Priests self.

Now more in his werewolf form than human, a long gray snout and black nose with demonic red eyes, Hans opened his jaws, turned his head towards the Priests wrist, and clamped on, tasting the Priests blood.... all right before his own back slammed into the marble floors beneath them. Long, distinctive cracks spider webbed out across the tile upon the hard impact.

Still reluctant to let go, Hans staggered quickly to all fours in his humanoid wolf form, and started to swing his head about, attempting to rip the Paladins hand right off at the wrist. His body knocked over a few of the benches, his movement was so quick and strong as Hans still attempted to swing his wolf head around to rip off the Priests hand.

Anderson winced in pain as the wolfen monster's fangs sank into his arm, quickly drenching it with warm cromson blood. The bastard had managed to avoid an impalement and now seemed intent on tearing the Paladin's arm off. Gripping onto Han's collar, it took much of Anderson's strength to prevent his shoulder from being dislocated. Managing to rise to his feet, the clergyman engaged the lycan in a fierce power struggle. Their thrashing bodies wrestled back and forth throwing oil lamps and candles about with reckless abandon. The flames quickly spread to the wooden benches and alter around them and within seconds the two combatants were surrounded by vermillion tongues of fire. Even through his heavy cassock, Alexander could feel the licking flames.

Whatever pain the fire might have caused was easily drowned by the shock originating from the Killing Judge's arm. The damn wolf still refused to let go despite his best efforts. His green eyes flashed with holy fury as he lashed out again. Gripping the wolfman be the fur, Anderson slammed his forehead against the lycan's with a sickening crack in an attempt to loosen the monster's hold. Pressing his attack, the Judas Priest drew back his free hand before thrusting it foreward towards Hans' face. Alexander's left thumb embedded itself in the Captain's right eye socket and with a sadistic twist gouged out the crimson eye.

The pain from that wound seemed to be sufficient as Father Anderson was able to finally wrest his limb free from the Captain's maw. Sliding back several yards, the Killing Judge got a bit of breathing room and stared coldly at his immortal opponent. The fires had spread to the walls of St. Peter's Bascillica now, casting the entire hall in a hellish glow. Despite his injuries, Alexander chuckled happily. The bite wound to his right arm might be painful but is wouldn't kill him and in a few moments it would be good as new. "Tck. If a wee nip is all yea can manage against me hellhound, this won't be nearly as fun as Ah hoped. Now then..." an all too familiar "shink" became audible as four bayonets appeared in Anderson's left hand. "...ready fer round two?"

The headbutt alone was enough to daze the beast, his jaw loosing for only a second as his vision blurred. As Hans in his humanoid wolf form blinked away the daze, his right eye was met with the priests thumb and experienced high amounts of pressure. The werewolf snarled as his eye was ripped from his skull, and the hand, wrestled free from his clenching jaws.

This caused Hans to stand erect, backing into the flames as his body morphed back into his human form. Even as the flames licked all around him, he still stood within them. His stature casting a dark silhouette amongst the flames that licked up around his legs and off of his shoulders; not even burning the werewolf. Hans stood still as his remaining eye shimmered red regardless of the fire. As his blood pored from his missing eye socket, so did some of the priests blood from the corner of his mouth.

He rolled his tongue about behind his teeth that were still all pointed fangs as Anderson spoke. He lowered his head in response as he slowly stepped from the flames. As he did, his missing eye started to grow back; as a faint red glow before as brilliantly bright as his other eye. His lips were in a hard frown as he tilted his head slightly at Anderson. It would have appeared that he was becoming annoyed and angered by the priest.

Without warning, Hans had his hand on the gun that still remained at his side. He had his sights on Andersons' face in a millisecond and in the blink of an eye, squeezed the trigger. Hans' arm never twitched as the bullet soared down the long barrel and out the end in a blaze of sparks and right into Andersons' left eye; sending the priest rocketing back into a pillar.

Despite the werewolf's regenerative abilities being slightly superior to his own, Anderson's injured wrist was essentially healed by the time Hans' eye had been restored. Moving his left arm across his chest, the Paladin made to fling his namesake weaponry at the lycan with a powerful backhand motion. However, the Millenium soldier's quickdraw attack took the Iscariot offguard and the bullet slammed into his left eye before exploding out the back of his skull. Alexander was hurled backwards until his limp body impacted against a sturdy support pillar and slid to the floor, leaving a red streak in its wake. The crackling flames continued to spread and soon engulfed the motionless Blade Dancer, hiding his "corpse from view". The moments ticked by and the only motion within the expansive Cathedral was the now out of control fire raging everywhere the eye could see.

Suddenly, there was a shifting sound and several pieces of burnt rubble were pushed away as a dark figure rose from the floor. Father Alexander Anderson, the Hell Destroyer stood uninjured in the throughs of crimson and vermillion flame. Smoke rose from his singed vestments and his spectacles had been broken but the man look no worse for wear. Heavy boot steps brought him clear of the fire and closer to the werewolf. "He who wade inta combat on naht boot tha strength o is arm can ammount tah naht boot cinders. Boot he who trusts in Heaven's strength an the Will o tha Almighty is destined fer victories upoon tha mortal plane an beyond...Amen"

With that, Father Anderson snapped his fingers. The four bayonets lying at the Captain's feet (which had been knocked free of Anderson's grasp by the gunshot) immediately released a brief burst of red mist before erupting in a glorious explosion. While the weapons were most effective when they exploded after impaling an enemy, an explosion was an explosion so the damage would hopefully be sufficient. The Killing Judge was not content with just an explosion however and rushed forward, each hand being filled by a single bayonet mid-stride. He was going to use the confusion from his own explosion as a smokescreen to get into striking distance with a single, cleaving stroke aimed at the Captain's left shoulder, intending to sever the limb.

OOC:
I RECALLS SOMES NOW! You got a shot at me and I had to take a shot at you. Post if ya may!

IC:
Hans tilted his head at Anderson till the harsh sounds of a crack was heard from Hans neck. As Anderson spoke, Hans walked forward, paying no heed some of the bayonets that littered the floor. Right when his foot passed over the four bayonets, Hans was ejected into the air. His hard frowned lips turned upward into a snarl as his feet flew over his head, his body crashing into a pillar upside down. He fell quickly onto his shoulders and neck right when Anderson started to charge.

Hans cursed himself mentally as he flipped his feet around under himself. Halfway standing, Anderson was upon him, striking down and taking off an arm.

Half keeled over, Hans opened his mouth and his face expressed a man in agony... though not a sound passed his lips. As his arm flopped to the ground, his face resorted back to an angry one with narrowed eyes. His other hand, shot up, grabbing Anderson by the throat and lifting him off of his feet. Hans knew that unless Anderson's supply of Bayonets would be endless.

So he threw Anderson back into a huge pile of oil in flames; giving Hans a chance for his arm to grow back quickly.

OOC: I had forgotten about this topic for a while, sorry about the long wait.

The lycan elder's cold fingers closed in around the Paladin's throat and with supernatural strength the beast was able to lift the larger man into the air before hurling him across the room. Cast adrift in mid air, Alexander had no way to stop his momentum as his body crashed against the floor still covered in burning oil. Though his cassock finally caught fire, the Killing Judge was otherwise uninjured and more than ready to return that insult seven fold. Hidden amongst the flames and charred pews, Anderson removed his smoking cassock and flung it towards the Captain. The long grey coat whipped madly through the air, it's long tails fluttering widely as smoke billowed from it to cover the vast majority of Han's field of vision. With his enemy blinded, the Iscariot refreshed hew supply of holy bayonets and sent four more sailing towards the beast. The blades were hidden behind his coat, ensuring the lycan would not be able to see them bearing down on him aimed directly for his chest. Though the Captain's regenerative powers were impresseve, perhaps surpassing even Anderson, he was still just another werewolf. If the Executioner could get even a little silver into his heart it would be over then and there.

Pushing off the ground with his palms braced over his head, Father Anderson nimbly leapt to his feet and grasped the nearest pew with both hands. Smirking with predatory delight, the clergyman hefted the large oaken pew over his shoulder and with a mighty heave sent it flying towards the lycan as well. It was something of an insurance policy really. Should he, by some miracle of the Devil, manage to avoid the unseen volley of bayonets, the werewolf would still have a heavy wooden bench flying towards his emotionless face with enough force to cave in his heathen skull. Afterall, no one had ever accused Father Alexander Anderson of being conservative when dealing out divine punishment.