The King of the Dead Returns

Unconscious and floating in a void of nothingness is none other than Kenzo Kensten, his body whole, unsevered.

“I've long awaited this day, Kenzo Kensten.”

At the sound of the voice, Kenzo’s eyes snap open. He scans the endless dark for its source but finds only silence and shadow. Instinctively, he hugs himself. Is he cold? Is he afraid? Maybe both.

This doesn’t feel like the presence of The Librarian. No… it feels more like one of his dreams. Yet he doesn’t remember falling asleep.

“Who's there?” Kenzo calls out.

“Who is not what matters. What matters is whether or not you understand.”

With that, something stirs in the dark, a shape that is both something and nothing, as if the abyss had attempted to form a body and failed. Kenzo shudders. He clutches for his sword, only to realize it’s not there. Still… he can feel it, its presence humming all around him.

“Do you understand, Kenzo?” the entity asks.

“Understand what?” Kenzo chokes out.

“Do you understand why the Hellsings must perish?”

At this, Kenzo's brow furrows. That voice… It’s familiar.

Am I talking to my sword right now? The thought strikes him, an old suspicion finally pushing its way to the surface.

“Tell me,” Kenzo growls, "what the hell is your problem with the Hellsings?"

“My quarrels are of no concern to you at the moment. What matters most is that I alone possess the power to save you. It’s all a matter of understanding.”

“How the hell do you expect me to understand anything if I don’t even know your story? And I don’t need savi-”

But the words catch in his throat.

Kenzo remembers. The fight. The slicing blow. His body…

He frantically checks himself, feeling along his midsection, arms, and chest. Searching for the cut. For proof.

“Damnit! Damnit! I’m not dead, am I!? Tell me!”

“As things are... yes. You're dead,” the entity replies.

Kenzo’s eyes widen. Tears swell before he can stop them.

Without even thinking about whether the void beneath him has solid ground, he collapses to his knees.

“Damnit... damnit... damnit,” he sobs.

“Rise!” the darkness demands. “You are the Chief of the Kensten Bloodline! On no occasion should you be on your knees!”

“Shut up! You don’t know me-”

“Listen to me, fool! The chief will never die as long as he understands! As long as you want to kill them, I will aid you! So do you understand? In other words, do you wish to live!?”

“What the hell are you talking about!? Of course I want to live!”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why is it that you wish to live? What will you do with your life if I save it? Will you finally destroy them? Will you rebuild the Kensten Bloodline and make the world a place in which they can dwell peacefully? Or will you go back to hiding like a coward?”

“A coward?” Kenzo utters, his jaw tight.

“That's what I said. I’ve been with you all these years, Kenzo, and I will say that of the Kensten Chiefs, you are the most cowardly. On the night of your mother’s death, you did nothing, despite me being right there with you.”

“Don't you put that on me! I was just a kid!”

“Your father would’ve fought despite that fact. He acted without question. He had full confidence in his ability to win battles, even as a child. At the time, his hatred for the enemy was absolute.”

“He was probably just stupid.”

“That may be true, but it doesn’t change my opinion of you. Especially since it isn’t wisdom that inspired your cowardice that day, it was fear.”

“As I said,” Kenzo growls, “I was a damn kid.”

“So then you aren't to blame. Congratulations.”

“What the hell!? What do you mean, congratulations!?”

“When you spoke with The Librarian, you said that you didn’t blame yourself. It seems to be justified. You also said that you didn’t blame your mother for hiding the truth from you, and perhaps your cowardice can be attributed to her, so I forgive you for-”

“Don’t you talk about my mother,” Kenzo commands, violent green eyes burning toward the entity.

“Hm,” the darkness muses. “Yes, perhaps it is unwise, and rather insensitive, to speak of a chieftess in that manner. I apologize, my chief. But I must continue with my questioning. It’s the only way to know if you truly understand.”

It pauses.

“Now, you said that you didn’t blame your father, the man you saw slaughtering your people using my power. Why is it that you do not blame him? Or me, for that matter?”

“My father lost control. That obviously wasn’t him that night. As for you…” Kenzo hesitates, then speaks with conviction. “My gut tells me that you wish that night had never happened. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say you’d rather be in my father’s service right now.”

“Hm. So, with those things out of the way, tell me: why is it that you don’t blame the Hellsings? Have you forgotten what they did? Will you forget what just happened?”

The voice sharpens.

“I need to know. Because I will not aid a man who doesn’t share my understanding, my hatred. It would truly be a shame, considering you’re the last of the Kensten Bloodline. Your misunderstanding could lead to our defeat.”

“If we lose, then it's because you were stubborn, if anything,” Kenzo replies coldly. “And I said I don’t blame them for the pain I feel.”

He pauses, his tone hardening.

“But it’s impossible for me not to blame them for the deaths of my parents. So they will pay. That said, I don’t hate them... or at least, I’m trying not to. We’re at war. Death is normal.”

“And that is why you will lose,” the darkness challenges. “More than anything in this world, the Hellsings hate you, Kenzo. They have always hated the Kenstens. They always will. It is the curse.”

A stillness fills the void as the voice sharpens yet again.

“Every generation of the Kensten and Hellsing bloodlines has always found a reason to hate one another. Your father’s generation was defeated because they began to falter. They started questioning the fight instead of seeking victory. They showed weakness just as the war was about to end. And I believe that was fate.”

“Fate?”

“Yes, fate. You are the chosen one, Kenzo. The man who has the power to end the war between the Hellsings and the Kenstens.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“It is not only because you are the last,” the entity continues, “but because you are the Pinnacle of the Kensten Bloodline. Someone like you hasn’t emerged since a hundred years after the stars first fell. On top of that, you are the chief and my wielder.”

There is a weight behind its words now, undeniable and heavy.

“Kenzo, you have been chosen. Chosen to avenge not only your mother, but every Kensten who has lost their lives in this war over the centuries. Do you understand your position? You should hate the Hellsings more than anyone. More than me.”

The voice narrows, dark and certain.

“Without hatred and conviction, you cannot win. I’ve seen men die because they thought otherwise. Vlad understands this. It's why he let you go. He hates you, Kenzo, more than you know. If you confront him with a weak mind, a mind without conviction, you will die. And your people’s fight will have been for nothing. Deep down, you know this.”

The void stills.

“So, tell me the truth, Kenzo. Tell me how you’ve really felt for the past eleven years.”

The entity’s words gash into Kenzo. The young man’s eyes water, his teeth grind, his heart burns.

“I want to kill him. I want to kill them all, and not only them, but everyone who wronged the people I love. You're right. I do hate him. I can’t stand him. The very fact that he let me live pisses me off, because if I had died that day, I wouldn’t have had to feel this… this…”

“Yes,” the dark utters in agreement. “And you can bet that he wanted you to feel this way, because it is the way he feels.”

The voice lowers, resonant and final.

“So, I ask you again. Do you understand? My chief, in other words, will you take hold of your power, and with it, avenge your people? Will you put an end to their curse? Will you rebuild the Kensten Bloodline?”

Standing in the dark, it was frightening at first. It still is. But Kenzo has been doing it all his life. It’s too familiar to him now.

“Yeah,” the Kensten Chief answers. “I will.”

“Then rise. Again, and again. If you lose your arms, sprout new ones. If you are stabbed, remove the blade and turn it upon its wielder. If you lose your head, place it back upon your shoulders. As long as you understand, you will not fall.” A pause, filled with finality. “For you wield Death.”

And so Kenzo goes forth, his path decided by the darkness in his heart.