Hellsing Quotes Novels & Stories

“If my body commits a crime, it will get mixed in the soil and beyond that, it can’t receive anything, but if the soul sins, it’ll burn in the fire of hell which will never end.” Hazel looked up at Rebecca, finding her silent. “I am only saving myself,” she continued in her soft voice which melted her heart in a second like always. “God, Hazel! Tum aur kitni khubsurat ho sakti ho?!” The sudden compliment from Rebecca made Hazel smile softly. “Thank you,” she said, giving Rebecca her shy smile. “What?! Did you understand that?” Rebecca asked, totally startled by Hazel’s answer. Her eyes widened as she gaped at Hazel, who nodded, her facial expressions turning obvious.

The light illuminated Camela’s face in every moment—crying, pleading, her scar glowing brightly. Vincent's heart surged with fury. He charged forward, ripping through the first line of soldiers. Lanterns shattered around him, and screams filled the air. But for every shadow he tore apart, two more appeared in its place. Amidst the chaos, the ghost voice whispered, sounding calm yet cruel. “You can’t kill shadows. And you can’t silence her voice.” Vincent dug his claws into the cracked stone and said, “Yet here you are…you show yourself. That was your mistake.”

She didn’t stop for one second. “Ubi umbrarum choreas et vires antiquas fluunt. Cum verba susurrata et corda ardescunt, Maledictionem detexite, eius nexum relinque.” She recited. “Ex tenebris profundis, lux oritur,” Until her nose started to bleed and the veins in her neck threatened to burst out. But she didn’t stop. “Grandma!” I yelled with a crack in my voice. “Stop!”

I repeated the spell louder, “Cum omni necessitate potestateque Hecates, appareas ille, potens et antiquus, quem voco.” Energy pulsed like wildfire beneath my hands, heat radiating upward, and I repeated it a third time, almost screaming, “Cum omni necessitate potestateque Hecates, appareas ille, potens et antiquus, quem voco.” A surge of raw power nearly knocked me off my feet. Whispers in an ancient, dangerous language slithered through the air, sending ice-cold shivers down my spine. Finally, it was time to uncover the truth.

“I’m going to take your Kingdom and I’m going to burn it to the fucking ground.” Bjorn's applause broke the silence. "Truly, you are one of a kind, Bellatrix."

Expected from smarty-pants. "Hello Scylla." "C'mon, I can see the frustration and annoyance drip from your voice, at least hide it a little. Hope you'll love your time in hell my queen." Talk about dripping annoyance. And great, everyone knew Hades as a pervert. "It's not as nice as you think." "Hmmph, we all say that." "I don't have the charisma or strength for this. Where's Euryale?" "In her room, just a warning, knock first."

“Your courage is meaningless.” Hazel’s fingers tightened around her pendant. Its warmth surged through her, matching the rising anger in her chest. “Courage is everything when you’re willing to fight,” she shot back, her voice steady despite the fear lacing her veins. She glanced at Damon, who nodded once, his sword gleaming under the moonlight—a silent promise of unity.

But people died today, you had no right. Hella gets a bit displeased and snarls, ''Watch your tone don't forget your place. I can do much worse than today's attack and you know that. About those people, they died for the greater good, there is nothing more honorable. I'm afraid I must go now but I'll be watching you.''

My tone dropped into something even hell couldn’t touch. “Una morte veloce è il paradiso per i peccatori... Ma una morte lenta è il primo inferno.” (A quick death is heaven for sinners... but a slow death is the first hell.) Cassian’s knees nearly buckled. I stepped even closer, lowering my voice like a dagger sliding between ribs. “I will cut off your limbs… one after the other. Pluck out your eyes. Rip your tongue. Break every tooth in your mouth.

Ghost-Queen (voice raw, ancient, broken): “I was supposed to save them. I was the strongest storm-speaker in a thousand years. I thought pride was the same as protection. I was wrong. I killed them all with my refusal to bend. Now you wear my crown’s sister. You speak the words I never finished. So do it. Judge me. Hate me. Strike me down. I deserve it.” She drops to her knees in the water, crown bowed, waiting for the killing blow. Hellebore Mist is in my hand before I realize I drew it. The blade hums (hungry, righteous). Remy’s hand closes gently over mine.