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The first time her father showed her the cell at the very back of the dungeon, Integra Wingates Hellsing was 10 years old. The thing chained to the wall was frightening and otherworldly. But it bowed down to her father in deference and he assured her that the same courtesy would be extended to her. She didn't believe it for a second, so she ran. The next time she saw the thing was the day after her father’s funeral. She was 13 years old and determined to end her life. She stepped into the cell with tears streaming down her face, feeling its keen gaze rest heavily on her. She unlocked the chains that bound the thing and opened her arms to welcome death. Her breath escaped in a rush when she felt strong arms surround her and squeeze her tightly. She felt her face cradled against a hard chest by cold hands that stroked gently down her long hair and a deep voice rumbled soothingly in her ear. “Don’t cry, Master.” She sniffled. “I want to die.” “No, Master. You have to be strong, ruthless and superior. You have to be in control. And I will teach you how.”