Authors Note: For those who read this and disagree with Zorin's personality, remember that we don't actually know much about her. Not only that, for those who have read Hellsing entirely, you will remember that Alucard frankly admitted that vampirism turns you into a monster. It 'takes away your tears'. Zorin was a monster by her vampiric nature, but what about her mortal life?

All she felt was pain. Blinding, mind-numbing, sense-blasting pain. She knew what had happened. She had died in that last fight, but even worse? She had lost to that sniveling Hellsing draculina.

A thought penetrated the murky mire of her consciousness. If she had died then shouldn't the pain be gone? Unless she was in hell which would, given the circumstances surrounding her demise, make a lot of sense. This wasn't eternal hellfire though. It wasn't maggots eating through her belly from the inside or being endlessly devoured and digested by satanic beasts. It was, in point of fact, a very normal pain that she hadn't felt in a very long time. Quite simply, she had a migraine. Granted it eclipsed even the vomit-inducing normal variety but it was what it was. She was also uncomfortably damp and, unless she missed her mark, being rained on.

“Ja...” she muttered darkly as she began to open her eyes. Carefully, ever so carefully, she squinted, recoiling even at that smidgeon. “Gottverdammt!” She hissed as she clamped her hands over her... eyes... With an experimental waggle Zorin Blitz confirmed that she did not in fact have fingers, at the very least. Instead her arm ended in a tough bony appendage. This bothered her fundamentally. As a vampire she had possessed almost unparalleled regenerative capacity. Considering her migraine and fingerlessness that was no longer the case. Actually, if she were honest with herself, she already knew the truth.

She was no longer a creature of the night. She, Zorin Blitz, was mortal for the first time in over ninety years.

“Scheiße ...” she swore, pressing her face into the mud beneath her, “scheiße, scheiße, scheiße, scheiße, VERDAMMT!” She shrieked to the sky. Ignoring the stabbing pain as an annoyance in the face of this disturbing revelation she opened her eyes to survey the damage. The strangest sight greeted her, rather than bloody stumps, she found she lacked proper human forelimbs at all. In their place were hooves covered in muddy fur the color of charcoal. The pagan script that had been forcibly seared on to the entire right half of her body remained. That much made sense at least, whatever body she wore the flowing script would appear because it was etched into her soul. The rest of her body was similar, coal fur with a few scars left over from some of her more colorful engagements. Shaking a mane the color of soiled straw out of her face she slowly lifted herself up on all four hooves.

“Wunderbar, I'm in a ditch,” said Zorin bitterly. It was cloudy, raining, coming on evening, and she was in a muddy ditch by a dirt road. Life certainly wasn't rewarding her for her activities in her previous existence. “I'm a dirty kleines pferd in a ditch in zhe rain,” she muttered while climbing out of said ditch unsteadily. Moving on four legs was much harder than she had thought it would be. With some effort Zorin managed to escape the muddy defile and staggered onto the road.

Seeing water pooling in a pot-hole nearby she stumbled over to it, curious as to what other changes fate had wrought upon her. Zorin had retained her broad stature even as a pony. Thick slab-like muscle layered over a heavy bone structure. Her right eye was the warped caricature she had grown used to for which she found herself oddly grateful. Other than her spellscript she looked thoroughly unremarkable. She struggled to put a finger, or a hoof as the case may be, on what breed she ended up as. Eventually she settled on a Rhenish Cold-Blood. She snorted in bitter laughter as she suddenly recognized the unintentional irony of her choice. Still it was appropriate, she had once owned a Rhenish as a child a lifetime ago.

“Hey, you ok there?” A voice called out from behind her. A sliver of fear wedged into Zorins spine as it occurred to her that she was almost defenseless. For so long she had relied on the, now absent, overwhelming power of her vampiric body. Not anymore though. No more strength, speed, or regeneration, not even her beloved scythe. To top it off she couldn't even walk ten paces without stumbling, much less fight. In a moment of inspiration Zorin focused and projected a basic visual illusion, the runes adorning her right side vanished from sight. It took almost no concentration, considering her standard fare for using her abilities in combat, such a tiny effect was barely noticeable. This way she might at least be able to pass as a native.

“Ah, j-ja, guten abend,” Zorin desperately choked back the urge to attack the brown-coated pony before her and simply rob him. She had no idea where she was and needed directions, that and she barely knew how to move her own body. Focusing on the creature before her she took in his form. The pony had a mane that was graying covered from the rain by a straw hat, he was also wearing thick saddlebags. Other than that he seemed simple and harmless enough, little more than a peasant unless she missed her mark. “I-I am... lost.” The earth pony raised an eyebrow but raised his right forehoof and pointed the direction he had come from.

“That way leads to Ponyville,” he replied easily enough, “ya might be able to catch the innkeeper 'fore he closes up if ya hurry.”

Zorin bit her lip as she forced out the words, “d-danke, I vill do zat, auf wiedersehn .” He looked at her oddly but shrugged, muttering something about strange foreign ponies before walking past her. With the tense moment passed Zorin relaxed and began moving slowly in the direction he had pointed out. “Hurry, ja, as soon as I learn to walk, dummkopf,” whispered the transformed Nazi lieutenant bitterly.

Eventually Zorin got the hang of walking, it wasn't all that difficult once she nailed the rhythm of quadrupedal movement down. Aiming to make up for lost time she fell into a quick canter, then a full gallop. The name of the town was insipid and puerile, but if it had an inn with a roof and a warm meal she wasn't going to speak against it. Only as the town came in to sight did she realize she didn't have any kind of local currency on her. Not that she had exactly carried a visa back home. She was Zorin Blitz, she took what she wanted and killed anyone who looked at her sideways, or worse. Now she was broke, in the pouring rain, with hooves. Never before this had Zorin felt that karma could be a tangible force.

Finally she made it into town, the inn was easily found as most were, it had a simple sign with the carving of a hearth on it. It was odd, the towns architecture was very rural, it almost reminded her of her tiny home village in Germany. Thatched or wooden roofs with stone chimneys and... was that a house made out of a layered cake? “Das macht nichts,” Zorin said disbelievingly as she looked away from the garish monstrosity, discarding her previous comparison. At least the inn had an overhang that kept the front dry, Zorin thought blithely. She had slept in far worse conditions and under far worse circumstances than these. With a huff of effort she moved her limbs which had become leaden from the exertion and the cold. She slipped beneath the overhang, out of the icy rain, and folded her hooves beneath her, laying her head down.

“U-uhm, excuse me, are you ok?” a high, waifish voice with an almost British smoothness asked from above her. Casting a glance up Zorin saw a face that would, by pony anatomy she reasoned, be considered pretty. The mare had a dark green mane and a dusty white coat, her eyes were a very honest blue.

“I am growing tired of hearing that, ja, I am fine,” Zorin answered wearily before laying her head back down.

“Well... wouldn't you be more comfortable inside?” she asked, Zorin resisted the urge to plant her new hooves in the patronizing mare's face.

“Ja I would imagine, but I have no money,” Zorin said keenly after mastering her temper.

“Oh, I see... you speak very differently, may I ask where you're-”

Zorin cut her off with an irritated glare, “I am trying to sleep, it iz cold, raining, und muddy, how long do you intend to torment me?”

“T-torment?” The pony looked honestly horrified at the word.

Zorin flicked her tail, an strangely easy gesture, at the open window. “I can feel ze varmth of ze fire inside and it iz making ze cold out here zat much crueler,” Zorin explained spitefully. In truth, she was miserable. That curious mortal kind of miserable that didn't involve wrenching pain or torn limbs. It was a desolate combination of melancholic depression combined with an empty belly and a cold, hard bed.

Zorin heard the clack of the window shutting. Finally, the silly mare left her alone. If she was going to be miserable tonight the least she could do was try and sleep through some it.

Then the door opened.

“Gottverdammt,” she hissed, “vat now?”

“U-uhm, I just wanted to apologize, I didn't realize that-”

“You know you are doing it again, ja?” Zorin interjected, her voice dry with bitterness.

“Well yes, but,” the small mare let out a steadying breath, “I just wanted to invite you in, I can't give you a room but you can at least sleep by the fire.”

Zorin was stunned, suspicious, but stunned. The pony seemed to be sincere, nothing in her body language or demeanor gave a hint to anything but absolute honesty in regard to her offer. “V-vhy vould you do zat?”

“Well, because nopony should have to sleep in the rain,” she answered, finally meeting Zorins gaze properly. Clearly the creatures of this world were hopelessly naïve, or at least this one was. Still, Zorin was not going to turn down a little good fortune.

“If you are sure,” Zorin said carefully, still not fully trusting such blatant charity, “My name, it is Blitz, Zorin Blitz.”

“Oh that's a curious name,” she said before clapping a hoof to her mouth, “n-not that it's bad, it's just, unique, that's... uhm...” Zorin just stared impassively at the stuttering mare until she composed herself. “I'm sorry, that was rude, it's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Blitz, my name is Sweet Cup.” The dainty mare performed a curtsy despite possessing four legs, an act that actually impressed Zorin a little.

'And mine is the unique one? Perhaps all ponies had odd names' Zorin thought to herself, sketching a simple bow that was more of a stiff nod. Sweet Cup opened the door and gestured for Zorin to enter.

“You first, please,” Zorin said without expression.

“Oh, how polite, thank you,” Sweet Cup replied with a smile. In truth Zorin simply had no desire to give the strange mare an open line of attack to her back. The silly girl had taken it as a compliment though, Zorin thought. The reborn mare was almost unwilling to believe anypony could survive being that trusting. Zorin followed Sweet Cup into the inn and immediately had to resist slumping onto the floor in uncharacteristic gratitude for the warmth alone. A roaring blaze dominated the center of the inn with tables situated around it and a bar was in the back. Zorin carefully wiped her hooves and fetlocks clean of mud before entering. When she did Zorin realized that they weren't alone however, despite the lateness of the hour.

“Howdy Sweet Cup, who's yer... woah, yer a big'un,” a mare with an orange-cream colored coat and a mane of spun gold approached them from around the fire pit. She adjusted the stetson back so she could take in Zorin fully, sizing her up. 'Finally, somepony who isn't a complete trottel', the thought passed through Zorins mind with a curious sense of relief. The blind trust and charity she was encountering was so alien to that it was actually managing to unsettle her.

“A-applejack, that was a bit rude don't you think?” Sweet Cup admonished her apparent friend gently.

“Es ist gut, frau Sweet Cup,” Zorin said, “I do not take offense.”

Sweet Cup clapped both her front hooves together as her eyes widened, “Ah, that's why I thought your voice was odd, you're Germane!”

'Germane? Sind sie ernst?' Zorin thought immediately before, 'do not question it'. “J-ja, I did not think anypony here vould recognize...” she tried to explain, fishing for a plausible bluff. “I tried to speak your language but, at times it is difficult...” Zorin tried to look embarrassed. Of course she had no idea if she succeeded since the emotion was as far from her personality as was the sun from the ocean.

“What's a foreigner like yerself doing way out here in Ponyville?” Applejack asked curiously.

“The story is long and bl- b- boring... sufficed to say I am not velcome, nor able to return, back home,” Zorin didn't have to try and fake a look of nostalgic loss. As much as it galled her, she missed her old life deeply.

“And why is that exactly?” Applejack continued grilling Zorin, it actually made her inwardly smile. Finally, she thought, a pony that knew what the term suspicious meant.

“Applejack!” Sweet Cup exclaimed, cuffing her friend lightly on the shoulder, “that is not appropriate! She is my guest for tonight and you will show some manners.” Amazingly the stout mare looked backed off, looking embarrassed, and nodded.

“Right, sorry Sweet Cup,” she said before turning to Zorin, “sorry 'bout the twenty questions par'dner,”

“No,” Zorin said, feeling a little surprised at herself, “You are not wrong to ask, I am a stranger.”

“Well, that as may be,” Sweet Cup cut in, “But you are also, as I said, my guest, and as such entitled to a little privacy.”

“Dankechon,” Zorin said, it came a little easier this time. In her previous life Zorin would have laughed hysterically while drinking this poor creatures blood the moment they were in the door. Now however, she had nothing. No power, no money, no home, she didn't even have her own flesh and blood. It was astonishing to the former SS soldier what kind of good will could form when somepony gives something to one who has absolutely nothing.

Blood is ze currency of ze soul, ze vehicle of life. Having blood offered is a very different experience, zen taking it.

A few of Warrant Officer Schrodinger's last words to her before she was ground to a pulp by that upstart came unbidden to the mare's mind. Zorin felt that she was beginning to see what he meant. “Something offered hmm?”

“What was that?” Sweet Cup asked curiously, she and Applejack had been having a conversation that Zorin had been tuning out.

“Nothing, danke, for ze warmth of your hearth and ze velcome of your roof,” Zorin said, a very formal 'thank you' and one that had not passed her lips since she'd grown fangs.

“O-oh, uhm, you are very welcome,” Sweet Cup replied, wearing a radiant smile.

“Sweet was just tellin' me how ya'll are out'o bits,” Applejack said, “as it happens ah need some farmhooves to plow a new stretch'a field 'fore the spring rains really kick in, big feller like yerself could really lighten the workload.”

Sweet Cup gasped and hissed, “Applejack!” who looked at her in confusion, but Zorin waved a hoof dismissively.

“Zat vould be fine, I have vorked ze fields before,” Applejack brightened visibly at Zorins admission of previous experience. In truth it had been well over half of a century since she had last touched a plow but... some lessons never faded. There was more than one reason she had prized that old scythe so much.

“Dandy, ah'm glad to have ya aboard... uhm...” only then did Applejack realize she had never actually gotten the strangers name.

“Zorin Blitz,” the newly minted farmhand filled in.

“Righ', sorry, Zorin, nice ta meetcha,” Applejack said, wearing a real smile this time, and holding out a hoof.

“Und you as vell,” Zorin replied, shaking the proffered hoof, “Also, I am...” she was about to say woman but settled instead on, “a mare.” Applejack's eyes went wide and her face colored as she realized her unintentional gaffe. Zorin simply smirked, she had long since cast away any semblance of femininity in favor of combat prowess even before her rebirth as a vampire. Endless training, swinging that heavy steel scythe for hour after hour, had given her a great deal of unattractive muscle. Unattractive, but useful, much more useful than maintaining a svelte and girlish figure in her opinion.

“If your offer still stands, frau Sweet Cup, I will retire now,” Zorin said without turning to face her new host.

“O-of course, good night then,” Sweet Cup answered, Applejack was still blushing in shame.

“And...” Zorin began uneasily, as she turned just enough for her normal eye to meet Sweet Cup's gaze, “I vill purchase my next bed, I svear it.” Sweet Cup's features colored with concern but she didn't say anything, only nodding in assent to her guest's words.