First. Fic. Ever. Be gentle?
I'm always looking for constructive criticism, your time is greatly appreciated.
This is a relatively depressing one-shot, but I hope to add more stories to my collection.
As usual, ownership of Devil May Cry does not belong to me. A girl can dream, right?
An ENORMOUS thank you to those of you who have taken the time to review for me, I've edited the layout as suggested to hopefully make for an easier reading experience. I'm currently working on a slightly lengthier, significantly less depressing fic and will be posting the first chapter soon. Keep on the look-out.
XX
The Cries of the Devil
High above the sleepy city where ignorance really is bliss, two hunters can be found huddled together on the rooftop of a worse for wear old building. Beneath the scant moonlight and relentless sheets of rain the remains of a fatal battle lay to waste around them. The scattered demon extremities, innards, and for lack of a better word - bodily fluids that have slowly begun to disintegrate are the least of the Devil's worries. Bare chested and frantic the man clutches a broken female figure against him. She's been wrapped carefully in ostentatious red leather, and while he continually fights the losing battle of drying her face from the rain - he just can't bring himself to move her from this spot. She looks so fragile, so pale and damaged - he doesn't want to cause her another single ounce of pain."Goddamnit.." The curse is forced through clenched teeth while he proceeds to grunt obscenities against every deity under the sun. "Two seconds..two fucking seconds I looked away.." He had never once doubted her ability to hold her own - the woman was as deadly as they get. Her perfume - sweat, gunpowder, and blood - all defiance and rebellion with almost inhuman speed and reflexes. One false step and the sickening slice of a scythe into soft flesh is still ringing in his ears. "Come on babe, wake up for me - goddamnit just open your eyes..please.."
The reprieve of unconsciousness shatters to the introduction of blinding pain - a centralized torture somewhere in her midsection pumping fire through her veins with each struggling heartbeat. Arms and legs seem reluctant to respond to the simplest of commands from her brain as pain receptors fire on overload, fighting to keep her in a haze until her heart inevitably stops, but she's stubborn this one. Ever so slowly, fragments of the world around her come into focus. The rain is falling - pouring - cooling her fevered skin, a warm hand in possession of unnatural strength cradles her own, arms of the same caliber cradling her closely, and a voice. The voice she recognizes easily, but it's the edge of desperation that taints his curses and pleas that sounds alien to her. "Da-.." Her attempt at speech is cut violently short by a throat flooded with blood, her blood. The bone rattling hacks that follow expel the foreign blockage but leave her gasping wildly for air. Through the web of unending pain she does feel a soft pressure against the gaping wound in her middle - he's holding her together for all she knows. His ice blue gaze is what she finds next, and his face is contorted in shock. Terror and absolute shock. "It's bad?" He looks away, inclining his head in the slightest of nods. The man says nothing, but the hold around her frame is tightened just slightly. His eyes find hers after seconds that feel like hours and he finally speaks. "How do I fix this? What do I do?" His voice is strained, shaking. He'd contemplated a hospital initially - but there was so much blood - so much fucking blood - she wouldn't have made it across town in his arms. "Just hold me..it won't be long." She's giving up!? Just like that? While he's holding out foolishly optimistic hope that the steady flow of her life will clot by some minor miracle and he can transport her somewhere - take her somewhere where she can be fixed, stitched up. Just another scar to add to her collection. Right? "No, no - you're stronger than this babe, you - you're.." He shakes his head slowly, the line of his shoulders slacking with defeat. "C'mon, I can't do this without you.." She smiles - it's a weak, diluted expression but it's there none the less. "You were doing just fine before me." Her voice is hoarse, soft, lacking in arrogance or attitude. He's not sure how he feels about that. "I didn't know what I was missing." Is his clipped response. He's trying with every ounce of his being to hold himself together for her. While he's struggling with coherent thought, she's waging a battle against the overwhelming urge to sleep. Somehow, she knows it's the kind of sleep she won't wake from and she wants to memorize every detail of his face. The sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, those eyes. Even in death she doesn't think she'll be able to shake that glacial gaze.
The rain slows dramatically as if Mother Nature herself wishes them peace in these final moments. "I have to ask you something.." His brows raise, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. "My mother - I'd like to be buried beside her.." She just barely catches the subtle knit of his brows, the way his face hardens to stone. The corners of her lips pull downward in response. He doesn't have much time to think - simply willing her to live isn't going to be enough. His head dips low, body curling around her protectively as his lips find her frown while he inwardly damns himself for not breaching this hurdle sooner. Her immediate response is a soft gasp against his mouth, but in the fraction of a second she reciprocates his kiss. The moment fills the gaps where words should've been spoken, innermost secrets and desires revealed, but the gentle act speaks volumes.
With the most extreme form of hesitation he straightens his posture, eyes never leaving hers. Her expression is peaceful and he wishes with every half bred fiber of his being he could do more - but these last few seconds will have to suffice. Her kiss tastes exactly as he had imagined it would, soft and sweet - but the metallic tang of her blood is what he won't ever be able to forget. His head bows, unkempt white hair serving as a veil to hide his pained expression. The woman in his arms is wounded, dying - but not blind. "I thought devils never cried." Weak as it may be, there's an underlying tone of nostalgia to her words and the memory shocks him from his daze. He will happily humor her in her last moments at his own expense. "It's only the rain." The ghost of a smile rests on his lips - he knows what's coming next. "..but the rain already stopped." Her words are whispered now. The shallow rise and fall of her chest drives his sense of desperation into overload. He pulls her tight, dipping his face down low again to brush his lips against her ear. "..maybe somewhere out there even a Devil may cry over the woman he loves." It's impossible for him to control the break in his voice. Righting himself once more he scans her scarred features and it becomes immediately apparent that the life has already drained from her two toned gaze. His entire body goes rigid, then his shoulders start to tremble and the rain begins to pour with renewed fury, all mercy forgotten.
With all that remains of his broken Lady clutched tightly to his chest, the cries of the Devil fall on deaf ears, muted by the storm.