This is my first foray into DMC fanfic, so please be gentle. Capcom owns the characters, I just take them out to play every now and then. After playing DMC4, I kind of wanted to explore a bit farther the relationship between Nero and his arm, and what exactly happened before the game began. This story might be stand alone, or it might be the first in a multi-chapter excursion, I just don't know yet. I do have a place I'd like to bring this to, but with time constraints being what they are...
Anyway, I've prattled on long enough, enjoy and don't forget to comment!
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Nero turned his head to ensure that the Songstress of the Order of the Sword was unharmed. He had only a moment to spare his regard, for though he'd left his demonic attackers scattered across the forest floor in pieces, more were advancing upon them. He was under strict instructions from the Order to ensure her safety on the journey home to Fortuna. Not that he needed any more reason to protect her than that she'd helped raise him. Her family had taken him in, given him a name and a place to belong, and he was forever in her debt for that. She was the only mother, the only sister, he'd ever known. Nero would die before he'd let anyone or anything harm Kyrie.
Nero didn't know where the Hellgates were coming from, but with their presence it was becoming increasingly dangerous to travel. Even though the pilgrimage was deemed a necessary risk by Sanctus, Nero had still argued vehemently against it. This incursion was the third this day alone, and their route though the Mitis Forest was leading them right past one of the several gates that had spawned in the last few months. They looked almost like gigantic tombstones, enormous structures that were clearly unnatural. Pulling his wayward thoughts back into a semblance of the focus he needed, Nero tossed his head in a vain attempt to clear the pale hair from his eyes. Scoffing at what he knew to be a futile motion, he instead took a firmer grip on his weapons.
As if sensing his thoughts, the gate to the Underworlda short distanceaway opened. Though it was just a thin glowing red crack, it allowed an opportunity to the denizens clawing at the opening. Freedom. Destruction. Everything a demon craved. They came in ones and twos, joining the others that were already advancing on Nero, creatures that appeared to be cobbled out of anything nearby and animated by a swarm of dark…things. He couldn't put a name to the disgusting insectoid-like cloud, but he knew it couldn't be allowed to reach Kyrie and the rest of the caravan. Retreating a few paces to buy him more space to work with, Nero motioned for the others to keep moving along the winding dirt road. When the caravan had reached a safer distance, the young warrior assessed the scene with a measured gaze that missed no nuance of his surroundings. Nero held the firmer position, and he pushed the advantage. Though Credo would accuse him of being too hot-headed for his own good, he liked being aggressive in a fight.
Bladed appendages slashed at him as he charged into the group of demons to his left, closest to Kyrie and the others. He held his modified sword, Red Queen, in his left hand and Blue Rose in his right. Twin bullets sped from the pistolevery time he squeezed the trigger, each finding a home in demon flesh. The gun pushed the demons back, but did little real damage to the creatures. Nero holstered the pistol, opting insteadfor close range combat. Sweeping his sword in an upward arc, he launched two demons airborne and charged at a third, always bearing the position of the group in mind. He couldn't afford to show the demons an easier target. He slashed at a patchwork creation twice in quick succession, following the attack with a dazzling series of blows, striking to his left and right, rending cloth and what must have passed for the demonic flesh of these creatures. A few of the spawn collapsed into grayish muck, their life force drained away leaving only so much fabric and metal. But it seemed the more he killed, the more demons came, appearing from both the gate and the very ground beneath him.
Nero clenched his teeth in frustration, giving his Red Queen a vicious twist he leaped up in the air and brought the weapon down upon the nearest demon in a fiery downward slash. He was slowing down, getting tired. Not good. "Get her ladyship to safety!" he cried, dragging Blue Rose from her holster. He once more relied on his pistol to push the demons farther back, giving more space to the fleeing caravan. If he couldn't dispatch them all, he'd at least buy time for the rest to escape. One group had been fully destroyed, but more remained, though thankfully none nearer than he to the Songstress.
Gasping to catch his breath, he sneered at whatever god might be watching, and again charged at a mass of stumbling creatures. They fell so easily, but it was a battle of numbers, an attrition game. He had to destroy them all quickly, or be overwhelmed. Nero wrenched the trigger on his Queen and swept it around him in a blazing arc, allowing him a brief moment to ensure that no demons had made it past him. The oak-haired beauty and her party seemed to be out of harm's way, and Nero released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The pack was finally beginning to thin, and the steady stream of demons from the gate appeared to have halted. His face twisted into a smirk as he brought his blade down on another of the animated amalgamations. His left arm burned with the strain.
With an abruptness that stole his breath, something shot out of the gate with a terrible speed, heading in an arc that would take it square into the middle of the caravan. The blur coalesced into a massive demon with a wickedly curved blade running the length of its back, and others along each arm. It spun though the air like a saw blade, and Nero's gut wrenched…he would never make it in time, even in his best condition.
"Kyrie!" His alarmed shout echoed though the corpse ridden woods. He saw the members of the caravan follow his gaze upwards, seeing the bladed, cutting death that awaited them.He saw Kyrie fall backwards,landing hard on the packed earth. His inattention finally cost him, allowing one of the few remaining scarecrow-like demons to get too close. The thing slashed at his head with a scythe-like appendage. Nero tried to use his sword to fend off the blow, but it was still fouled in the remains of another of the bastards, the injection system of the Queen damaged sometime during the desperate fighting. Acting out of instinct, he instead brought his right arm up to parry the blow. Pain lanced though him as the demon's blade cut deep, though muscle and nearly to bone, dragging a weal of fire with it. There as a sickening pop as his femur left it's socket. Kicking the thing away from him, and wrenching the bone back into place, the snowy-haired soldier ran towards the caravan, knowing he'd be too late. Nero summoned every remaining reserve he had, reaching for her with his wounded arm. It's not enough! I need more…
If anyone had been watching the gate in that exact moment, they would have seen an inexplicable flash of blue light, one answered by a glow in the arm of the young man. Nero reached, forcing his legs to carry him forward despite exhaustion and the damage to his body. Power! Give me more power! He felt the bladed devil in his grasp, and in his adrenaline-fueled rage, he threw the body like a rag doll back towards the entrance of the Hellgate, bowling down the remaining scarecrows and taking them with it back to the Underworld. Gasping for breath, Nero watched in relief as the portal closed itself. He surveyed the damage quickly, cataloging everything and ensuring the danger had finally passed. After ensuring nothing remained alive to harm the Songstress, he ran the remaining few leagues to her side.
"Are you okay?" he demanded roughly, dropping his battered sword in order to take her by the shoulder. She winced at the rough motion.He ranmore carefulfingers over her face and down her back, making sure with his own senses that she was alive. His wounded arm hung at his side, silently dripping blood onto the earth, staining it with his life. The life he'd gladly lay down over and over again toprotect her.
Kyrie nodded. "A bit of a bruise and possibly a twisted ankle...Nero, you're hurt!" she gasped. "Aemon, get the first aid kit, quickly." Nero regarded his arm. It didn't pain him, yet deep red blood was seeping into his coat from a long gash that ran from his elbow to his wrist."It's nothing," he shrugged.
A young initiate of the Order snapped from his apparent shock and quickly obeyed Kyrie's orders anyway, dragging the kit to where Nero stood. With practiced movements, he quickly bound Nero's arm in a linen bandage from elbow to fist. "It'll need to be looked at when we arrive at Fortuna, milady. Stitches, fresh bandages…and he should definitely put the arm in a sling, it'll heal better that way."
Nero glared at the boy, who paled under the soldier's regard. Aemon stood up straighter, voice shaking but impassioned. "Begging your pardon sir! The wound will scar something fierce if you don't immobilize the arm the best you can."
Scowling, Nero turned away from the boy. "Whatever." Maybe he'd bind it and maybe he wouldn't. At least Kyrie wasn't badly harmed. That was the only thing that mattered. Fortunately they were nearly at the city's doorstep. With the appearance of the Hellgates, the people of Fortuna had been forced to retreat farther into the city a few weeks ago, leaving the outer environs a ghost town. He thanked their good sense. Nero's head was buzzing, but he felt energized. His previous unsteadiness had vanished totally, and he was prepared to face another throng of demons, one-handed if need be. He had to prove to Kyrie that he had the power to protect her.
To the caravan's relief, such an opportunity did not present itself, and the remainder of their short journey toFortuna was blessedly free of demonic incursion. The caravan, helmed by an elder priest of the Order named Ignus, was received at the inner gates by a small company of armed escorts. To Nero's resentment, Kyrie's brother was among them. She and the young medic had forced him to rest for the remainder of the journey, and he fumed that he was unable to greet Credo on equal footing. The youngSupremeGeneral ofthe Holy Knightsthought little enough of him as it was.
"I trust your journey was…minimally eventful?" The dark haired soldier looked down his hawkish nose, piercing gaze taking in Nero's wounded condition and his sister's limp. An expression Nero couldn't pin down briefly marred Credo's haughty features. He thought it might be something like I told you you're not good enough. The white haired young man glared back, and Credo was the one to look away.
"Yes, brother, thanks to Nero. He fought very bravely to keep the demons from us. They came out of the Hellgate in Mitis."
"Demons! This close to Fortuna?" He rubbed his chestnut goatee, considering. "I must inform His Holiness, this incursion is too near to home. Take the boy to the infirmary, his arm needs to be looked at." Credo barked orders, and soon everyone was mobilized. The commander turned last to the elderly escort. "Ignus, please escort my sister home, I will see to Nero's blade after I make my report."
The elder nodded. Nero sputtered in protest, but was silenced by Credo's icy stare. He knew his adoptive brother well enough to understand words would do him no good right now. "You will see the doctor, and you will allow me to take your sword to the weaponmaster. You've fouled the injection system, and it'll be no good to you until it's fixed." Nero hated that I know what's best for you voice. Smug, self-righteous son of a bitch. He watched as the commander swung Nero's precious Red Queen up on his shoulder and walked toward headquarters. The snowy haired man could only stare daggers at Credo's retreating backside as he allowed the young boy to lead him toward the infirmary.
--
The middle-aged nurse clucked over his injury and his carelessness. "Your shoulder was dislocated, but it looks like you took care of that yourself.Well the shoulder will be sore for a while. But this," she gestured at the gash in his arm. "This will need stitching," she informed him unsympathetically after she'd assessed the cleaned wound. The boy, Aemon, had run off just after the head nurse and master to his apprentice, Janella, had opened the door, off to commit some act of youthful destruction no doubt. She'd been none too gentle with him, dragging him to one of the empty cots. "I fear you'll never learn, Nero. I see you in here at least once a month at least. Your body simply cannot take this kind of abuse." Then make it stronger, more powerful. More power, you can protect nothing without it. Nero fought hard not to clench his fists.
"Just stitch it up, Janella" he said, feigning carelessness, resting his uninjured arm over the top of the chair beside him. He'd stopped bleeding at last, though the strange vigor that coursed though him had not dissipated. And while he still felt no pain, his forearm did tingle a bit. While her deft hand with the needle did its work, Nero let his thoughts wander. He hadn't been close enough. He knew that with the gut wrenching guilt that accompanied the comprehension. But somehow, somehow, he'd been able to grab onto that perversion and throw it aside like it weighed nothing. It wasn't possible, and yet he couldn't deny his own senses.
"There," declared Janella succinctly. "I'd tell you to keep it elevated, preferably with a sling, but knowing you…. I wash my hands of it, like as not you'll be back in here next week regardless." The stitching was well done, as always, pulling the jagged edges of flesh back together. Warily, Nero examined himself with his left hard. The skin was hot to the touch, but the nurse had informed him that he had little worry of infection. It was also firmer than he'd expect, the tissue swollen, but it felt different. He'd incurred slashes like this in the past, if not quite so deep; it was par for the course when you trained with live weaponry, but he couldn't remember the healing skin having the same texture it did now.
"Nero." The nurse snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, and he snapped to attention, reflexively catching her wrist with his left hand. Janella was surprised at his reaction time, but recovered quickly. "If you don't leave, I'm going to have to set you up a bunk here. Which is probably something I should have done ages ago, seeing as you're in here every time I turn around."
Nero hid a tiny smile at her ire. Despite all the complaining, he knew she worried about him. "Thank you," he said earnestly. He slung his long navy coat over his shoulder and headed to the house he shared with Kyrie and her brother. He hoped that saving her life would make her feel grateful enough to wash the blood out of it for him.
--
"Kyrie, you should be resting," Nero admonished. He'd come through the doorway to find her in a whirlwind of activity, cooking and cleaning at once.
She just smiled, but didn't stop her sweeping and stirring. "You know as well as I do what happens when Credo is left alone. Nothing gets done for weeks! Besides, you're the one who ought to be bedridden, that was a serious injury. Now go upstairs, I'll bring you up some supper."
Shaking his head ruefully, he did as he was bid. Conniving wench, she knew he could never refuse her. His chest felt tight before he violently squashed the feeling. What he felt for her could never be. She deserved so much better than what he could offer. She deserved someone as gentle as she was. Honestly, Nero wasn't sure if such a man existed, but it certainly wasn't him. Gentle was likely the last word anyone would use to describe him. Sarcastic, hot-headed, thick-skulled, mulish…the list went on, but it all totaled to one undeniable truth: he'd never be worthy. He closed the door of his upstairs bedroom, but his hand still gripped the knob tightly. The pale haired man carefully unclenched each finger one by one, cringing at the indentations he'd left in the metal. He probably shouldn't be using that hand; he'd pulled stitches before, and Janella was never forgiving about that.
As he flexed the hand of his injured arm, he again felt the strange tingling sensation creep though it. It wasn't like pins and needles; it wasn't a familiar sensation at all. Nero couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong with him. Power. He surveyed the room, but he was alone. It wasn't a voice he recognized anyway. It had thrummed against his chest and curled up in his heart. The voice sounded as cultured as Credo, but with an edge the commander would never possess. Light pulsed from within his arm, and the young man took a futile step back, trying to escape his own body. Jagged bluish illumination poured from the center of the stitched gash.
"Demon!" he whispered, horrified. He'd been tainted somehow by the Gate's energy, there was no other explanation. Power! Nero's teeth clenched to fight back the scream as pain hit him at last, wrenching, bursting…forming…the throes of birth in a man full grown. Nero rode the pain as he'd been trained, taking deep breaths. When the worst had passed, he dared to look at the source. His arm was no longer his own. It was hideous, devilish. The demonic infection manifested as bright red growths along his forearm, surrounding a channel of radiance that seemed to come from inside the flesh itself.
Panic driving his motions, Nero tore strips from one of the shirts he didn't wear often, and used them to bind his arm. If he wore his leather glove, and put the arm in a sling, no one would be able to tell. They couldn't know that he wasn't entirely…human.That he was tainted. Collapsing bonelessly to the floor, the pale young man hugged his knees and rocked.
…Power. Somehow Nero knew that if the voice had a face, it would be smiling.