Half-Demon Channeler
Fish Foot Note: I don't know if anyone's had this idea yet – I mean, who reads the Wheel of Time series and plays Devil May Cry 3 – but still, it's possible. I kept mentioning WOT in early chapters of Do My Calculations anyway. The WOT series belong to Robert Jordan and Capcom owns DMC3. I own the character Thwane, though.
The Beginning: Twisted Portals
Dante spat sand after defeating the Hells that emerged in a hallway a door away from the Skull Spire. Once he placed the Crystal Skull in its slot where it was missing, though, he made his way through.
He sighed, as Rudra would put it. He had not expected a long, peaceful walk to the top of the tower. A bit of fun would have been welcome if he had to show his brother how strong he had grown since they last met.
For some reason, he felt determination when he ascended the steps to the highest circular dueling floor of the tower.
"You showed up." His mirror image in blue turned to face him fully.
He walked forth and gave a sort of a shrug. "You sure know how to throw a party. No food, no drinks, and the only babe just left."
"My sincerest apologies, brother. I was so eager to see you I couldn't concentrate on preparations for the bash."
Vergil started walking, but not toward the person he was talking to. He circled to his left.
Dante also circled to his side to stay opposite of his supposed brother, sensing that a clash of weapons will take place soon enough.
"Whatever. At any rate, it's been a whole year since we last met. How about a kiss from your brother?"
Vergil hoped he was just kidding, no matter how gentle he sounded. His brother is a weakling for peace anyway.
"Or better yet, a kiss from this?" Dante pointed his more preferred gun – Ivory – at him.
So bitterness is not forgotten after all.
Thunder rumbled overhead. The rain grew heavier.
"So, this is what they call a heartwarming family reunion, eh?"
His good humor disappeared. His blue eyes pierced directly into the other owner of the same eyes.
"You got that right." Vergil released Yamato from its long, thin scabbard.
Despite having gone separate ways after that one year, their strengths are as identical as their faces. Dante was in shape; he could probably admit that if his annoying twin did not employ the use of his handguns.
He managed to prove so when he arranged the four bullets on the floor with Yamato before sweeping them back full-force towards Dante.
Seeing this, Dante swung Rebellion down vertically, slicing each slug into identical halves, or so his eyes inspected.
"Why do you refuse to gain power?" Vergil began speaking again. "The power of our father Sparda?"
"Father?" Dante stood up; wielding Rebellion had been pretty heavy a job that it brought him down sometimes. He scoffed: "I don't have a father. I just don't like you, that's all."
He believed Dante just wanted to mess with him in this, as he mentioned in the latter sentence. Having his hair down is a discomfort, but he could not afford to be a pretty-boy in the middle of a fight.
The two charged forth in unison. Thin Yamato and hefty Rebellion met, forming a spark at the point of friction.
In a split-second the corner of his lips quirked; his brother overestimated the advantage his sword gave him. His arms turned out to be more dexterous, having practiced with Yamato more often before. The lighter blade brought Rebellion up and away at the latter's point of balance, giving the wielder no chance to hold on.
As the sword flew overhead, he thrust Yamato where he aimed its point; Dante's gut.
But Dante's gut seemed awkwardly guarded as he felt nothing piercing through his bare skin.
Something bluish or purplish was there, just the size of Yamato's hilt opening, swallowing the blade.
"What the –"
Vergil was stuck in a moment of bewilderment. He tugged the blade out of there, but in his hurry, the momentum of his pull sent him walking backward into a different vortex, this one in red and large enough to swallow him whole.
Dante snatched Rebellion from the air, but held his breath unconsciously when the red portal-like thing vanished from his view. He blinked and started looking all around for another, suddenly feeling concern for safety rather than the pursuit of his brother's blood.
Finally another round swirl sprang up, this one in icky, poison green smack in the middle of the round courtyard. It could fit a king-sized bed by its size, so to be quick, Dante skidded down the first yard of the vortex's radius; the wet surface of the floor helped him greatly in this.
Once his whole body was consumed by the vortex, everything became a mix of myriad colors and specks or shapes. He could no longer tell up from down, or which way the wind blew.
Arkham's two-colored eyes widened when he could no longer feel the presence of the power-driven offspring of Sparda. He hurried out of the reading room and ascended the steps to the courtyard.
Leftover blood from dueling wounds was the only sign of life that dotted the area. Apart from those, even the remains of their warm breath were gone.
The bald human kneeled down to study the footsteps marked by specks of half-demon blood to see if they had fallen off the tower. No; the slenderer boots seemed to have taken flight without landing. The tougher ones have made a slide into nothingness.
He gave a light sniff. When he stood from his position, however, he seemed to be looking into a different place, one he knew not of. He held onto his tome as he floats to oblivion.
Six unknowing men inspected the area, regardless of the creatures that lurked.
"Guys, this looks like a kick-ass place to shoot our music video," a blonde man in spectacles remarked to his five friends, looking up at the whale-like beast flying overhead.
They nodded and made their own positive exclamations in approval.
So the Dragon Reborn had declared some sort of amnesty toward all men that can channel as long as they aid him in the war against the Shadow. So the Lord of the Morning trusted the for-a-time False Dragon from Saldaea to become a teacher of those who are able to learn and remain sane long enough until the Last Battle comes.
'So what?' Thwane Aromari wondered.
As long as he had his hollow wooden six-stringed instrument with him and an idea of where his next destination is, he lives and breathes without a bar; not even Darkfriends would take him down as they would wish he was by their side most of the time.
In the past, he has sung of the way kings and queens and rulers oppress the people and how the people had the strength to stand up against them if they had the will. He sang that cowards of change are cowards of freedom, and that peace is a front, a delusion.
But he sang of how wars or things of the sort wrecked people, too. He even wrote songs of Whitecloaks bothering with people who can never be comfortable with them, and that if they are uncomfortable with false faith in the Light, let them be.
Thwane Aromari is not as young as he used to be, and he has gotten tired of undergoing disguises, fake names and the shame of not having an occupation.
As he crosses the currently dry, barren countryside of Andor, carrying the instrument in a black cloth on his cloaked back – he did not know why he still wore a cloak – he looked for a shelter from the bright sun.
There was a farmhouse in the distance, probably less than a hundred or so paces from where he slowly treads the earth at the moment. He tried to examine and size it up through the steaming heat, but he knew it was not a mirage.
Thwane started striding with enthusiasm until a blood-red object fell from the cloudless sky.
Warmth is the first thing that hit him in the face. It was not the warmth of comfort, but that of sweltering heat. The air was so hot he could barely feel the baking heat of the gravelly ground his back lay on.
He really wished he had remained on top of Temen-Ni-Gru earlier, but then again, he might be the only one able to lead Vergil back from… wherever this place is.
Standing up, he saw that the place could not be his planet of origin, what with the odd-looking trees; were they alive, he was sure they are hardly anything like those back home.
He looked around for someone to ask directions from and saw a bemused man shouldering a guitar bag.
'Dude might know something if he's a guitarist.' Thoughts of optimism rose.
The slightly shorter man with golden-brown hair and dark blue eyes did not appear as eager as he is about meeting another person in the middle of nowhere, but he could be conscious of the kind of person he meets.
"Ahoy there!" Dante called out.
His silence was small uneasiness, but he would start the talk for this guy.
"D'you happen to know any place I can ask for stuff around here?" he asked.
"Well, I can see a farm in that direction," the supposed guitarist responded, pointing to a location over Dante's shoulder.
The half-demon turned to see the farmhouse, yard and all. "Oh, so you're looking for shade, too? Alright then, let's walk together."
'With that hair, he might be Aiel for all I know – he mentioned shade, which I think is prominent in their speech – but he carries a sword and two… things… on his back.'
Dante did not hear those thoughts.
'He isn't Be'lal of the Forsaken, is he?'
Thus is the beginning of an unusual crossover. I put a bit of Linkin Park there, didn't I? I made a little connection between Temen-Ni-Gru and the music video for 'In the End'; I couldn't keep that out of my head. I grew lazy when it came to Chapter 12 of Do My Calculations, but Chapter 13 won't start until my second semester does. In the meantime this is what I'll be up to.