Angel Slayer

He fell from the sky like lightning, and he hit the ground so hard everything around him burst into flame. However, the ground did not stop him from falling, and he plummeted even further into the circles of Hell. It was upon the frozen wastes of Cocytus that he finally came to a stop.

Sparda took a deep breath. He knew that with most of his power sealed into his sword in the tower to Hell, trying to get up immediately after being knocked down that hard would be difficult, to say the least. He had no weapons with him and was just about as bare as the day he was born.

"They didn't want me just banished, they wanted me dead," said Sparda to nobody in particular. He tried to move his legs but it felt as though they would not budge at all, as if he was human and his legs were cast in lead. He took another deep breath of the frigid air around him and tried again, and this time he felt some movement. The malevolent aura in Hell was nourishment enough for him to be able to move, but getting back to the apex of his power was impossible.

After a few more minutes, he summoned all of his strength just to be able to stand up, and much like one getting up in the morning after scanty sleep, he was able to stand on his two feet again. He was still weak, and the ninth circle of Hell was home to some of the most powerful demons. This was far from a good day where he could overpower anything in his path like a wildfire in a forest.

"Damn it all, I have to get back to Eva and my children." With the thoughts of his family in mind, he ignored the fatigue that weighed upon him and stood to his full height, stretched his wings, and took off –

But what was that beautiful music playing in the distance? How could it be playing here? Sparda remembered the music and his mind traveled back to the time when he was at the forefront of Heaven's armies, marching to this very tune as he kept his followers in order. Loud screeches and howls of pain followed the music, as the beings in Inferno had equated his former marching cadence to pain, fear, and despair. Sparda saw Frosts, Assaults, and other demons flocking towards the sound, to find the source and destroy whatever was playing that horrid tune, but he was drawn to it for the memories that he once had as the commander of the entire Heavenly Host. How had they even managed to find this music? He would have been sure that the Auditio had destroyed any memory of him and his kin in Paradiso, so how was this music playing?

Like a soldier marching on towards his enemies (or a mosquito to a bug zapper), sure of his victory, Sparda flew towards the music, punching, kicking, and tearing apart anything that was in his way, ignoring the exhaustion in his body even as it grew. The demons got even more powerful as the music got louder, and he got hurt along the way, but he finally made it to the music, and all the other demons backed off in recognition as a figure descended from Purgatorio.

Sparda got a feeling of dread, and he knew he could not back down from this inevitable fight. To turn tail was to be killed by this demon. He relaxed his posture and let his arms hang loose at his sides as he straightened his back to face this opponent.

"You again, you crazy punk?" said Rodin, a grimace on his face as his eyes glowed red behind his shades. He carried a sheathed sword on his back and his leather coat fluttered in the cold air as he landed in front of Sparda. "I told you that if I ever saw you again, I'd beat you to a pulp."

There was no backing down, and Sparda resorted to one of his more frequent tactics. "Rodin! I'd recognize your ugly mug anywhere! You want me to rearrange your face for you again?" Angering the enemy can make them faster and stronger – but they also become far more predictable.

"Heh heh. I'm here for business, Sparda, and you just so happen to be the unlucky sonuvabitch on the business end of this particular artwork." Sparda mentally cursed – Rodin knew that he had the upper hand here and wouldn't be irritated at all by his goading. There were still twenty meters between the two of them, so Sparda started circling Rodin to his right, not daring to take his eyes off this obstacle between him and his wife.

"Too bad, because I was just on vacation too," said Sparda. "Nothing quite like the cold winds of Hell to cool off your head, eh, Rodin?"

He was already in motion to counter Rodin's incoming punch, but Rodin was in far better shape than he was. Rodin's fist connected with Sparda's face with a thud while Rodin dodged Sparda's fist cleanly. Sparda took two steps back from the force of the punch as he grinned at Rodin.

"Oh I'm just getting started!" He was already looking forward to eating with his wife and children, reassuring her that he was fine, teaching his children how to fight – he just had to get out of here. Sparda assumed a fighting form, with his left hand lowered to the ground and his right near his face, while his toes pointed at his opponent. He may have been weak but his form was still solid with no real openings. He raised his left hand to Rodin and beckoned him to attack. "Come on!"

"You really think you can beat me in a fist fight?" said Rodin with a sneer on his face. "You're completely unarmed and you might as well give up now, save me the trouble."

In that instant, Sparda had flashed forward and punched Rodin square in the nose with his right fist. Rodin didn't even budge.

"Are we playing 'who can hit the lightest' here?" said Rodin. "I guess it's my turn!"

A solid straight to Sparda's face sent him flying, and he sprawled on the ground. His regeneration had been working at its limits to repair the damage he sustained from that almighty second fall from Heaven, and now was nearing its end with this fight. His face still hurt as he got up and took his fighting form again, a proud fighter to the end.

Sparda jabbed at Rodin's face, which Rodin easily parried and countered with a powerful knee to the gut. He could feel his internal organs rupturing from the force of the blow, and felt his magical reserves going dry faster than a speeding bullet.

"Give it up, Sparda," said Rodin as he boxed his ears into submission. It seemed like Sparda didn't even bother to try and hit back, just doing his best to parry the attacks. This was easily going to be the easiest work he'd had in years.

"Never," replied the proud warrior, and spat on Rodin's face with his own blood. Even though he looked as though he would fall over if gentle breeze blew in his face, his eyes looked like they could bore holes in Rodin through the sheer power of anger.

"You're the most persistent bastard I've ever met, Sparda," said Rodin, "but it's lights out for you now." Sparda was teetering on the spot, and it looked like all he could do was to keep his eyes on his opponent.

Rodin punched Sparda in the chest, hoping to stop his heart, but suddenly found himself in a world of pain. It was as if he were punched in the gut and winded, but also started bleeding from several cuts all over his body at the same time.

"What the hell was that?" said Rodin. He was still far from beaten, but Sparda still looked weak. Was that a last desperation attack?

"Royal Guard," Sparda replied, and kicked him in the head with his right heel. Rodin staggered to Sparda's side as he received a flurry of weak kicks meant to disorient him. Sparda then swept under Rodin's feet and he fell to the ground as Sparda dropped his heel on his head.

"I may be better with a sword, but that doesn't mean I'm not good with my fists." Sparda kicked the side of Rodin's head lightly to make sure that he was out cold before he turned around and spread his wings to take flight, back to his family. He would surely be scolded by his wife for taking too long with the negotiations with the Auditio, and the kids would definitely be expecting presents from his trip. A small smile appeared on his face as he couldn't wait to get back home. The Auditio had sworn not to interfere with his family's affairs as long as his family did not interfere with the machinations of Paradiso. It meant having to give up his claims to everything in Paradiso, his former home, but his family was his world now, and he would be damned if he weren't there to protect them.

The piercing sensation from behind him begged to differ, and he suddenly noticed a sword's blade sticking out of his chest.

"And I may be better with my fists, but that doesn't mean I can't use a sword."

Sparda tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was his own blood. He felt as though he was being forced through the eye of a needle to fill a bottle. His final regret before he passed out was that he could not tell his family how sorry he was that he would not ever be able to see them again.

Rodin appeared from his portal to Inferno, covered in his own blood, carrying one of the relics of the Umbra Witches with him. "This took a bit to pound into shape, but the workmanship's solid. Now, go put this thing to good use!"

Jeanne took the sheathed sword from him and examined it. The sheath was well-polished, as if it were restored to its original condition from its first smith. She partly unsheathed it to examine the blade.

And as the blade unsheathed and he could see again, Sparda wondered what cruel twist of fate made it so that his cage was held by a witch who looked like the spitting image of his wife.

1772 words.

Author's Note: I'm not gone! I just really need a copy of DMC Volume 1 by Shin-ya Goikeda to further finish Genesis of the Legendary Witch. This story is of course set in the same world BUT is pending any changes to my knowledge of canon of Devil May Cry and Bayonetta. Genesis of the Legendary Witch is the main writing project I have at the moment, and everything is of course drafted in my head, but I don't want to commit anything to paper because I am a stickler for canon.

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