Summary: The death of a warrior, the passing of a legacy. A look into the events of Sparda's final moments... Ties in with "Innocence Lamented, Innocence Lost."

Disclaimer: I just woke up from the most pleasant dream! I owned Devil May Cry and all the characters, and so was several million dollars richer! Too bad it was all just a dream...

Queen's Quornor: This was originally supposed to be the next chapter of "Abandoned," but then something popped into my head. Sparda demanding that he have a oneshot, since I so often focus solely on his sons. So out of respect for the Legendary Dark Knight, here's a oneshot dedicated only to him.

Aria of Sorrow

I am never going to see them again.

This thought crosses my mind as I parry two of my opponents' blades, the metal sliding together and apart in a hair-raising protest. I was such a fool, to take rest when I knew they had caught my scent. I should have made use of yet another blue orb, to replenish my energy stores and keep moving.

I suppose the lack of sleep has affected my brain. Too many blue orbs in too short a span of time can interfere with ones' mental processes, in much the same manner as addictive substances like morphine or alcohol. Even a devil as powerful as I cannot escape the consequences of fatigue and too many artificial energy replenishments. I require sleep. In order to attain a restful sleep, I require a safe haven, a sanctuary.

I cannot risk leading my pursuers to the home of those I would trust to guard me as I rest. Those people have been good to me, as both Sparda and Samuel Blackenfell. I would not sacrifice their lives in order to gain a few hours' peaceful rest.

A dagger-whip flies at me from behind, attempting to slice my vertebrae open and leave me momentarily defenseless. Giving them enough time to decapitate me and remove my heart. Without either of those vital organs, I would perish.

I blur through the dimension of Space, becoming momentarily too insubstantial for the weapon to score a hit. The razored edge impacts with one of the possessed human warriors, cutting deeply into his throat. He coughs and retches, drowning in his own blood. The wound kills him, but I feel magic surge through his form, reanimating him and healing his damaged throat so the demon can continue to fight.

Another gold orb. How many have they utilized in our running battle? How many more do they carry with them?

I am already out of my gold orbs. My regenerative abilities have saved my life more times than I can count over the past few weeks, but I can still die if enough damage is accumulated. Demons are harder to kill than humans, Dark Knights even moreso, but we are not invincible.

The same rule applies to me, especially since I am far less powerful than I was two millenia ago. Most of my power was sacrificed to maintain the Seal.

The next time they manage to slay me, my life will end. They will not allow my corpse to lie undisturbed, as I will regenerate the damage and be resurrected. They will take my head, my heart. Nobody can continue living without those. They are the only parts of a demon's body that cannot be remade or replaced. If those are destroyed or taken away, there is no chance of recovery.

Mundus would be dead if I had had just a little more time...

The dagger-whip and swords come at me again. I hold off their assault, but just barely.

The rest of my pursuers have arived. They use human-crafted guns to fire upon me, AK-47s enhanced with demonic spells. Just as my own guns, they will not require a change of clips.

I can deflect bullets with ease, but it removes my attention briefly from the fighters. I hiss at the pain as that metal-bound whip cuts across my left shoulder, flaying the flesh away as easily as a filleting knife.

The demons have tried to dispose of me for centuries, even before I defeated and entomed Mundus in a coffin of pure energies. This is merely the latest in a long, long line of assassination attempts.

Has my power grown so feeble that it requires only seven humans, each possessed by a major demon I had sealed away within material human artifacts, to exhaust and defeat me?

That cannot be allowed to occur. Eva and our nestlings would not be able to turn away the tide if I fell. Though I love her, my mate is not a warrior. I have left Luce and Ombra with her, but she could not possibly kill all of them. A few, perhaps, but then she would fall. Our sons, so young, would be unable to defend themselves. They have so much potential, so much more strength, than normal demonic nestlings. But they are still untrained. I did not have a chance to teach them more than the basics of swordplay before I had to leave.

My mate would perish, and my sons would either be slain or captured. Tortured until their minds were no longer their own, transformed from Vergil and Dante into violent, mindless tools for Mundus to use and abuse at his will.

I have to survive, if they are to continue living.

I want to make this up to them. Abandoning them as I did, sneaking out into the night with nary a word to Eva and Dante, is not how I would wish for them to recall me.

My sword slices downward, lowering the steel barriers in my opponents' hands. A kick to one of the sword-weilders sends him skyward, and I swing, his head separating from his torso in a crimson spray.

One down, six to go.

Will Eva forgive me for departing as I did? I told Vergil what I was doing when he surprised me on my way out the door; I am certain he informed his mother and twin of my abandonment. When I return, I shall compensate for my departure. All the silly, romantic traditions I have observed in humans shall be utilized, if it will make her forgive me.

I will spend more time with her and the twins. My nestlings will no longer complain that I am never home. I will continue their training, as I promised them.

Another head goes flying. That leaves five.

Perhaps I shall take them on vacation. Dante has been begging to go to that amusement park of late, King's Island. Vergil has mentioned a desire to travel to Rome. I am certain Eva would not object if we were to take a vacation to those locations. The last time we traveled anywhere for purely selfish reasons was our honeymoon.

The man with the whip loses his cranium. Now only the gunners are left.

I transform, unveiling my true form. Thus equipped with superior speed and strength, I charge the four shooters. They make no sound as I approach, continuing to shoot at my blurred form.

Foolish demons. Have they not realized the futility of their actions?

Seconds later, the carnage is complete. All of them are dead, their heads conspicuously missing from their bodies.

My battle is completed. I am free to return to my nest, to my mate and our offspring.

Never before have I been so grateful for my skill with the blade and that mysterious entity known as Lady Luck.

I know her as Jurelalusia, or rather, Mrs. Claus.

I am tired... So tired.

I shall have to find lodgings for the night, and recover my strength. Once I have recuperated, I shall return to my mate and nestlings.

Eva...

I'll be home soon.

And when I return...

Sudden agony, paralyzing in its sheer strength and unexpected arrival, rips through my chest, traveling throughout my body until I am totally unable to move. My eyes travel downward, and I behold a vision taht would make a lesser being crumble.

My own still-beating heart, clenched tight in a fist that juts from within my chest cavity.

It is a human hand, small and obviously female. A human woman did this?

The stench of a demon's power drifts to my senses. I recognize it almost instantly.

Raksh, the displaced Prince of Shadow. Mundus' own son, sealed away in the Human World long before my betrayal because the Lord of the Underworld feared his power.

The woman must have released him, and he possessed her. A willing possession; he is not exerting the same amount of power the other seven had, to control his host. It is always amazing, just how far humans are willing to sink in their eternal pursuit of power.

"You have indeed grown weak, Sparda, to allow a simple human female to sneak up behind you." He is speaking through the mortal's mouth, producing an odd, dual-toned voice, the deep masculinity of a demon lord and the beautiful poison of a sinister woman.

I try to question him through the pain. "How... Release... You?"

"She read the book, of course." He sounds highly amused. "Nalasmil, the woman whose body I inhabit, was searching for a cure to her porphyria. She willingly acts as my host because my power supresses the disease." He chuckles a sound both rich and musical, but utterly disturbing. Just listening to it raises the hair on the back of my neck. "Now she drinks blood only for the power it conveys, not because it keeps her alive. Her power, and mine, grows every time she absorbs the latent power contained within a human's blood."

"She will...drink...my blood?" I gasp out. The pain is slowly dwindling, fading to a dull throbbing, but it will still not release me from its paralyzing grasp. If a human such as this woman was to drink of my blood, absorb the power contained therein...

"Oh no, she is fully aware of the risks involved in drinking a demon's blood. She is desperate for power to remake herself and remove the porphyria from her genetic make-up, but she is not willling to commit suicide. No, she and I have formulated another plan, one that requires that you die first." He leans closer to me, breathing his vocal poison into my ear, pain shooting through me as the arm shifts. "The blood of your sons would give her all the power she needs, with more than enough left over for me. We shall find your nestlings, Sparda, and when we do..." He trails off in a truly evil chuckle, rumbling against my back.

The landscape is getting darker, and coldness spreads through me. I'm losing too much blood too fast for my body to compensate. My mind is wracked with guilt. I know Raksh's power. There is no chance Eva could fight him off. He's just too powerful.

And he holds my heart in his hand. It is only a matter of time...

"Enough talk. We have nestlings to find." His grip begins to tighten, so very slowly. "It is time for you to die, Sparda. Say 'hello' to my father for me, would you?"

Pain envelopes me, choking off my reply, as he squeezes my heart. The organ tries to fight back, tries to stop him from crushing it, but at last it begins to give way. I must admit a certain grim satisfaction, despite the circumstances, when I noted that the veins in the woman's hand and arm were turning black as Raksh's power and corruption pumped through them. He has to augment her strength with his own in order to destroy my heart. It makes me smile, to know that without some help, she is unable to kill me.

My thoughts drift to my mate and nestlings as my vision darkens further. Their smiling faces grant me comfort and despair as Raksh rips the pulp that was my heart from my chest and kicks me to the ground.

Eva...

Nestlings...

Forgive me.

I was not strong enough to protect you.