Hello again!
It seems that my muse (perhaps a witch) would just not shut up until I wrote this down. Anyway, this is my headcanon for how the worlds of Devil May Cry and Bayonetta actually intersect. I'm not sure if this story is good. I do my best to get rid of grammar errors but I don't have a beta, so please point anything out.
I have a few questions at the end of the fic as an exercise for the reader. Please leave your answers as reviews if you please. Thank you!
If there was a single word that could describe the witch named Eva, it was blood-red.
Other witches in her time were perfectly capable of calling men and women into bed with their wiles, and when they had no more arms to protect them or places to run, the witch would snap their necks with deft, practiced hands. More experienced witches knew of secrets from foreign lands, and would simply grab the poor man's neck vertebra from behind and twist it out of place with magically-reinforced strength. Even those who were merely starting out as apprentices knew how to sneak a stiletto into the bedroom and quietly puncture the victim's lungs so that they could not shout for help. This too had the advantage of keeping the scene relatively blood-free.
Eva was not like that. Clad in her bright red clothes and with long, platinum blonde hair, she stood out from the rest of the apprentice witches in her group who were wearing the customary black and kept their hair hidden from others. It was as if she did everything to intimidate other people. When she was tasked to assassinate a senator she had brought him to his deathbed and tore out the man's throat with her bare hands, her fingers penetrating the skin and going behind the windpipe as easily as a massage. The man had no time to scream, and she left through the open window, not turning into an animal form as was the custom when fleeing from a scene of bloodshed. When she was scolded by her superiors for this shoddy work, her only flippant reply was "I got the job done, right?"
That really was the problem with Eva, thought Nevan, one of her fellow apprentices-in-training. She did as she was told but never in the way that was expected of her. She couldn't get kicked out of training seeing as she was diligent and skilled enough to do everything that was expected from a young witch in training. She was abrasive towards her other sisters in doom – she knew how to do things correctly, like drawing one's own blood with their own knives, and was willing to teach it to others, but would be seen sighing in frustration whenever someone just didn't get it. She was a very passionate person indeed, but the problem with her was that she absolutely refused to learn the language of the angels and demons. How was Eva supposed to summon an Infernal if she couldn't even talk to them?
She sipped her wine, a swilled old drink that was almost as bad as making love in a canoe. She had to drink some because she honestly did not feel completely ready for their ordeal later. That was the day that they were to make their first contracts with the infernal beings that would choose them and stay with them until they died. Of course, when they inevitably died, they would be dragged down to Inferno, kicking and screaming until who knows what happens to them in the abyss below. Still, it would definitely be a fun ride. The current Left Eye of the World was from Scotland and she had been teaching other witches for such a long time, it seemed that every witch around had passed through her classes at least once. That witch may have been strict in class, but Nevan knew nobody else who was capable of beating so many angels that they had stopped sending them after her, having reached an understanding that this witch was Not To Be Fucked With.
It was thanks to the Roman Empire that both the Lumen and the Umbra were starting to consolidate their power in the heart of Europe, with some prodding from the forces of Paradiso and Inferno. Witches and Sages from all over the world had heard of Rome and had started to flock to it in the hopes of learning new things to further their craft, to teach and be taught, and to trade goods. It was through this convention of cultures that one of the most powerful weapons in the Umbran arsenal was developed. Nevan had heard of this weapon and how it could spill a man's blood and viscera from several paces away, but most of the information about this weapon was kept a secret except to actual Umbran Sisters.
She had much to learn, actually, and she knew that she had only tasted but a cup of water from the river of what real witches should be able to do. Real witches, those with actual contracts to Infernals, were capable of so much more than simple tricks like assassination – they could actually fight angels without fear, though the gossip she had heard said that the new weapon would let even novices and apprentices fight angels with ease. And while she was one of the few among her peers who were already capable of triggering Witch Time, she was also developing a few tricks of her own that she had not told anyone about.
She finished her wine and walked off with careful, practiced steps, as expected of an Umbra Witch. She headed to her shared bedroom to further finish her contract with whom she hoped to summon. The contract had to be extremely precisely worded. If the contract was too loose on the Infernal, the witch would have no control. If the contract was too loose on the witch's part, the Infernal would take offense that the witch seemed to hold herself more important than them, and would likely kill them on the spot. Nevan had seen apprentice witches before her fail at that, and be dragged off to Inferno without becoming a full-fledged witch. If the contract was too tight on either of them, then of course liberties would be limited and in the end, it would be useless. This was so important that whole classes were taught to apprentices and séances held with potential Infernals just to ensure that they would be able to write a proper contract with their desired Infernal easily.
She also had to finish enchanting her Umbran Watch so that time would stop for her body and she would never age afterwards. These were a witch's most important possessions. She had heard of the Old Sybil of Cumae, who had had her watch stolen, and had withered away to the point that she was still technically alive but what remained of her body was kept away in a jar, never to be opened again, only wishing for the sweet release of death. To think that the woman would desire to be taken to Inferno than to live out their life was a terrible thought to Nevan. When she had finished inscribing her birthday on her watch, she went to sleep to wait for the ceremony.
Meanwhile, the girl in red was also finishing her contract in her own room. Written in plain Latin instead of the language of angels and demons, the advantages of it were simple to her. She was always a person direct to the point, and Latin was a far easier language for her to use, being her native tongue. Her command of written Latin was like a surgical knife; extremely precise and omitting needless words to prevent complications further down the line. She knew that she would be extremely unlikely to summon a high-ranking Infernal because they all preferred their own language, but she would rather have one who she could get along with from the very start.
As for her own watch, she had had one from her childhood. The last memory she had of her parents was them transfiguring a large yellow and blue object into a small, silver necklace amulet. She had turned this into her own watch and was doing the finishing touch by adding a ruby the size of a pea to the center. Inscribing her own birthday onto it – a.d. III Id. Sep. – she finished, and went off to sleep after healing the wound she had made to draw blood for her contract.
…
Eva awoke to silence. Her room was well-lit by the full moon shining outside her window, touching her, and making it look like her skin glowed with an unearthly light. She put on her special silk white gloves with black border trim and her best red clothing carefully, making sure that her nails did not snag on any part of it. The special shade of scarlet made her look even more like a lady of blood, the sort that gushed from deep, fatal wounds. While most of the time she wore cheap red clothes, this one was made with expensive dyes from what would later be called the Americas. When freshly applied to cloth, the red was dull, somewhat like dust, but it would later brighten to the point where it almost glowed, as if it were the reverse of a blood stain drying. She carried her long stiletto knife as well, for the spilling of blood when the contract was to be read and performed in the ceremony.
She had made her clothes herself from materials she had bartered with traveling witches coming to Rome. They had given her the silk, thread, and dye in exchange for a sample of the rare and valuable sylphium, which had died out in the wild. She herself had no use for it besides for trading, and the price of sylphium had gone up so high that some said that it was worth its weight in silver. She managed to amass a small fortune after finding a way to cultivate it outside of its natural habitat. This of course was kept secret from her fellow trainees, but then again, all of them hid a few secrets from each other.
It was a short travel to where the ceremony would take place. Even though the Lumen Sages knew where the witches would gather to hold this annually, the mutually assured destruction between the gathered populations of the two clans ensured that the sanctity of their ceremonies would not be disturbed by the other party. Eva walked along the moonlit path, to others a very faint dust trail, but to her vision positively shining like silver. The distinctive tracks of women in heels indicated that other witches had already used this path. Eva knew that there were others but this was the one convenient to her, and she really did not want to encounter anyone else unless it was important. Tonight would be one of the greatest nights in her life, after all.
The trail stopped at a large building, resembling a solid cube of metal several meters high with no visible entrance. The building seemed to have been completely new. No cracks were on the wall, except for brick-like patterns of lines that decorated its exterior. On the upper part of the wall that Eva was facing was a small, golden sphere. In front of the building were several other witches-in-training who were walking around, trying to find the entrance. She made her way over to the wall where the tracks stopped, right underneath the globe, and then leaned against the wall, observing everyone else who was there. There were few witch apprentices present in this batch: including herself, she counted a total of seven. Now wasn't that just a magic number, she thought. Apprentices were not allowed to undergo this final ritual until their teachers and superiors deemed them capable of handling the magical strain of summoning for the first time.
She saw Nevan approaching her, all tidied up for her big night. The ceremony could in fact be compared to a prom night, where all the girls try to dress better than everyone else according to their means. Nevan had taken to wearing something black (as usual, noted Eva – she always wore black to accent her extremely pale skin). Her long red hair was wavy and looked smooth to the touch.
"How are you doing?" said Nevan. Eva gave her a good look, taking in all of the detail in her clothing. Upon looking harder, she saw bat motifs in her clothes, which were actually more of a deep, dark shade of violet. Eva wondered where she got those clothes – violet was a very hard color to come by, even harder than her own red attire.
"Fine, thank you for asking," said Eva, trying to remain polite for once. "Your dress is nice. The bats fit you."
"And your hair is all over the place, as usual," Nevan said with a smile on her face; the kind that doesn't reach the eyes. "I know we need it to summon our friends from below but really, you can grow it out magically, can't you?"
For once she was trying to be polite, so let it not be said that she fired the first shot, Eva thought. She smiled as well, like someone smiles when they're about to crush a cockroach but they don't want to look mad. "At least my legs aren't all over the place."
Nevan wasn't going to lose composure with that, so she just smiled back and walked away.
There was polite and hushed talking between other witches as well, much like a dinner party held in secret. Some of the witches were visibly nervous, doing things like looking at their nails, making sure that their dresses were perfect, pacing around, and staring off into space, lost in their thoughts. Eva yawned. This should be easy for her.
She didn't have to wait much longer. When the full moon was directly above them, another witch stepped up to the wall. Eva recognized her as Medea, a very powerful witch whose skills with potions were well-known. Her dark, glossy hair flew in an unfelt wind, and her clothes clung to her figure tightly from the front, revealing all the curves of her body leaving little to the imagination. Eva suspected that she was actually wearing no clothes, instead going in the battle attire of the Umbra, but she knew better than to ask. It was only really in emergencies where one could not find proper clothes to put on that one should resort to using it after all.
"Umbran sisters," Medea called out in a loud, clear voice. Silence descended over everyone as they all paid attention to her. "It is my honor to conduct the ceremony where you, apprentices, turn from girls into women." Medea stepped forward to where Eva was, and Eva stepped aside, knowing what would happen next. "After tonight," she continued, "you will be recognized as full members of the Umbra Witches, sharing the same doom as us all. We expect that you have bonded with each other through all of the tasks and hardships that you have gone through. After tonight, it will be your duty to watch each other's backs. You all know what befalls a witch when she dies."
Medea activated a small spell, empowered by the moonlight. She placed her foot on the wall – and then her other foot. She continued walking up the wall. "While our fate is inevitable, it is your duty as sisters to look out for each other. Do not let your sisters fall." Medea stopped at a spherical marking on the side of the wall. She turned to face everyone who was looking up at her.
"Now, without further ado, let us commence. ARGEDCO!" Medea cried out, and stomped her foot into the wall. Eva saw a weapon attached to her foot give off a flash like lightning. Why hadn't she noticed it before, she wondered. Her hair flew out, glowing with an ethereal purple, as a gigantic foot (wearing heels, Eva saw, and quietly laughed to herself) made of hair appeared and destroyed the wall she stood on.
The witches-in-training made sounds of awe as the wall – no, the whole building – collapsed into gold and silver bricks, only to reassemble itself into a circle around the witches gathered. The bricks flew into formation, becoming a dome that enclosed the witches gathered. It was large – one could have fit several orgies in that dome and still have had space for the musicians to play and the cooks to make more food for the decadents. The dome still had an opening at the top, allowing the moonlight to flow into the room, giving all of the witches the necessary magical boost to call the attention of their respective contracts. This much space was necessary to summon the large demons that most preferred to have as their contracts.
Medea landed in the middle of the dome gracefully, as butterfly wings had slowed her descent. It was no casual feat to be able to perform a Wicked Weave like that without being exhausted, which showed that this woman had high levels of magical power. It was rare to see witches capable of summoning Wicked Weaves from out of nowhere without showing any signs of strain. Medea wasn't even breathing hard – it was just as natural to her as walking or eating, it seemed, and it was this kind of witch that Eva aimed to be.
"Tonight is the night that you will summon for the first time," Medea said. Her voice, though soft, had a booming quality to it, especially because all of the other witches were in silent awe of what they had just seen. Perhaps the dome also helped her project her voice to the seven other witches in the dome. "And with practice and skill, you will be able to do what I just did with ease."
Medea walked over to each of the witches and handed them each a piece of chalk as long as her finger. Eva held hers in her gloved hand and was pleased that no chalk dust came off in her expensive glove. Once Medea had given them each a piece of chalk, she continued speaking.
"This is most likely the only time you will ever need to write down a summoning sigil by hand, so I expect it to be perfect. Any form of imperfection is likely to offend your contractor and we will have no body to bury if that is the case. After this, it will be the last time you are physically tired, barring an actual fight with angels or some such." The apprentices knew what to do after some guidance from Medea. She recited their names in the order that they were going to summon their Infernal contract. The witches gathered moved to the edge of the dome, as summoners needed lots of space to be able to work.
Even though the circles were large affairs – about ten to twenty meters in diameter, with intricate geometric patterns and Infernal lettering to be inscribed – the first witch was able to do it in the span of ten minutes. Eva noted that it meant she had practiced drawing the circle, and this girl, like her, had ambition. Then again, what woman would willingly sell her soul if they didn't have something driving them for it even unto desperation? Large, complex circles were often used to summon especially powerful beings. After drawing the circle, the girl walked briskly to the edge of the circle, taking care not to muss up the chalk on the ground. She faced the circle and opened the papyrus upon which was written the terms for her eternal soul.
Eva tuned out the speech of the contract. In addition to being in the language of angels and demons (which she understood just fine – she just disliked ever speaking it) the contract also had too many florid descriptions and titles meant to flatter the one it was being offered to. Of course, she understood why it was the case. For some Infernals, this was merely a formality, but for some others, they took it very seriously, somewhat like the difference between a layman and a lawyer when reading the Terms and Conditions of any agreement. In addition, as had been emphasized before, if the invoked Infernal did not like the terms and conditions, they could simply kill the poor witch on the spot, which would count as a rejection – and the soul would be theirs to take as well. It was a poor situation that witches were in, but it was how it was. She hadn't skipped school the day they taught basic negotiation skills – the Infernal was in the position of strength, not them, and so they had to sweeten the deal as much as possible. All witches really had to offer Infernals was their soul – and if the witch seemed particularly strong, the promise of the blood of angels spilled by their hands. Some women were outright rejected by matured witches from the prospect of becoming an Umbra Witch because they would have had nothing to offer.
Eva's train of thought was interrupted by a gigantic head coming out of the hole, producing a very high pitched sound that turned out to be the Infernal's yawn. The sweet scent of burning rose incense emanated from its mouth, presumably to drown out a very strong scent of iron (likely blood, thought Eva). A hand shot up from the side of the circle to rest beside the witch. Her stance had frozen up, appearing to look brave, but if one looked closer they would be able to see her knees shivering. The witch who was doing the contract gave the Infernal the vellum scroll, which the demon held for the witch. The witch cut her left hand with the small knife she held in her other hand and dipped a small nibbed stylus into the wound to write her signature onto the papyris document. The demon nodded, rolled up the vellum, burnt it, and spoke in her tongue: "Your soul is ours, and my power is yours – so shall it be to the day you die. Madama Hel commands it to be so."
The demon went back into the portal to Inferno and it closed up. The witch managed to give out a small, faint smile, before swooning. Like a flash, Medea had gone behind the witch to catch her as she fell down, and gently laid her on the ground, beside the wall of the dome. The chalk circle that was the portal had vanished as well, leaving nothing but the ground that was there before the ritual was even started.
"We welcome our new Umbran Witch, Lily, sister in delight and in doom," Medea prayed before the unconscious body of the new witch. "May her life be long and may she find happiness before the abyss takes us all."
"So be it," all of the remaining apprentices replied.
The room was quickly cleared of the debris from the first contract, and the succeeding witches did their own contracts just as quickly, some taking it better than others. Nevan in particular did not faint after she had called a demon named Madama Astrape, even experimenting with her newfound lightning powers granted by her contract. She seemed genuinely pleased and kept creating arcs of lightning between her hands in joy as Eva drew her contract sigil on the ground.
Medea was bemused and alarmed by how small Eva's contract circle seemed to be. The outermost diameter was at most two meters wide. The circle itself held only two squares, rotated so that they formed an eight-point star. Once Eva was finished, Medea could not contain her curiosity any further, and approached her before she could begin.
"Eva, child," she said, in the tone used by mothers to assure their children that even if they're doing something wrong, it's going to be okay, and there would be hugs and sweets after they put down the fork and step away from the electric socket, "what are you doing?"
"This is my summoning circle!" she replied brightly, indeed just like a child who was making "art" of a beautiful wallpaper by taking crayons and imagination to it.
Medea turned stern. "You do realize that this is a highly non-specific portal to Inferno that you are making, yes?"
"Mhm," replied Eva. She was going over her contract one last time, Medea noticed, to make sure that there were no errors, as well as to mentally rehearse it so that there would be no mistakes in her speech.
"And you realize that virtually any Infernal could come out of it, correct?" Medea said with her right eyebrow raised.
"Actually," Eva replied, and for the first time ever Medea saw her eye to eye. "I know for a fact that my Infernal will come out of this summoning circle, and I am willing to bet my life on it." Reflected in her eyes were Eva's resolve and absolute certainty. Medea faltered, unsure whether this was Eva being a brave, revolutionary genius who simply did not know how to put her findings into words, or an absolute idiot who was going to get them all killed.
Medea had heard of this problem child. She was indeed fully capable of things but always did it in an unorthodox way, often involving collateral damage. As supervisor of this ceremony, she had to make sure that all of the witches under this ceremony would be as safe as possible. For the purposes of Eva being here, the Umbran council had decided to let her use one of the weapons developed for use of emergency – the first of their kind in the human world. Named North, South, East, and West, in honor of the collaboration between witches of all parts of the earth, these were of a new class of weapon. These magical arms fired projectiles at breakneck speed, so that it almost always required Witch Time (or Light Speed in the case of the Lumen) to evade – the very first human firearms. She had been given the piece West in case something unsavory wishing to savor the witches came out of the portal. Not even angels or demons could withstand sustained fire from these weapons.
She supposed that it was safe, and that if ever, at the very least Nevan was alert and could transport her unconscious sisters in doom should a belligerent demon emerge while she fought it. She sighed.
"Alright, Eva," she said. "It is your contract and I would not want to get between you and yours. Just take care." She took a deep breath and walked with steady steps to the edge of the dome, opposite of the summoning circle and Eva. If she had to shoot something coming out of it, she wouldn't want to hit the poor fool after all.
The moonlight shone on Eva and her summoning circle, making it look like she was wearing a dress freshly stained with so much glistening blood. She looked around and behind her to make sure that it was clear of anyone who might get hurt, and once she was sure, she began.
Come forth; my soul is yours.
And Eva placed her contract on the ground, took off her left glove and, as if she had done it a million times before, punctured her left pinky. The dark blood flowed freely from it and she dipped a feather (to the bemusement of Medea and Nevan – but then again they didn't know what a quill was yet) into her blood. With the loaded quill, she wrote her signature into the paper.
A blank check.
…
Because she had addressed the contract and the summoning circle to nobody in particular, everyone in Inferno heard it – and what a voice of the soul it was. To a demon the voice of this one promised power beyond anything that they had scarce seen before. And like a crack in a dam, all of them tried to rush out of it to claim what was essentially a free, beautiful, and powerful witch soul. Demons walked over each other to try and climb out of this window to the mortal world. They were crabs in a barrel, dragging each other down to try to reach the top; all squabbled to reach what for them was a futile goal.
However, it was not to be. The voice had stirred a demon deep in meditation, kneeling in front of his sword buried hilt-first in the ground, lost in thought of the failures of his past. He had failed his duty and was cast down to hell millennia ago, failed to kill the interloper that threatened Heaven. He had seen the injustices dealt by people he used to call his brethren after they had been cast out of Heaven too – torturing human souls, people they were once sworn to protect. "We are demons now, you fool, and this is what demons do!" one of them spat in his face once as this demon violated a fallen witch in front of him, ignoring the screams and pleas for relief as he stood there, powerless. He had seen his fellow fallen angels mutilated beyond belief by other, more cruel demons – some had their faces melted off with acid; some of his fellow former archangels had had their plate armor fused into their skin in eternal agony; some were wounded all over the body so much that it was less of skin and more of bands and lines of scars covering them. He himself had had his feathered wings torn out from his back by his former students, and they grew back as bat wings. He bore all of these without harming anyone else because if there was a word to describe this fallen angel, it was regret - and if there was an emotion he felt when he heard Eva's voice calling out to him, it was gratitude at a second chance.
He picked up his sword from in front of him, and went to town.
The first demon he met there was a low-ranking nameless Assault. "Get in line, you piece of shit!" it sneered in sarcasm. With an empty heart, with no passion of any sort, he moved behind it so fast that the Assault only managed to think alarmed before he was beheaded.
Down in Hell it was kill or be killed – the powerful ones commanded weaker demons and if their orders were defied they would be eaten alive to set an example. If one was just too weak and a subordinate managed to kill them, then of course they would lose their rank and they would be succeeded by their killer. That was just the way it was.
However, our particular fallen angel here had managed to do a meteoric rise through the ranks before in Heaven – why could he not do the same here? Of course, everyone noticed "the worthless trash failure of a knight" killing another demon, and rejected this upset in the status quo.
Malice demons coordinated the attack against him, empowering and healing the demons attacking him in the front, while other demons took advantage of the situation and tried to reach the window that Eva had created while everyone else was distracted. The fallen angel cut through these enemies with his sword as if they weren't even there. The phrase "a hot knife through butter" does not do it justice. It was more like cutting through darkness with a torch. With every demon fallen at his blade, he felt some of his old strength returning to him – as if he were regaining his angel's wings, and this filled him with determination. Every wound he sustained from the enemies attacking him seemed to heal when he killed more demons, but he did feel a slight pang in his heart because most of these were his comrades-in-arms back when they were all angels. It wasn't enough to stop him, and in battle, hesitation is death. He filled himself with memories of the crimes that they had committed when they fell, and steeled himself as hard as his own blade.
Slash, and Eselon fell for the crime of cruelty – he had held sinners' faces in a swirling bowl of liquid fire.
Pierce, and Rochamorn stopped in his tracks as his heart gave out – she had wiled far too many witches and devoured their souls without giving back even a finger's help.
Sever, and Horan's head fell off from his shoulders – he had executed too many of his followers for disobeying impossible commands.
And with many more like that, after what seemed an eternity to the swordsman, nobody was left to fight him. The ones scrabbling to reach the window to Eva had all died fighting each other to get there. This exhausted crab walked over the corpses of the other crabs in the barrel, and then out of it, covered in the blood of his enemies, some of it already scabbing and clotting over him like glittering jewels. He spread his wings and flew up into the portal, sword-point first, as the moonlight fell on him and he breathed fresh air once more.
…
"What are you thinking?" Medea shouted. "Are you insane?"
"Don't worry!" Eva shouted back. "I know what I'm doing!" Her eyes gleamed with anticipation for what would come crawling out from Inferno. The girl apparently enjoyed chaos, because she looked into the pit that was emitting demonic screams of agony, the sound of swords cutting through flesh, and the shouts of commanders calling for order amidst the bedlam of battle.
Nevan had always thought Eva was unorthodox, to the point of being strange, but now she saw it plain – the woman was just insane. She had heard of witches going insane after too long, with delusions of grandeur, taking on angels on their own and dying needlessly brutal deaths to be torn apart once more in Inferno. What had happened to Eva that she was like that?
Medea marched over, weapon drawn, pointed at the pit. "Have you lost your mind? Who knows what will come out of that pit?" There was no reasoning with her. "Nevan!" she shouted. "Get your sisters to a safe place!"
"How?" Nevan shouted back. The dome was closed off except for the top, which still poured moonlight into the pit.
"Kick the dome open with Wicked Weaves! It will reassemble into the cube building once you have struck it enough. And call for help!" Medea could not afford to take her eyes off of Eva in case the girl did something particularly nasty. Technically, she had not done anything wrong yet, and Medea would be unjustified to eliminate this threat no matter how necessary she felt it would be.
Thunder and lightning from Nevan's Wicked Weaves, as well as the pounding that they made when they struck the walls, added to the noise from the pit. Medea wanted to rest her head in her palms. This much noise was bound to attract unwarranted attention. Pretty soon they would have Sages or even angels descending upon them, and she was all alone, which was why she asked Nevan to call for help. Even with the power of the new weapon, she only had one, and she also had to keep her attention on the pit to Inferno.
"Medea," Eva spoke in a calm voice that somehow resonated within her head, bypassing the din of Inferno and Nevan's Wicked Weaves. "If you do not trust me, feel free to shoot me."
That would certainly work, Medea thought. Killing the summoner was the easiest way to abort any summon. She had used the trick herself when she fought a Lumen Sage who had called upon Fortitudo once, back when she was married to Jason. However, it was completely unwarranted and without precedent. What Umbran Witch willingly consigned her brethren to an eternity of suffering in Inferno? It was unheard of. It was against all their laws and traditions, right next to sleeping with a Lumen Sage.
Then again, she reasoned to herself as her alarm for the situation grew with every escalation of noise – someone was bound to hear this ruckus! – no demon had officially claimed Eva's soul yet. The paper was still there, blank and unsigned by an Infernal. She would technically be safe from Inferno and would simply disappear into nothingness, not thrash and scream for all eternity.
The noise escalated for a while until Medea could take it no longer. She had to act now. She pointed the weapon at Eva, and pulled the trigger. The bullet flashed out of the barrel, spinning from the rifling, streaking for Eva's unprotected head.
Unknown to Medea, Eva had activated Witch Time as she fired, and was watching as the bullet slowly made its way to her, as if it were a lover's hand about to caress her face. She smiled as a gray sword manifested from the portal, blocking and guiding the bullet to the ground. The bullet was still spinning when it buried itself three feet into the ground, pushing aside dirt and soil as it did so.
The swordsman kicked Medea into air. She cursed herself for having forgotten to dodge the attack and activate Witch Time. She landed on her feet and kept the gun pointed at the unknown demon. Telepathically, she asked her contract, Shemesh, who this stranger was.
"Oh, him? He's garbage," Shemesh replied. "In fact, you should pity the poor girl because that swordsman is completely useless. She sold her soul for nothing." Still, Medea felt uneasy.
If Medea felt pity for Eva, Eva herself was ecstatic. Here was a demon that suited her, covered in demon's blood, just as she was tainted with the blood of her victims. Demon blood only crystallized when its previous owner died – and he was absolutely covered in it. If her clothes were shimmering red like blood, he appeared to be scintillating red in the moonlight.
The swordsman broke the silence first, and bent his left knee to genuflect before Eva. "I am Sir Sparda." He looked up at Eva's smiling face and her wide, crinkled eyes. "I ask of you; are you my master?"
She nodded in confirmation, and he stood up in front of her. "Then," he said, "we are bound together, until death. My sword shall be your life and your soul shall be my blood." He smiled at her as well, and perhaps if she did not know that it was a demon smiling at her, she would have said that it was an angel.
"And so shall it be until the end of time," Eva replied.
Further Notes: I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. World-building is exhausting but fun. Also, I misspelled silpium on purpose, because it pertains to a slightly different plant. When I was writing Medea here, I was thinking of Rosa, because Rosa's Japanese voice actor also voices Medea in a certain other anime.
I honestly cannot commit to a guaranteed schedule of writing, so this is technically a one-shot. Again, I will not tease anything coming up so that you have no expectations, but if you have any suggestions please leave a message.
However, if a reviewer gets both of these questions correctly, I can guarantee you that I will write another one-shot.
(Extremely easy) What was Sparda's name as an angel?
(Hard) What is the name of the woman who holds the Left Eye?
Thank you very much! Please leave a review, or like, or follow. It helps a lot.