Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry, or any other stories, characters, and so on that might make cameos if I happen to feel like it.
AN: Well, here goes my first shot at a DMC fic. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and given that this is a distant, distant prequel, there will be terms and events regarding the demon world that I'll be expanding on later, some canon and others…not so much. But I'm sure you probably realized that (What with it being…you know…a prequel).
Telepathic Communication
Time Passage
A pulsing black blade arced through the air, the glowing veins throughout the flesh-like surface leaving an orange blur in its path. A crash echoed through the chambers of the cavernous depths of the underworld, rarely used by any for fear of treading on the toes of its master, as a far smaller black blade stopped the downward strike, albeit with incredible effort. The grey Devil known as Baul winced as he felt his knees beginning to buckle, and wondered where in the name of the Dark Prince his brother had gotten off to. Modeus wouldn't have fled from battle, it simply wasn't in his nature, and especially not when his brother was involved.
The question was answered when the black Devil reappeared behind Sparda in a rush of wind, swinging a dark red blade with a calm precision, in complete opposition of his Baul's own wild and aggressive style. Yet when it came down to it, neither observation and calculation based on logic nor brute force guided by instinct would likely ever be enough to allow them to defeat their master, even when working perfectly in tandem. Modeus' eyes narrowed as his blade was stopped between two of Sparda's fingers, the much older Devil not even bothering to turn and face him. Modeus gathered the energy in his fist and launched it forward at his mentor. Sparda leaned back and kicked out to knock the smaller of the brothers halfway across the clearing, the blast aimed for his head plowing into Baul's blade. The moment of disorientation was more than enough for Sparda to flick his wrist and throw the blade completely from his apprentice's hands, followed by a light knee to the chest that sent Baul a similar distance away.
And the thing that both aggravated and thrilled the brothers; all three of them were well aware of the fact that Sparda was merely playing. The lesser drones and puppets who lacked any true sense of pride or ambition aside—they were merely puppets created so the Elders could claim to have greater numbers in their regions and entertain themselves by sending small "invasion" forces to the mortal world after all—it was humiliating for any Devil to be so easily defeated. Yet at the same time, it was invigorating to know that a warrior so powerful and renowned as Sparda had taken them on as students. In fact, it was nothing less than miraculous as far as they were concerned, given that most would have destroyed or even devoured two orphaned youths without a second thought. Not only had he taken them in, but he'd taught them, trained them, and they'd improved immensely with every session.
"You've been practicing with energy control, Modeus. Impressive." The smirk was visible now. "But still not good enough."
They charged again, and their master weaved through one attack after another effortlessly, almost as though the entire spar bored him. The older Devil didn't even put on a pretense of considering them serious threats. He even restrained himself from using the sharpened edges of his blade, and his magic, and even claws and wings. In their many ages of training with him, they'd still yet to even force him into a position where he needed to use his weapon to deflect their attacks, having demonstrated countless times over that if he felt like it, it was a simple matter to completely disarm them with nothing more than his bare hands.
Not that Sparda was without his reasons, of course. In the underworld, Devils who had lost their creators such as Baul and Modeus rarely lasted into what Devils would consider childhood. While their young weren't particularly threatened by the fodder toys created by the Elders, they were practically helpless in the face of any remotely significant Devil. That two orphans had managed to last well into that period of their lives spoke volumes of the sheer potential that they held, and the one who was often thought of as the right hand of the Prince of Darkness himself wasn't the type to waste an opportunity to train allies with such natural talent. That he was also legendary among his peers for his desire to acquire knowledge only served to reinforce his interest in unusual cases such as their own.
The session was ended as a birdlike Devil swept down into the clearing, landing gracefully in front of their master and giving him a respectful nod. Standing nearly two dozen feet tall despite having just reached maturity a few thousand years previously, Griffon calmly eyed the newly-worn battlefield as Sparda allowed his weapon to dematerialize, the energy of the soul in his infamous Devil Arm collecting into his blackened gauntlet to await his next summons, the same orange glow present on the blade visible on his right wrist.
"Griffon? Does our Lord have need of my services?" The Devil's preening upon hearing his name recognized by a superior was obvious, try though he might to hide it. Though not unfamiliar with the battlefield by any means, it was an honor to be recognized on sight by a superior.
"Yes, General. Lord Mundus requests your presence before the throne immediately." There was no doubt that he would agree. The notion that a "request" from the Lord of the Underworld could ever go ignored was inconceivable. But Griffon had heard stories, tales of how Sparda would often disobey or decline orders from their mutual Lord simply because he didn't feel like it. What a ridiculous rumor. Then again, perhaps being the right hand of Mundus provided for more freedom than his generation had been led to believe.
"Very well." No, of course they were rumors. Even the great Sparda wouldn't deny Mundus, surely. "You have my thanks, Griffon, for the message. I will return to the throne room at once."
The brothers gathered behind Sparda as their comrade took to the skies, and the older warrior could sense their curiosity. Perhaps it was simply because he had been their only true instructor, but even after teaching them to shield their thoughts and emotions he could still read them as if they were of his own blood.
"I'm uncertain." They started at the proclamation, still unused to his talent for knowing their minds. "Our Lord has not informed me of any occurrences of note recently, so perhaps…"
He trailed off for a moment, seemed to enter a world of his own as his hand twitched to the glowing gauntlet, a finger running across it almost affectionately.
"Regardless, I must see to His commands. Continue your training as you normally would. If I do not return, assume that I have been selected for some task or another."
"Yes, Master!"
As he disappeared, teleportation was a technique which the two were quite interested in mastering but for which he claimed they were unprepared, they moved to continue their little spar without him. But even as they took their positions, their minds flickered to the thought of the odd Devil Arm that he carried at all times. Devil Arms in general weren't rare. The underworld was a place of nearly constant strife, so seeing the souls of Devils manifest into weapons and tools after defeat wasn't an unfamiliar sight to anyone. On the other hand, a being willing to actually keep the Devil Arm rather than devouring the soul to increase its own power was quite a rarity. Baul had asked him about it once, but his only response had been that it was called Yamato. He'd volunteered no further information, and they hadn't asked again. If Sparda wished to keep his past to himself, then far be it from their right to press.
An immeasurable distance away, the Dark Knight reappeared in the center of a vast chamber, filled with white pillar and stone. He'd been to the human world only once before, under the guidance of his own master, but from what he understood Mundus had apparently designed his throne room and the adjacent chambers in imitation of some of the human structures that he'd found to be aesthetically pleasing. Strange, but then Mundus had always been somewhat unusual, always seemingly thinking on a different plane than that of his vast assortment of minions. Even many of the Elders were unable to discern his thoughts on numerous occasions.
As he made his way to the throne room, he had to admit that regardless of the oddities of his Lord's mind the mortal design was rather pleasing in its own way. It was never lacking in the ability to soothe him, to allow him to clear his thoughts. The effect was heightened by the ever-present will of their Lord, palpable throughout the entire domain, but no place so much as before his throne; The very throne before which Sparda came to kneel, content in His presence but curious as to the purpose behind summoning him to this place.
"Sparda, apprentice to the Elder Ganesha…I have come to the conclusion that it would be prudent to grant your request to enter the realm of the mortals." Most Devils would likely dart upwards in surprise, but then Sparda wasn't most. The only evidence of change in his appearance was the slight inclination of his head, and an ever-so-brief expansion of the demonic aura surrounding him.
"My Lord?" He had requested permission to travel to the human world once more one or two human generations earlier (The principles of "timekeeping" as the humans understood it had escaped him at the time, and even now were only just barely understandable). While he was quite capable of doing so, as were most Devils, Mundus had still required his presence to subdue the few stragglers remaining from the last war on the throne. The fools were led by a pitiful group of insurgents whom had foolishly believed themselves capable of matching one who had personally witnessed The Fall countless lifetimes before even Sparda had been sired. And though Mundus most certainly didn't need his protection—He was more than capable of dealing with usurpers on his own when they needed to be reminded of why He was their master and no other—Sparda would never leave his Lord if a threat was present.
So he was, to put it quite simply, shocked at this turn of events. With the Elder Abigail gaining power in each passing moment and the being known as Argosax unaccounted for once again, he'd have thought that it would have been at least a few more human centuries, likely even millennia, before one of his status would be presented the opportunity to visit the human world again. He lowered himself to both knees in a deep bow, horns nearly touching the ground in a sign of respect that was reserved solely for Mundus and the Court of the remaining Elders.
"You have my deepest gratitude, My Lord. Is there anything you wish of me in return?" Perhaps there was more to this than he thought. It wasn't unheard of for His enemies to consider the possibility of overtaking the mortal realm. Not only would it gain an unmatched respect from their kind, given that no previous Devil had ever managed such a task, but the sheer number of souls they could potentially reap from the humans was unprecedented. Weak souls, perhaps, but so numerous that they could easily make up the difference.
"You have served me for a great many ages, General. With the last of the true rebellions silenced, I see no reason to dismiss your desire further. There is no question that you have earned some time to yourself. However, once you are satisfied I wish to have a report of the status of the species present in that realm."
So there was another purpose behind it. Gathering reports on the human world could only mean that, with no further opposition, Mundus himself planned to do what his enemies had attempted and failed so many times before: The conquest of the mortal realm.
"It will be done, My Lord."
AN: Well, there you go. Probably not my greatest work, but overall I'm not really disappointed with it. As per usual, I love to hear from my readers.