Hey everyone! I realize (for reasons known only to the gods) there are a few people waiting for me to finally continue my old story, "Substitution." I really don't know whether or not I ever will. I started writing that thing years ago before the first teasers for DMC4 came out, and frankly, I don't quite remember where I was going with it anymore... (That's and I'd be faced with the prospect of having to replay DMC2.) I'm not saying it won't happen, but don't bet on it. Anyway, I haven't written in a LONG time and would appreciate any helpful criticism on my writing style, ridiculous overuse of underused punctuation marks, and external events I try to keep realistic.

Possible D/N in the future. Quick warning, this story does have an OC as one of the main characters. I realize a lot of people don't like that, but I will promise you now that a) it will NOT be a self insert and b) I will try my damnest to keep it from degenerating into a Mary/Gary Sue. If you think I am faltering on either goal, I give you permission to hunt me down and slap me with a tuna fish!

I really hope someone likes this... I sort of... neglected... to do a few homework assignments so I could get this all typed up in one night...

3/21/2011 Edit: Never upload your first drafts, kids! Geeze, for years I inwardly criticized authors for not properly indicating passage of time with spacing, but I had no idea makes it so hard! What's a girl gotta do to get a couple extra line breaks in here? I edited a few scenes, nothing really plot relevant, more just to make stuff flow better and more consistently with what I have planned for future chapter (I have a plan?). I would still like to encourage people to reread, cuz man, some of that was.. bad.. Not that it isn't still bad, just, you know, less bad...

As I was rereading this I really struggled with the beginning of Dante and Trish's intro. My friends and I were up gaming on the morning of 3/11 when one of us noticed a bunch of status updates about Japan on FB, The game was promptly forgotten and the channel didn't change from CNN for at least 3 days. Even though they were recycling the same info the majority of the time, I just couldn't tear myself away. When I learned about the English NHK online stream, I had to cut myself off from my wifi to get any work done. I debated with myself for quite a while if I should change those few paragraphs to reflect what's been happening, but ultimately I decided against it. I'm not sure why. Maybe I don't want to devalue the suffering that's currently going on. Maybe I don't want my fantasy to acknowledge a current crisis that hit too close to home. All I know is, for whatever reason, I just don't have the strength.

If you have the means and motivation, I encourage you to donate directly to the Japanese Red Cross (I believe Google's crisis page has the link). While the ARC means well, as of last I checked, Japan still hasn't asked ARC for assistance, so none of the money they've raised has really helped the effort yet, except maybe to send some advisors to coordinate a future plan.

太陽はまだ昇る

It didn't know what warm was. It didn't know anything, having first gained consciousness only moments ago. It had never seen before; its eyes didn't work yet, so it wasn't bothered by the enveloping darkness. It was content just to be. For days it floated in the warm liquid: not caring for whatever existed beyond its glass womb, unaware that an outside world even existed. All it could do was feel. It felt that it had four limbs, each with five little digits. Numbers were meaningless, but it loved to wriggle each of them around. It longed to feel the liquid caress its skin as it flailed its limbs in the warmth until it tired. Its absolute favorite was when a strange tingle would break through the fluid's embrace and rise from its toes to its head, then hastily float away. It was the only thing the creature felt that it didn't cause and could not predict. It would begin as one large mass beneath its feet, then break into smaller blobs around its body as it rose. It was the creature's only companion: a mischievous friend that would come to play, gently tickle its soft skin, but leave just as soon as it came.

…Don't go…

In between the bubbles of air that occasionally permeated the nursery tank, the creature learned loneliness.

~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~~',~

Spring had no business being this damn warm.

Seriously, it had only been spring for a few days. It even fucking rained last night! If spring were a dude, Dante would punch him in the face for being such a douche today. Now if it were a lady…

Trish looked away from the shoddy TV set to see Dante, leaned back with his feet on the desk in his usual manner, spontaneously chuckle through the magazine that covered his face. Shaking her head with a sigh, she returned to her Thinker pose on the sofa and tried to watch CNN through the static. The few months following the Fortuna incident saw an expected spike in demonic activity, probably riled by the abrupt power shuffle caused by the Hell Gates in Fortuna releasing so many demons at once, but the last few weeks saw a sudden drop. The same could not be said for humans…

"The Japanese representative to the United Nations, Yukio Takasu, spoke today condemning the most recent nuclear testing by North Korea-…"

Everyday something frightening seemed to be happening to humans somewhere in the world: severe unrest in the Middle East, massive earthquakes in impoverished nations, nuclear weapons development by crackpot dictators. The demons were probably waging on humans doing the dirty work for them. Whatever the reason was, Trish and Dante were stuck with little to do, no income, and in Dante's case, ever mounting debt- not like a drought in demon sightings would've changed that one bit.

Opening a window would probably help, but damn it, the window was just… so far away… not to mention he'd have to put up with the sun shoving daggers in his eyes. Funny how Dante's demonic healing could easily patch up a broadsword to the chest but couldn't ward off a simple hangover. The crackling of his dinky TV set and the monotonous droning of whatever the hell some boring guys in suits were talking about were definitely not helping either. Why can't Trish watch that crap in her own apartment? Oh, right, her TV's busted from that "electrical surge" or whatever. Dante thought it was more likely she got overly enthusiastic and fried the defenseless monitor. Maybe watching something naughty…

That thought incited another chuckle followed by the light groan which inevitably followed any raunchy thought involving Trish after Dante remembered that the only woman who willingly lingered around him without draining his pockets was essentially a photo copy of his mother. "Just no luck…"

"Heat scrambled your brain or something?" Dante muttered what sounded like a half-assed insult that was lost under the magazine. Trish sighed again and clicked off the TV as she rose. Dante groaned loudly as she quickly snatched the periodical off his face and cursed even louder when she pulled up the Venetian blinds and opened the window nearest to his desk. Now it was Trish's turn to laugh as Dante set his feet down and laid his head on the desk with his forearm shielding his eyes from the offending rays of sunlight. She fetched him a glass of ice water as an apology and just as she was setting it down, the antique phone currently positioned next to Dante's left ear rang. Seeing as how Dante was preoccupied with covering his ears and moaning in agony, Trish figured she should be the one to answer. "Devil May Cry…"

~',~

The gentle sea breeze never failed to comfort him, if only a little. Nero could probably rant for hours on the drawbacks of living in a place like Fortuna: how everything was the same boring color, how the people were a bunch of damn prudes with the same terrible fashion sense… but if Nero were to live anywhere else, he knew he'd miss the sea breeze, and…

"Kyrie…"

From the rooftop of their white-brick apartment he could see her about four blocks away walking home with that guy, Luka. Nero knew Luka was a good kid who would never try anything, not that he didn't want to, but he wasn't about to risk pissing off the one guy in town who could single-handedly crush his skull in. That was the problem. Kyrie deserved a man she could walk side-by-side with, soft hand in hand, without fear of being slandered or ostracized. He hadn't yet worked up the courage to talk to her about it. What stake would he have in this cold, miserable place if he didn't have her?

Nero looked down contemplatively at his Devil Bringer, as he must have hundreds of times since it first appeared. He ran his fingers over the soft, leathery flesh that formed warm, glowing channels between the massive plated scales. In the past few weeks he'd gotten back into the habit of hiding it in a sling whenever he was out in public. With the lull in demonic activity, the people of Fortuna found it easy to forget how Nero, with the use of his demonic arm, had helped save all their pitiful lives, and now demanded that he either conform to their society or be shunned, which wouldn't have bothered him normally, but he couldn't allow Kyrie to be subjected to such treatment.

One night after dinner, Kyrie had nervously asked if he thought it was possible to turn his right arm back to normal. The question had blindsided Nero; up until then, Kyrie never complained one bit about the monstrous appearance of the Devil Bringer, sometimes even going so far as to hold it affectionately when people began to stare. When Nero didn't answer right away, Kyrie broke out in tears and apologized over and over through her sobs, as if she'd been terribly cruel. Nero swore that he wasn't angry and only wanted to know why she had asked now. He held her while she tried to compose herself and she told him how earlier that day, one of the young boys at the school Kyrie volunteered at had said his parents didn't want him coming near her because she consorted with a demon.

Could he turn it back? Should he turn it back? The people of Fortuna seemed to think Nero willingly sold his sold to a devil to gain the power of the Devil Bringer, but the more he'd gotten used to the change in his right arm, the more natural it seemed. It felt like a part of him. Maybe it was always there, beneath his skin, itching anxiously, waiting until he was strong enough to use it. Would it be right to hide such a significant part of himself away? Maybe he would, only for her, but the question of how remained. He knew next to nothing about demons besides how to kill them and strangely he couldn't find anything in the libraries about spontaneously transforming appendages. He didn't think it'd be such a rare condition, at least not for half demons, but apparently those were pretty rare too. There wasn't much Nero knew about the world outside of Fortuna. He'd never left the place in his life as far as he could remember, and his early years were a complete mystery unto themselves. He didn't know who his real parents were; he'd been raised by Kyrie's. He really didn't know anything about himself, except that apparently he was a descendent of the legendary dark knight Sparda, which led him to only one reliable source for answers.

"You are just like he was…"

The fire demon Berial's words echoed in Nero's mind. He never figured out who 'he' was. He didn't think it was Dante. In all their encounters he never noticed Dante whip out a supernatural appendage, other than his devil trigger which looked like a different thing altogether. None of the texts or teachings Nero tried his best to ignore mentioned anything about Sparda having anything similar either… Maybe Dante would know more about the Devil Bringer and how to deal with it, but Nero had no idea how to find the guy aside from just taking off and looking. Who knew how long that would take and if he'd ever find him. Nero looked down from the rooftop as Kyrie planted a platonic kiss on Luka's cheek while she opened the front door. What would she think if he just up and left?

~',~

He had expected the tears, but he still wasn't prepared for them. Kyrie begged him to stay, promised she would do anything, endure any hardship brought to her for loving a part-demon, but Nero tried to reason with her. He convinced her that he could never be happy while she suffered on his behalf. That night Kyrie cried to sleep in his arms in the bed they shared. They'd never made love; Kyrie was a good girl, saving herself for marriage. In the end, it was for the better. Nero would be gone tomorrow.

It didn't take long for Nero to pack what he thought he might need on his journey to who-knows-where. By midday he was standing on the docks with the only two people on the island that would attend his send off. Kyrie stood with a colorful bundle of cloth held close to her breast. She pushed the bundle into his arms, head down, unable to look up at him with tears streaming down her face. He felt something firm and flat within the once fine, now age-ragged cloth, but moved his hands further to envelop hers. He never wanted to forget the soft skin of her tiny, delicate hands, so infinitesimal compared to his own, and yet able to render him defenseless all the same.

"Before she died… Mom said…"

Her sobs staggered her speech. Nero cupped her face with his left hand and gently guided it upwards to look into her beautiful brown eyes. Their eyes locked and his chest tightened painfully, as if his lungs had been filled with the tears overflowing from those shining brown jewels. He was drowning: in Kyrie's suffering, his own self pity and agonizing uncertainty over the foolhardy quest for which he was leaving her behind. He wanted to choke and let the shard-filled water pour out his mouth in waves, but he couldn't. If this might be their final memory together, he had to stay strong. It was all he could do for her now.

His hand left her cheek and ran through her silky, brown hair, knowing it was the last time he might ever get the chance, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Mom said this was for you. I don't know what it is, but… she said you would hate us for it."

"Kyrie, I could never hate you. You know that. After everything your family did for me. After everything we've been through..."

Kyrie nodded and embraced him as tightly as her fragile arms could , hoping to anchor him there forever, but she didn't have such power and the moment ended too soon. Nero turned to fix a hard gaze at Luka, staring down the taller, but noticeably thinner man. Luka was the closet thing outside of Kyrie's family to a friend that Nero had while growing up. As a child, Luka's quirky behavior and ambiguous family history made him a bit of an outcast himself, but unlike Nero, he'd grown to fit in. After a tense moment, Nero nodded and held out his left hand.

"Take good care of her."

Luka nodded as they shook hands.

Nero never lost sight of Kyrie as he boarded the small ship that would take him to mainland, even after she and the rest of Fortuna were nothing but a glimmering jewel on the horizon.

~',~

It was raining by nightfall, and Nero's hoodie could only do so much to keep the damp cold from sinking in with the reality that he had no idea where he was going. The city was a maze of skyscrapers, winding roads, and darkened alleyways. He'd never seen anything like it. Where the hell was he supposed to start? He ducked into a seedy looking bar to get out of the rain and looked around. The people here were a lot different than back home and it took Nero a while to soak in his surroundings and get over the culture shock. Women showed off gratuitous amounts of skin. Many of the men had tribal designs and naked women tattooed in their skin, and God was it loud in here. He felt ridiculously out of place. Did he just walk up to one of these guys and ask? Would anyone here have even heard of a demon hunter named Dante? He guessed it wouldn't hurt to try. He shrugged to nervously reposition the sling strap on his back and approached the gruff looking barkeep.

"What'll ya have?"

"Uhh, actually I need to know if you've heard of a demon hunter named Dante."

The barkeeper seemed to think for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"What's a pipsqueak like you doing looking for a man like Dante? He owe your momma child support?"

"Wha..?" Nero was baffled at the barkeeper's reaction. Eventually the old man settled down.

"Yeah I've heard of him, what's it to you?"

"I need to know where to find him."

"Information ain't free here, kid."

Nero cringed inwardly at the moniker as he dug through his wallet, he didn't have much, and held out $20. The barkeeper considered it for a moment before snatching the bill and heading for the back room. He returned with a torn piece of paper with a phone number hastily scrawled on it. Nero thanked the man and quickly went on his way.

As excited as Nero was for finding a lead to Dante, he decided it was too late to call. He'd spent hours wandering around the city before the rain became unbearable and he was exhausted. He found a cheap hotel to hole up in for the night. The place was a dump, but at least he could take a shower and sleep on something relatively soft, although the sudden scattering of cockroaches as Nero sat on the lumpy spring bed made the idea of peaceful slumber a bit questionable. As he lay in bed he was suddenly antagonized by worries he hadn't taken time to consider yet. What if Dante turned him away? Nero figured the guy had some care for him since he entrusted his brother's sword to the younger hunter, but the possibility remained and made Nero restless. He sat up and held out his right hand to summon Yamato. Nero was a little obsessive about keeping it clean; it was sort of a rental, but recently it rarely saw combat. Still, the act of cleaning it was almost like meditating for him. Something about holding the sword and feeling its weight in his hands put him at ease. He suspected it was because it came from the older hunter, though why exactly that should comfort him boggled his mind. He looked over the magnificent blade as he had many times, admiring the craftsmanship, running his left hand over the braided grip and along the cold, smooth steel. His eyes lingered for a moment on the black dragon on the pommel. It was a quaint personal touch on the elegant blade by whoever must've made it. He sighed and returned the blade into his demonic arm, now slightly more relaxed. In the end, fatigue overtook him and he drifted off to sleep.

~',~

Nero was surprised at how warm it was come the next day. He'd slept through morning and he guessed it was probably about noon. The weather rarely fluctuated like this in the perpetually chilly port town of Fortuna, but at least it served to dry his clothes for the most part. He happily checked out of the crappy hotel and ran to the nearest payphone. Suddenly he was struck with another wave of anxiety. What if it wasn't even the right number? Nero shook his head and forced himself to dial what was written on the crumpled piece of paper. He was a little shocked when, instead of Dante, a woman answered after the first ring.

"Devil May Cry…"