Chapter Two: Forks over Knives
Learning how to kill things turns out to be much harder than stabbing them with a butter-knife. Consequently, Lienne finds herself questioning her potential.
Posted: 12/3/13
"I just think you should help me out. You know, as a way to pay rent, or something." The devil hunter wasn't accustomed to asking people to work for him. Eh, well. There's a first time for everything, he thought with an inward shrug.
"I don't remember you being this indèsic. " Lienne accentuated the foreign word with a sweeping hand gesture, then took a sip of carbonated sugar water. Wrinkling her nose at the severity of the bubbles, she continued. "Weren't you the one who invited me into your humble abode, scot-free?"
Dante fingered the spoon stewing in his strawberry sundae. "I've been known to change my mind." She's a lot more confident than she was when I found her a few days ago. A lot less cooperative. A lot more annoying, too. " 'Sides, I think it'd be good for you."
Lienne snorted, immediately regretting it. Her eyes teared up as the carbon dioxide exited through her ducts. She put a hand to her chest, feeling a soda-induced burp coming on. "Yup. Definitely. Because a girl like me will be able to take on hordes of demons."
The increasingly-irritated demon hunter leaned back in his booth, flimsy steel frame outcrying against his weight. Upon lacing his fingers behind silver hair: "I didn't say hordes, exactly. Jeez, lady. You were in a way better mood this morning."
Grabbing the shining utensil to her right, she stabbed the tines into an unassuming pancake, severing a chunk from the rest of its being. "I'm not sane in the mornings."
"Why won't you work with me? I bought you pancakes! " Dante's eyes flashed with irritation. She had a lot of nerve. Living in my place and not bothering to help me out. Making me buy her -
Lienne burst out laughing, having to put a hand over her mouth to keep from spewing pancake over everyone in the general vicinity. "I bought these pancakes. Your sundae, too. You're welcome, by the way."
Oh . . . yeah. Whoops. This was going worse than he'd predicted. "Look, I don't care how much Lady is paying you, just work for me! Come on!"
She put down her fork, full attention now on him. "What kind of help can I give? I'm sixteen years old, with no work experience. I don't even know how to drive. How the heck am I supposed to help out in your business? Of slaying demons? If you want money, fine. I'll give you my twenty-five dollar paycheck I get every two days for organizing the files in Lady's office."
I don't want your damn paycheck. I just don't want you staying in my shop while demons are ransacking the countryside and I'm out on a mission. Especially since you're Hell's Gate on legs. You don't know it yet, lady, but you're going to have to learn how to protect yourself real soon, whether you like it or not. He decided to keep up this pleading charade. It made the girl more comfortable. And if meager begging made her willing to learn how to be a hunter, then that's how he'd be. Meager. And begging.
He sighed. The things I do for humanity.
The observant teenager noticed his fallen demeanor, and immediately dropped the smile that had been flitting over her lips. She suddenly felt horrible. Lienne knew this demon hunter better than he knew himself. She'd played the games, after all.
"Fine. I'll do it."
Trying to look astonished beyond belief, Dante glanced up from his sundae, inserting artificial hope into his doe eyes. "You'll what?"
"I'll do it. More importantly, I'll start today. Clearly there's more to this than you want to divulge, so I'll just trust your judgment."
Suddenly, a knowing grin flirted with Dante's lips, his charade fully forgotten. The hunter waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, yeah? Don't tell me you were won over by my many charms?"
Lienne looked at the knife sitting on a napkin to her left. She contemplated throwing it at Dante. Right between the eyes. Instead, she picked up her fork and resumed eating. No need to make the poor busboy clean more dishes. "That was quick. You dropped your 'help me pay rent, I'm so meek' act pretty fast." Her voice had gone up an octave to display the "meekness" of his assumed character. Leveling out her larynx: "Next time, you should try to gradually slope off. You know, after a plot twist or something. Then you'd have an excuse to change your personality."
Actually astonished, Dante dropped his spoon. It fell into the ice cream with a splat. How much does this kid know? Is she really that sensitive to emotions? Or does it have something to do with that "video game" bullshit she wouldn't shut up about the other night? "I know you pretty well, Dante. Trust me." Isn't that what she was going on about?
Ignoring his surprise, Lienne just grimaced to no one in particular. She pushed the plate of pancakes away, putting her elbows up onto the dingy diner surface with a grunt. As the troubled teen began rubbing her temples – a common habit, Dante noted – she spoke. "You done yet? I have to get some ibuprofen from the drugstore. You don't have any painkillers in your cabinet. Just a bottle of laxative that looks ten years old." He noticed a smile peek out from between her massaging hands. "I'm not even going to ask why you kept it."
The loquacious devil hunter replied, smugly, "I've been saving it for you." Truth be told, it was there when I bought the place. I just keep forgetting to throw it away.
Oh-ho! That's it! She reached for the knife, but when her hand landed upon the napkin the cutlery had been sitting on, all her fingertips met was soft cloth-like paper. She looked up, vexed, to see Dante twirling the implement of slicing between his fingers.
"Up bup bup!" He tutted. Pointing to a warning sign at the front of the diner, the half-devil wagged a playful finger at her. " 'No fighting.' "
As Lienne glared bitterly at the complacent man, he smiled innocently. Silver hair swayed as he threw his hands up, palms skyward, in that "classic Dante" manner. "Don't blame me. Blame the sign."
She snorted. "Sign", my ass.
"No, no, no. You've got it all wrong." Dante was enjoying himself more than Lienne deemed necessary. Why didn't that smug grin ever leave his face?
He poked her side, and Lienne twitched away in surprise. Dante nodded in satisfaction, gesturing to her improved form. "Yup. That's better. Keep your knees bent."
"You're so lucky. You don't have to do all this crap. You just . . ." She waved her wooden sword around, making sound effects of the "boom" and "whoosh" variety. Dante felt an affectionate smile for the odd teenager twitch at the corners of his mouth. He pushed down the temptation, and instead leaned against his desk with a shrug.
"I'm half-demon. It's in my blood."
She sighed morosely. Letting her sword arm droop, Lienne absently admired the floorboards. "It'd be cool to be half demon . . ." The despondent girl shook herself out of her stupor, then reaffirmed her fighting position. "I don't know. This just seems like more trouble than it's worth. I'm decent with this . . . thing." She brandished the "thing" in question, sweeping it about. "But it's so . . . boring. I've always been a better shot than a swing, anyways." Lienne's head cocked to the side, confused by her own wording. "If that makes any sense."
Dante uplifted his shoulders in yet another shrug. "Can't say I've ever had that problem. But if you want, I can teach you how to shoot."
Lienne grinned. " 'Teach' me?" She nodded at Ivory, questioningly. Dante took the silver left-hand gun from his holster and handed it to her. "I thought you were right-handed?"
"I am. But I'm also left eye dominant. You got any practice slugs?"
"Already in there." Dante crossed his arms, not wanting to admit he was eager to see if she was as good as her cocky sideways grin suggested.
She observed her surroundings. An abandoned dartboard sat on a crate high above them. He has quite the warehouse theme going on in here. This crate was situated upon a mesh-like alcove that hung via steel cables. The only access to it was a ladder that, by the looks of it, hadn't been used for eons.
After a dramatically deep breath, which caused Dante to raise his eyebrows, Lienne took aim. She moved the safety with her left thumb, then pulled back the hammer. Faster than Dante expected from a kid, from a human for that matter, Lienne fired three shots. She squinted, looking at the target through small winding tendrils of gun-smoke.
After a moment of quiet contemplation of the dartboard, Lienne suddenly squealed, pumping her fists in the air and jumping about. "Yeah, baby! I didn't know if I could do it! I mean, I was good back in eighth grade, but I haven't picked up a gun since then. And I always just used a pellet gun when I went to practice with my dad after school –"
Dante's jaw dropped, looking from the celebrating teen to the hole she'd bored clean through the dartboard. The two shots had followed the first, all three creating a singular quarter sized hole. "Holy shit, kid."
Lienne looked down at Ivory, not believing what she had accomplished. With a self-depreciating snort, the cynical girl handed it back. "I bet it was all in the gun. I used to be good, but not that good."
Dante refrained from telling her Ivory was a hard gun to handle. He didn't want to stroke her ego just yet. The devil hunter glanced at the hole again, and gave a low whistle. "Anything else I should know about you? Fight crime on the side? Practice taekwondo?"
Lienne blushed, sitting herself down on the couch slowly. "Nope." She mulled over her few talents for a moment, choosing ones that she deemed worthy to mention. "I play the sitar. I haven't played one in eons, but I used to be pretty good." She leaned back in thought, staring at the churning fan as her mind traveled. "I'm not really good at many things, to be honest. I'm just 'okay' at a lot of them. Like a jack-of-all-trades kind of deal." After a thoughtful pause: "I also like long walks on the beach."
Dante grinned. This kid just kept getting better and better. I take it back. She's not getting annoying. She's getting interesting.
With Dante gone for the time being, Lienne had a long while to herself. The lost teenager had come to terms with the fact that she'd never see her parents again. Or her friends. Or her dog. Oh, Jessie. She closed her eyes as she lay on the couch, imagining the way his whole body would shake when she came home from school, butt propelled by the ferocity of his tail wags. She recalled how big he'd been, with vicious teeth that had never been displayed in a snarl. Quite the contrary. He was one of the mellowest dogs she'd ever had. Fitting, since the way things turned out, he'd probably be her last.
Truth be told, she didn't really mind being in a different world. There was nothing for her in her previous life. Like she told Dante, playing the instrument she loved wasn't really practical. It's not like anybody gave a crap about the sitar. Additionally, she wasn't good at anything else. She couldn't pay attention in school to save her life. She hadn't been in any extracurricular activities. In short, she just wasn't 'cut out' for Earth.
Not to mention her life had been exceedingly boring. Day in, day out: Wake up. Eat. Take a shower. Brush teeth. Comb hair. Go to school.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say I'd been having an existential crisis. She laughed to herself, fiddling with a hole in her jeans. Maybe I was. Maybe I am.
Lienne forlornly sighed. Why am I even thinking about this? It doesn't matter, anyway. Her thoughts moved on to another lingering problem: the problem of her dream.
After long hours of contemplation over the past few days, she still hadn't made sense of the dream. The dream of Vergil. Had he been right? Was it not a dream, but something more? That demon who'd been watching her from behind the glass had told her she'd be able to planes-travel. But he helpfully never mentioned how. That's it, then. I planeswalk in my sleep. Great. Add that to the fact I'm horrible at math and love piña-coladas, and you've got one hell of a profile.
"Hey, slugger." Dante interrupted her thoughts, plopping onto the couch beside her, causing her cushion to rise like the tide. "You should get ready. We'll leave in thirty."
She hadn't even heard the door open. Quietly, Lienne nodded. He spoke of her impending first mission. I'm not cut out for this. I've killed one demon, sure. But I can't just stab them all with conveniently placed butter-knives.
She felt an unexpected pat on her back. The brooding girl turned, to be met with Dante's compassionate smile. "You'll do fine, kid." He handed Lienne a revolver he'd bought while he was out, silver and mundane. But she gripped it with thanks, inclining her head in acceptance.
"I sure hope so."
It was cold. Dreadfully cold. Lienne felt the shivers flit over her body, goosebumps crawling up her legs and arms. They felt like tiny bugs, creeping up her pants and sleeves, trying to find their way to her core to imbue it with cold.
She'd had enough of this frigid weather. Her previous residence had always been pleasantly warm, caressed by the soft touch of almost daily rainfall. She'd loved it, and recalled it fondly. This dry chill was more than she could handle - or wanted to, at least.
The devil hunter beside Lienne shared her sentiments. He crossed his arms, grunting. "Is it just me, or has it gotten even colder over these past few seconds?"
Lienne smiled, then adopted a narrator's voice. "The infallible Dante, finally defeated by forty degree weather."
He rubbed his arms, trying to generate heat. "Yeah, well. You look pretty damn frozen, yourself."
Dante had informed Lienne about the nature of their mission a few minutes prior. They were supposed to wait – wait out in the gelid night. What they were waiting for, the devil hunter didn't bother to mention. He just said something about a lead he'd gotten from Lady.
The pair stood away from the streetlights, huddling in a dark alley next to a decrepit bar. The sounds coming from inside were particularly suggestive, and Lienne felt dirty just from hearing them. "Am I the only person who feels like an idiot, here? We're standing outside of a stripclub, for god's sake!"
Dante breathed into his hands, rubbing them together, building friction."Stop with the whining. It's cold enough as it is. I don't need your complaints, too."
Laughter bubbled up in Lienne's throat, and she couldn't rein it in. Unexpectedly, her laughter burst out, warming the dispirited alley with mirth. It was loud and abrupt, but she was sure no one on the other side of the wall could hear it. "You're such a girl when you're cold!"
The shivering demon hunter turned to her, eyeing the girl with bitterness. His resentful glare was nullified by the adorable ruddiness of his nose and cheeks. "Yeah, yeah. Just quit your yapping, already."
A door burst open, and Dante leaned to the left, trying to get a look at the entrance of the stripclub. "That's our man."
He moved in an instant, vanishing from Lienne's sight. Suddenly, he appeared again, with an unfamiliar man in a headlock. Dante gestured with a nod to the back of the alley. Lienne obliged, walking towards a dumpster and rolling it so the large trash receptacle was perpendicular to the walls on either side.
She grimaced as the wheels screeched in protest. With her luck, the owner of the stripclub would come running out, thinking she was trying to steal his oversized trashcan, and holding a man hostage to get it.
Dante tossed the club-goer onto the ground behind the dumpster so no passerby would see, the hunter's glare more frigid than the black night that swirled around them. "I hear you're into the snuff-film business. What's the going rate for crap like that these days?"
Lienne's brown eyes widened. This guy? Was he involved in that "test" she and hundreds of others had unknowingly taken? Is that what Dante's investigating, then? The "Hell's Gate Project" those demons cooked up?
"I dunno what yer talkin' about." The drunk wiped his disheveled face with the back of his arm, then spat.
The glob of putrid, translucent liquid fell onto the half-devil's left shoe, marring the perfectly polished leather.
Lienne cringed. You've done it now.
As ferocious as a summer storm, Dante grabbed the bedraggled man by the scruff of his shirt, sweeping him into the air and slamming his back against the hard brick wall. Lienne heard a decisive crack as the drunkard's back hit cold stone. Her cringe deepened.
"I asked you a question." Dante's voice was nonchalant and amicable, as though he were chatting about the weather. But he somehow managed to keep that mischievous gleam in his eye, showing he was toying with his prey, drawing out the man's fear. "I don't like it when I have to repeat myself. Why don't you save me the trouble?" Dante leaned in close, silver hair brushing against his prey's rough cheek.
The man being held up by his shirt shivered uncontrollably, but not from the brisk evening; rather, his fear was ushered by the growling malevolence his captor exerted. "Wh-what . . . I d-don't –"
Lienne gasped as a spectral being materialized before her. Members of the Seven Hells walked into the human plane, screeching with dead throats. Their scythes were ominous and sharp, eyes focused and hungered. There were a dozen, at the least; some were Hell Greeds, others were of the more dangerous Soul Eater variety.
"Shit." Dante sighed, tossing the man down. But Lienne saw a black grin split the drunk's face, and bile fell from his mouth in small green trails that shined in the moonlight. She drew her gun from the waistband of her jeans; she didn't have a fancy holster like Dante did.
Lienne caught Dante's eye, and somehow they were able to communicate without speaking. He drew Ebony and Ivory, hidden beneath his leather coat, and moved to fight the nether beasts. Lienne turned her attention to the then-drunkard presently-demon that lay before her, now fully comfortable in his real form. She'd never seen his like before. He wasn't one of the Seven Hells, nor any other lesser demon Lienne had battled in the games. Warm, green slime dripped from his skin, steaming when it hit frigid concrete. A dank stench wafted off the creature, making Lienne's eyes water.
As she listened to the sounds of Dante toying with his enemies and mouthing off, she stared at the new demon. Cocking her head, she observed him. He stared back, or, more appropriately, glared. "He knows you're alive."
Lienne faltered, taken aback.
"He knows! He knows, he knows, he knows!"
"That's great." Lienne grunted to the spined fiend before her. He suddenly hunched over, breathing heavily, sound grating against her ears like rocks on glass. As a bolt from the dark sky, it lunged, green arms reaching for her.
Lienne was silent in her dodge, unable to speak with a fear-constricted throat. She thought it helped her stoicism, though. The preoccupied teen figured if she was going to hunt demons, she might as well have a persona. Dante already had his inimitable cocky act, so "stoic lady demon-hunter" was the best she could come up with at the moment. It'd give her a goal to strive for, at the least. Otherwise, she didn't know who to act like. She felt lost without a character to play.
The demon's arm came around again, and the creature tried to separate her head from its companion, namely her neck. Jumping back, she pulled the trigger of her new revolver – thankfully, it was double-action, so she didn't need to cock it before she pulled – and shot the fiend's kneecap. A sickening crunch accompanied the ambient sounds of haphazard fighting, and the demon shrieked.
Lienne smiled, enjoying herself as the stoic huntress. "I'm not done, yet." The marksman saw her predicament as lucky, since Dante was taking on the brunt of the trouble; all she had to do was fight one odd demon.
Her joviality soon came to an end. With a screech loud enough to convince anyone near to run like hell – not that there was anyone in the general vicinity – the demon sprouted spikes longer than Lienne was tall. One of them shot straight through her kneecap, the same spot where she'd stricken him.
Her mouth opened in silent despair, a perfect "o" as tears welled up in her eyes – eyes that reflected the malevolent expression of the attacker, intensifying her terror.
"Paying it forward, eh?" But frightened thoughts belied her stoic exterior. Lienne restrained herself from crying out in pain. I should've shot the damn thing in the face. The agonized girl wanted to persevere, and push through. Can't have Dante thinking I'm not cut out for this, can I?
Impaled, she couldn't move. In manic fury, she aimed at the spike protruding from his body. She managed to break it off, half of it in her leg, the other half sticking out of the beast's chest. It shrieked again, and Lienne braced herself for another spike.
It came, straight through her arm. She felt the hard material rip through muscle, grating as it drilled through bone and marrow. Pain seized her, proving an even tougher adversary than the spines, themselves. The gun dropped from her left hand, and she was left unarmed.
Frantic, her eyes sought any weapon near her. When the beast retracted his organic weapons, she fell to the ground, good arm groping for anything – anything to save her. She felt rather than saw her fingers chance upon something metal. Without thinking, she threw it at the demon, adrenaline carrying the utensil to the center of its bulging eye. A loud squishing sound, much like the noise of someone stepping on a waded up sopping rag, left little to be imagined. Blood spewed from the eye socket, and Lienne grinned through her pain – though the display of satisfaction seemed more like a forced grimace. Look, Mom. I struck oil.
It toppled over, much like an oil rig whose legs had been severed at the root by overzealous hippies. Clawing at the heaven-sent fork, the demon writhed with hysteria.
Lienne crawled over to her gun, tears running from her eyes. She prided herself on the fact that she wasn't sobbing. Nonetheless, she couldn't control the tears falling to the cold cement. A glacial feeling had sprung into being, accompanying the sharp spurts of pain, and she looked down to see her knee had become an ominous black with angry, swollen veins webbed around it. Glancing toward her arm, she noted the same to be the case for that particular wound, as well.
The glint of metal drew her eye, and she inwardly rejoiced upon finding her fighting partner. It had slid to rest beneath the dumpster. She pined for it, madly dragging herself toward the shining alloy.
Her right hand's fingers found it, and clasped the grip gratefully.
Flipping onto her back, she took aim. The demon was upon her, now, mouth open in a murderous howl. Terrified, Lienne fired, hitting the fork dead on, sending it further into the demon's skull. The bone cracked, tined cutlery splitting the other side and coming out in a mess of grey and red chunks.
Breathing heavily, she let her head fall back against the cold alleyway ground. Who am I kidding? I'm not cut out for this, as much as I hate to admit it. Lienne stared at the deep black sky, paying special attention to a reddish star that floated millions of kilometers above her. So much for my "stoic huntress" act. Lienne wanted to be there, basking in the radiant warmth of a dying red dwarf, instead of lying in pain on this frozen cement. I don't understand. I didn't belong in my previous life. I'm not even powerful enough to belong in this one. So where do I even go? What do I do? Wistfully, her hand reached out to grasp the gaseous form. Lienne's fist closed on nothing but brisk air, languid eyes falling as drawn curtains, and her mind rose into the aether she'd sought so adamantly.
Dante hated himself in that moment. He'd never felt as angry with his own being as he did now. The young man kept telling himself he hadn't saved the aspiring hunter because he'd wanted Lienne's first battle to be her own. The veteran knew how important mistakes were, and that any new devil hunter needed to make their own foolish missteps in order to learn, but this . . .
The half-demon looked down at the girl, brown hair matted with blood and dubious grey matter that thankfully weren't hers. She lay upon the couch she had slept on the night prior. Then, she'd only been asleep for a few hours. Now, she ran the risk of falling into a slumber that lasted for eternity.
This was too far. He'd messed up.
He had ushered her into battle. He had convinced her not to stay in the shop. It was his fault. Hot, molten guilt gripped his heart in a vise, and Dante let his head fall into upturned palms.
Lady stood beside him, long fingers resting on his shoulder. "Well, you've managed to let the only person willing to organize my thousands of files get herself killed."
"She's not dead," Dante snapped, words coming out more biting than he'd intended.
Lady sighed, retracting her hand from his body. Dante felt the previously warmed spot become cold. "I know, Dante. I know."
The female hunter dropped a small hand-towel into a basin. After it absorbed warm water, she wrung it out, then placed it upon Lienne's forehead. The young lady's lips were purple, her face pale to the point of being blue. If she wasn't dead now, it wouldn't be long before she was.
They gazed in silence at the petite form. Lienne still held her small silver revolver, trapped in the confines of delicate fingers. Those fingers were scratched and worn, bleeding and torn. And yet, she still clung to her firearm as a shipwrecked sailor clutches a sinking mast.
Absently, Dante took Lienne's hand, rubbing an angry welt on her knuckle with his thumb."Hang in there, slugger."
"It's you, again."
Lienne felt a smooth voice caress her ears, vibrating her eardrums with its deep rumble. She decided not to lift her eyelids, content to simply listen to this man's radio-worthy tone.
"Sleeping so soon, just after visiting? Am I truly that boring?"
"Mmm. . ." The nap-desiring girl rolled over, trying to rest her head on her arm, using her limb as a pillow. "Keep talking. Your voice is nice."
She caught the sound of the man's dry chuckle. "If you open your eyes, we can have a proper conversation. Then you'll be able to listen to my 'nice voice' to your heart's content."
Lienne gave a long-suffering sigh, then sat up. Upon rubbing her eyes, she realized her fingers stung horribly. And that she was holding what felt like a rather large weapon in her right hand, because her left sat limply at her side.
She opened her eyes with a start, suddenly finding herself in a deep grey wasteland. The calls of far-off and unseen demons weaved through the atmosphere, along with lilting breezes that carried the smell of death. Lienne inhaled deeply, growing accustomed to the musk. She was situated upon a precipice overlooking a long-dead valley, ground cracked where water had once been. The liquid had evaporated, leaving small fissures and chasms behind, due to the expanding nature of water vapor. Dead trees were bent at odd angles, dotting the valley here and there, congregating in small cliques. The cliques chatted amongst one another, whispering secrets in the form of low soughs that moaned through their branches. After a few moments of searching, Lienne couldn't see the man she had been listening to from her position, so she turned herself around slowly, trying not to incite her wounded appendages.
There he stood, looking down at her with the smallest hint of a smile. His backdrop was an awe-inspiring churning sky, back and grey, with odd spherical lights flitting through the clouds. "Good morning, Lienne."
The girl he spoke to widened brown eyes in stupefaction, and failed to form words with her clumsy tongue and ungainly lips. She could only say but one thing after many moments of trial and error: "Vergil?"
The stoic man didn't respond. Glancing over her body, he saw her deep wounds – wounds so extensive, they were a window to the ground beyond. He could see directly through the points of entry in her flesh, to the grey, cracked slate itself.
"What did you do?" He silently strode toward her, uplifting her chin with his thumb and forefinger. Vergil looked at her as though she were an equestrian for sale, and he was debating whether or not to invest in her.
Lienne sat in rapture, not daring to breath. Why is he so close to me?
"What did I do?" Pulling herself out of the daze, she snapped at him incredulously, cursing the fact that she couldn't stand. She wanted to speak with him on equal footing, but with her shot knee, that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Lienne's anger dissipated into a sough - a low moan she expelled from the very center of her being. "I did a bad job, that's what."
Vergil continued to eye her observationally, albeit with a small smile. "Euphemisms don't become you."
Waving her gun about in irritation, she gestured to his being. "What are you doing here, anyway?" His eyes made her nervous – when his glacial gaze touched her own, she felt a creeping heat crawl up her neck, an interesting juxtaposition to the temperature in his deep pools of ice.
"A gun?" Vergil pressed his lips together in contempt, eyeing her revolver with distaste.
Lienne smiled to herself, mouth upturning in quiet reverie. "I forgot you disliked firearms."
Vergil's eyes narrowed. "You knew?"
The wounded girl sighed. The events of the night suddenly caught up with her, settling upon her consciousness similar to how a pallet of bricks is dropped upon the ground by a crane: brutally crushing anyone beneath. She was too tired to explain herself. Rubbing her weary face with a palm: "Never you mind. Did you need something?"
He resumed observing her gaping wounds. Oddly, they did not bleed. The flesh almost seemed to be frozen. Lienne shifted uncomfortably as his eyes bored through her. "Did you realize your potential? The power you wield?"
I'm a planeswalker. "Yes. I also discovered that I transport whatever I touch along with me." She held up the revolver. "Let's all be thankful I wasn't touching the dumpster."
Lienne chortled at her joke, but the joviality quickly died in her throat. It was only an inside joke, after all, and her conversation partner couldn't join in her revelry.
Vergil inclined his head in modest appreciation. "Good. You're not as vacuous as you first seemed."
The young woman laughed at his insult, feeling it to be minor compared to what he could have said. She decided to use an equally big word to describe him. "Thanks. Your humor has shown me you're not as insipid as I expected."
The two stared at one another: the first shifted her eyes away awkwardly, confidence forgotten in the wake of his intense gaze; the second looked on with growing fascination.
"Insipid?" He echoed. After a moment, the swordsman's eyes glinted with mirth, and he let his hand drop from her. "Perish the thought." Vergil ended his observations, stepping away from Lienne.
Lienne regretted his stepping away. The spot where he'd held her grew cold. She felt the chill of Hell creep into her bones, and she wished her shirt didn't have so many holes bored into it from her previous battle.
Slowly, his face transformed into that of a predator - a lion eager to feast upon caught prey. "But now you've come . . ." Vergil seemed to be speaking to himself. His deep tone floated upon the breeze. Zephyrs carried his spoken song through the branches of stunted trees. Eerie echoes answered the call, ricocheting off the valley floor.
Lienne gasped as his hand shot out, meeting her throat in a vise grip. Holding her up easily, as though Lienne's one hundred and fifteen pounds were but feathers, Vergil continued. "Yes . . . I can see it . . . You are not special. It is the power you yield: the planestravel." His light pink mouth upturned, soft lips belying a deeper malevolence.
The victim didn't exactly know what Vergil wanted, only that the threatening hunger in his eyes was more frightening than Mundus himself.
She knew acting the young fool wouldn't get her out of this choke-hold. Lienne had to adopt an unexpected visage. After a moment of steeling herself, eyes closing, her mind stumbled upon the solution.
"You want power."
Her voice was hoarse and flat, lacking the biting strength she wanted, but Lienne couldn't help it. Her larynx was currently being crushed, after all.
The captor's eyes remained impassive. He simply maintained an unforgiving stare.
"But you're an idiot. When I saved your ass from fighting Mundus, himself, I was expecting appreciation, not . . ." She gagged as he held her larynx with an iron fist. "Let go, you jackass! You're unable control yourself. You want infallible power at your fingertips, your heart to beat with immortality, in order to slay any foes you deem worthy, or to simply prove that you can. Let me show you how to get that power. I can help you. In fact, we can help eachother."
This lucky bastard doesn't know how fortunate he is. If Ihad demon blood in me, I sure as hell wouldn't need his help to find out more about this "Demon Film" business. "Didn't you say you wanted to protect people? use the power you wished to attain to protect those that you are unable to now? So do that, instead of wasting your time down here, in the middle of nowhere."
Finally, Vergil's eyes showed emotion. But the anger flowing from within him was innate, exactly the primordial emotions Lienne knew Vergil to posses. "You think you can help me?" He chuckled darkly, releasing her from the confines of his iron grasp, but not before clenching her neck one last time—he couldn't help himself. She dropped to her knees, gasping for the effluvium of death that was the air. "You are a fool. I could easily have killed Mundus. My father could do it; why couldn't I?"
"Jesus Christ." Lienne rubbed her throat as she rolled her eyes. "Do I really need to spell this out for you? You're half-human. It'll take you years of training in order to harness your Devil Trigger well enough to able to use it against Mundus. Just how arrogant are you? Do you honestly think you can take on the emperor of the demon world? You, a scrawny little half-human brat? You're, what? nineteen? less than that?" As she spoke, his eyes grew more and more menacing, and eventually, she saw his aura erupt into a shocking vapor of blue. But she loved it. Seeing the utter violence of his emotions reminded her that he was more than just a video game character. "See, there it is." She pointed to his aura. "I told you: you can't control yourself. Why do you want so much power, anyway? You clearly wouldn't be able to handle all the power of a demon emperor."
But then Lienne stopped, grimaced, and rubbed her throat once again. That's it. I'm dead. Well, it was nice while it lasted. It just sucks that I have to die in Hell. Does that mean I'm going to be stuck here? For eternity?
That's ironic. I was complaining about not belonging anywhere. Maybe it's the universe's way of telling me this is where I belong.
He was growling now, barely holding on to the human half inside him. "Reason not the need. I have no cause to explain myself to you."
He summoned his demonic swords, and they spun around him in terrifying cadence. She saw the ethereal blades dance and dance, spinning faster and faster as he came closer. Though his expression was severe, his words were quiet, spoken to himself, "Your attitude is insufferable." Deep trenches plagued Vergil's forehead as the half-devil's brows furrowed. The sword master closed in once again upon Lienne, finding his resolve once more. "Your newfound ability seems to have rendered you insane. Of course I can control myself—I should relieve you from your misery."
Lienne snorted. "Yeah, well, Dante beat you multiple times. If you really think you're powerful, maybe you should remember all the times you've gotten your ass handed to you."
The immaculate blades shined before her, reflecting the fantastical lights that floated above them. The orbs danced over the pair, seeming to thrive on the flaring emotions, feeding on their tumult.
"What? You're not going to kill me with Yamato? How insulting."
Vergil's shock was palpable. His aura stuttered. "How do you know that name?"
She shrugged. "Tell you what: since death by katana is a fantastic way to go, why don't we make a deal: kill me with it, and I'll tell you just why I'm an encyclopedia of demonic knowledge."
But her words didn't have the expected effect. Vergil drew his sword, slashing it through the drafts of air now billowing about them, wind howling as his anger came to a head. For some reason, he was even angrier than before.
"No deal. I don't care about that information." (Liar! Lienne wanted to yell.) "I'd rather not mar my blade with your blood, but it would be rude of me to ignore a lady's last wish."
Stubborn ass! He's as bad as Dante! No, he's worse: Dante actually cared enough about his brother to cry after Vergil fell into the abyss, but Vergil's just a conceited brat who wants nothing but power. I doubt he's capable of crying.
She felt the anger in her gut simmering, until she could no longer contain it. Lienne slammed her foot down with such violence that her foot sunk inches into the hardened soil. "You don't even know why you want power! What is this esoteric concept, anyway, this 'power'? Who do you want to protect with it? Help me understand!"
As Vergil slowly prepared the blade, lowering it steadily as he took his time adopting a stance of execution, Lienne's hand shot out as a cobra grips her prey. If I'm going to die, I might as well go out with a bang. Thick blood trickled from her hand, marring the blade as salty crimson glided down the groove in the center of his sword, and came to pool around the handguard, dripping onto Vergil's own fingers. He felt the warm liquid slowly cool as it flowed over his hand. They were connected by her lifeblood; it was an oddly intimate connection. "Look into my eyes and tell me you weren't relieved when I stopped you from killing yourself. Look into my eyes," her voice grew deathly quiet, "and tell me you know why you want so much power."
For a moment, they stood silently. She was unable to read his expression. Vergil's eyes darted away. But something had flashed there, something odd. And she was sure he was affected by something in his memory. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. "You are an odd one, Lienne. It's too bad you're more annoying than useful: I have no need for a portal to the realm of humans, and I am sure the demons of Hell are sensing your presence, and will soon come to use you. I should kill you, before more come."
Lienne sighed. "What else were you going to do with an unsheathed sword? Just let me stare at it for a while?"
The dark twin just smiled, white teeth glinting in the dim light.
She just snorted (again) derisively, completely throwing her inhibitions to the wind. She was already going to die, so why not share her bitterness with her killer? "Oh, that's rich, Vergil." In response to the doom-bringing sword embedded in her hand: "That's what you always do, isn't it? Just kill anything that annoys you. You know, you're pretty damn presumptuous, thinking you can go around extinguishing whatever you don't like."
That same flash of vague remembrance glazed over his eyes for but a moment, and his face twisted into a scowl of utter confusion. Why? Why does this seem so familiar? He couldn't place where, or how, but this—having someone at the mercy of his sword, having her be utterly apathetic toward her own death—was so disturbingly familiar that he pushed the thought away, and reasserted his calm demeanor. The observing look was then back in Vergil's eye, along with a smirk. He lost his murderous aura. "I'm surprised anyone can put up with you."
"Ha!" Lienne was drunk on death, completely without control. She'd noticed the ordeal his mind had just experienced, but she wasn't about to bring it up, not now, when she was this uncaring about her life. "Who says they can? Frankly, I'm surprised no one's chopped my head off. A lot of people would lift you in a chair and yell 'hava nagila!' just for doing the deed they'd never had the guts to."
The smirk left Vergil's lips, replaced by an expression of utter confusion. "Your words are incomprehensible."
She let go of the blade, wiping her dripping, bloodied hand off on her shirt gruffly. "Yeah, yeah. Just lop off my head already, before I say something else I regret."
Once again, Lienne couldn't discern the man's expression. His strong features were taut with something. Whether it be anger or irritation, she couldn't tell. Nonetheless, she was surprised when he finally spoke. "But you say people want you dead? They dislike you?"
Taken aback by his curiosity, she recomposed herself, then shrugged. "Not . . . exactly. Everyone pretty much just saw me as a freeloader. I didn't really have a place in life, and it's not like I could go on a religious journey to 'find myself'." She emphasized the overused saying by bending two fingers on her bleeding hand in an exaggerated manner—this caused more blood to bubble up from her hand, and it slowly dripped down her forearm. "So I guess we have that in common, Vergil. Neither of us knows what to do: you're stuck in this dump, watching your ultimate adversary Mundus, knowing you can't fight him; and I'm stuck with you, at your mercy." Suddenly, she lost her carefree manner, and a deep pain gripped her chest. Vergil saw sadness color her brown eyes, and was astonished to find her grief incited something within him. He couldn't place the feeling, but he noticed that her sorrow reminded him of something. Something deep in his mind, but long forgotten. His hand reached out. In horror, he recoiled, forcing his hand back to his side. She was an odd girl—almost seeming to be a force of nature, interesting and lively, therefore seeing her with such bitter sadness was disturbing.
Lienne closed her eyes, cutting off Vergil's observations. The young woman bared her neck to him. She is at my mercy. And, for some insane reason, she doesn't mind. Just like I remember.
"Do it."
Vergil's eyebrows narrowed together, manifesting the churning thoughts in his mind. His handsome face was marred by deep lines of suspicion. "Why do you desire death? Why rush to meet your end?"
Realizing he was hesitating, she took the opportunity to let herself fall backward, lying down from her previous sitting position.
"You did the same thing when you tried to run off to play in the big leagues with Mundus. Though, I guess you didn't realize it at the time. Not completely." She went silent a moment, then answered his question. Without opening her eyes, Lienne pointed to the sky, gesturing to the floating orbs shooting back and forth like faeries. "It's because I feel like one of those. We're all just lights, floating around in a vacuum, with no purpose, no goal. Except you. You have a goal. So I guess that makes us different."
The stoic man watched her, as Lienne's hand spurted blood down her arm, ivory skin tainted by streams of bold red. The lifeblood began to collect on her chest, soaking into her shirt. "You had said we are alike. Now you've changed your mind? Why must you be so indecisive? Do you second-guess everything that you say?"
Her arm dropped, landing with a painful thump on the hard ground. Blood shot from her hand due to the sudden pressure, a large spray leaping from her veins, coloring the grey stone. She completely ignored the fact she was bleeding to death, and instead focused on the headache that was currently assaulting her temples. Lienne rubbed her forehead roughly, trying to massage it with her thumb. Blood kept dripping into her eyes, however, and in irritation, she gave up. "I don't know, Vergil. For a moment, I thought I understood you. Now I'm off on a tangent, having an existential crisis. And, for some insane reason, you're not killing me."
She took the words right out of my mouth. Why am I not killing her? Why is there this . . . this intangible memory telling me I will regret ending her pitiful life? Why is it so familiar?
He spun abruptly, sheathing his blade with an aggressive flourish. "Leave."
Astonished, Lienne's eyes shot open. She sat up, staring at the figure whose determined, rigid back was turned to her. The confused young woman was unsure if she should thank him.
"Everyone has a purpose." Vergil's voice was not steel, as Lienne had come to expect. Rather, it was almost unsure, and a bit tentative. "Some purposes are pathetic, and seemingly pointless, but they are a goal. Something to live for."
Lienne couldn't help but laugh. The girl knew she should have restrained herself, but she just couldn't. It was too funny, hearing this always-brooding man trying to tell her there was meaning in life. "Man, that was bad. You've never been one for uplifting speeches, have you?"
Vergil turned around, eager to snap at the young lady. But upon his change of direction, Lienne was no longer there. She had vanished, leaving nothing but pools of blood. The thirsty ground slowly consumed the crimson liquid, and Vergil watched it, lost in thought.
Do not die, Lienne. I am unsure why, but seeing you die would . . . bother me. Slightly. He added the last word quickly, not wanting to admit to himself that Lienne was interesting, and worth having around. Vergil also didn't want to admit he had been wrong in assuming her power was the only fascinating thing about her. Then he remembered what she had said. "We can help eachother." How, Lienne? How can anyone help me when I cannot tell the difference between what I think I am capable of, and what I truly am capable of? How can you help me when I cannot even remember a memory that has so entrenched itself in my mind?
How could I possibly help you?
Author's Note: Ugh. My use of semi-colons was painful, so I've edited this chapter. Hopefully I've fixed all those stupid punctuation errors. If not, feel free to tell me the extent of my inability to use punctuation properly.