So I have been listening to Devil May Cry soundtracks and watching Oculus while writing this... hopefully this doesn't come out as a CF (if you are not aware of this word, google XD) because of the multi-tasking. Anyways... let's see if I haven't lost my touch, shall we?

Reviews, positive or negative, are always welcomed. A writer cannot progress without respectful criticism (cursing me, insulting me, and etc. is not helpful).

Part 04–Definition

" There's a rumbling in my head
It's getting louder and louder
There's a shaking in my bones
It's getting stronger and stronger... "

- Itch by Nothing but Thieves

The white haired teen scrambled through the school's hall, clutching his bandaged arm tightly to his chest. His cerulean eyes were wide with fear as he ran, sneakers skidding across hard beige colored floor. He passed the bathrooms, the offices, the classrooms, and the gymnasium. The half-demon ran until the doors that lead to what his mind could only name as freedom came into view. All the while, his heightened senses picked up the startled screams and cries that still erupted from his classroom yet all his mind could register was that one, vile word.

Monster.

It ran amok in his head, whispering nonsense that only fueled his panic. Though the word was small, it meant a lot more than if someone had insisted he was ugly or stupid. Perhaps it was because he was, in a sense, a monstrosity. Sure, demons were deemed as evil and were acknowledged as abominations by humanity, but he—Nero—was a different breed of monster. He didn't quite fit anywhere, human or demon. The word, monster, only reminded him of his mixed blood and the fact that normalcy would always be a rarity. It ostracized him more than his bandaged arm ever could.

The boy only wanted to "fit in." In truth, he wanted to be human like his mother, but instead he was cursed with a deformity and predatory senses that were above any mundane mortal. Nevertheless, he'd tried so damn hard, but a single accident fucked everything up.

He pushed at the heavy, metallic doors with his freehand without breaking his stride. The urge to look back only drove him to pick up his pace as he leapt from the top of the stairs; black converse skidding on asphalt. Only pausing once at the sidewalk, he glanced both ways, and then darted across without a set destination. Frankly, he didn't find interest in where his feet were taking him because all his mind could focus on was the screams, the smell of fear, and that repetitive word that still affected his rationality. It gave him the desire to run until all he can hear, feel, and think is silence.

Zig-zagging through the afternoon crowd and rush-hour traffic, Nero passed the street to his house. He even passed the road that would lead to his uncle's shop. If it were any other situation he would've gladly taken refuge in Devil May Cry, but this time he didn't want a lecture and he didn't want to be treated with gentleness and pity. Not even his own father knew how to deal with his sensitivities when it came to his being and his disgusting arm.

He ran until the buildings became less and less, until the vehicles with their toxic smog were nowhere in sight, and until the colors of the street became aged and lifeless. Only then did he stop and right as he did he felt the weight of his actions. He fell against a broken down, abandoned drugstore and applied his "normal" hand to his chest. His lungs were hungry for air, burning with need, and so he deepened his inhales which only progressed into a coughing fit. Slipping down the brick wall awkwardly, he patted his chest to alleviate whatever had caused the hacking. When the coughing did subside, his attention finally rested on his surroundings.

All around him, the buildings were weathered, aged, and torn apart. Gaping holes layered the streets and street lamps stood every which way except vertically. His fingers traced a crack in the sidewalk absently as his gaze wandered farther down the street. Somewhere down there a crater was likely covering the majority of what the humans now deemed as the graveyard of Temen Ni Gru, the unholy tower created by his grandfather. His father had summoned the powerful tower long ago, but somehow, back in the day, it had vanished when the portal to the Demon World had been closed. He'd questioned about it but neither his father, his uncle, nor their fellow demon hunters would divulge the events that had occurred during the tower's appearance. He would've looked to the history books, but the mortals had been fooled into thinking that an explosion had occurred. They deemed the crater's location as such out of innocence, naming the explosion after the real event.

If humanity were to discover the truth—not all of the humans knew of the demons that frolicked about—then they'd likely hunt every demonic-like creature down. It'd be a reenactment of the Salem witch trials, but instead of calling out a witch… it would be calling out a monster.

Monster.

He cringed at the word as his eyes averted themselves from the views of the street. Looking down to his bandages, he sighed. The damned thing was glowing. It flickered through the white gauze in a hue of bright blues. The sight of its visible aberration drew him to smack it into the wall behind him angrily, but it only brought a string of curses to fall from his lips instead of the odd satisfaction of harming it. With reluctance, he cradled the arm that flickered with ethereal light.

Why couldn't he be normal? Dammit. Damn it all! He smacked his arm onto the ground this time and again it brought on a string of vulgar words, but he kept at it. It aided in increasing the volume of his swearing as well as the pain that started to unleash on the raw flesh.

"Everything would be fucking fantastic, fine and dandy, without this damn thing." His voice cracked with the scream that reverberated through the broken streets, "I could be a normal kid with a semi-normal, fucking life. I just want to cut the damn thing off! The possibility of bleeding to death would be better than lugging this stupid thing around. It would be better than hiding and pretending." Of course, it would not lessen his heightened senses. In addition, it would likely not draw the bullies away from him. With or without the arm, his life would never be anywhere close to average.

But this arm makes you look like a monster. Imagine, oh imagine, what the clueless people would think if they saw such an ugly sight? They'd burn you alive. They'd use you as a sacrifice or guinea pig. It makes you look like a monster.

He could always try hacking it off again… every time he had tried in the past, he had been either too chicken to do it or his father caught him before he did major damage. However, this time will be—

"The blood of Sparda." A chorus of icy, thick whispers wafted through the streets. It resembled nails on a chalkboard as well as a purring cat, and the very sound of it drew a shiver to run up the boy's spine.

Nero jolted upright from his peaceful position on the ground, eyes frantically searching for that voice. He hadn't noticed it before, having been too lost in his own self-pity, to witness the streets about him darken. Odd, the sun was still high above him yet…

"Yet, it is muddied. Weak. How shameful." There it was again and much closer before, the sound whispering just by his ear. He turned aggressively, fists at the ready, but there was nothing but the encroaching darkness.

"Wh-who's there?" Nero called weakly, his demonic arm beginning to hum with a reddish light.

"Such a misfortunate birth. Disgraceful." He felt the cold breath this time. It felt like talons grazing over the back of his neck. "A sight for sore eyes, really. You're no demon. You're no human. A blemish, if you will." He would've fallen to childishness and cursed at the voice and he almost did just that, but as he turned 'round and 'round, hoping to catch whatever demon it was that taunted him, he wasn't ready for the first contact.

He saw it before it came, but the young demon didn't have time to react as the gigantic, sliming appendage of an arm launched toward him from within the darkened depths. Oozing talons of black encircling his throat and pushing him back, back into the crumbling wall he had taken refuge against not moments before. The very wall shook fearfully, the contact loosening stray bricks and aged dust. The back of his head bounced roughly, teeth biting into his lip at the impact of skull against wall. His blue eyes squinted then, a guttural growl releasing from his throat, as he followed up the muscular arm; his facial features twisting at the smell of decay that wafted from the flesh that restrained him. His gaze met a void of black, a faceless head with broken horns that barely curved at its crown.

What the fuck? Nero's back arched against the wall, a futile attempt to lessen the pressure by pulling his head back, but the beast only lifted him higher until even the toe of his sneakers could not brush the cracked ground beneath them.

That absent face gave a tilt of the head and then, at that center of wet flesh on the would-be face did lips ooze into place. They appeared gradually, the black slime taking its time to drip away enough to reveal dry, earth caked lips. Those lips peeled back, slowly, and all the while Nero clawed at the hand. All the while, his nails dug into icy, watery skin. His fingers slipped, unable to catch on the hand, but he still struggled. The white haired teen even kicked, but his feet met nothing but air.

Those lips curled unnaturally at the ends, like an 'S,' and when its mouth finally did open, "Is this what Sparda's bloodline has fallen to, a pitiful mongrel?" Its voice—resonating just as before, a chorus of gravely whispers—sent a shiver over the young half demon as did the never-ending rows of jagged fangs that rested within its mouth. That faceless head leaned forward, slimy fingers constricting about his neck, "Tell me, dog, does your existence not trouble you? The sight of you is surely disgusting, even to those spiteful humans."

The desire to curse came upon the boy a second time, but even if that childish desire had met fruition, the sudden lack of air confined his words. He kicked wildly, clawed like a cat out of water, but his opponent did not ease. Even when he struck the monstrosity with his demonic arm, the contact burning said arm, the creature did not cease. Instead, it only drew closer to the point where its lips were mere inches from his forehead. "I could free you from such a disgusting existence. Perhaps rip that abomination from your body… perhaps... "

Without another word, without a sound, it turned abruptly. Its whole body twisted unnaturally, waist almost performing a '360' before it released the boy. This time, his back did not hit wall but a light pole. His side hit the concrete structure while the side of his temple smacked into the metal pole. It creaked in protest, bending at the sudden weight of the boy.

"It would be easy."

He winced, his hand brushing the side of his head as he slipped down the bending light pole's body to the ground. His hand withdrew, glistening with blood.

"It's not like you fit in with the humans, after all, and the demons look down on you, do they not?" The whispers burned his ears, "Humans, such selfish… weak… meaningless creatures. Don't you agree?"

Vergil visibly cringed when his twin slurped the pepperonis off his rather large slice of pizza. Then again, Dante eating pizza meant that the news about the portal gate wasn't particularly life-threatening. He continued to watch the demon hunter down the pizza and quickly decided that his brother would eat pizza on any given day, for any reason.

"Stop staring while I eat. It's creepy." Dante grumbled as he gestured with a grease covered hand to the stairs of the Devil May Cry shop. Compared to Vergil's last visit, Dante had cleaned up the remnants of pizza boxes, stray pepperoni, and alcoholic bottles. For once, the shop's interior didn't look all that bad despite the still existing smell of tomato juice. "Now, about that portal." He took his final bite of pizza before grabbing his infamous coat of red that he had left on the desk. "I don't check it much since we closed it for good, but it's been acting funky since last night." He draped the coat over his naked shoulder and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.

"Right, what's it doing exactly?" Vergil followed suit, taking the stairs up to the second floor where only a bedroom and bathroom remained. The hall was painstakingly narrow and so one demon had to maneuver at a time.

Dante led the way into his room, walking over the assortment of magazines and clothes toward the decrepit looking dresser that took homage by an unused closet. The room itself was relatively small, but the lack of space was due to the king-sized bed that stood against the wall, across from the door. Beige walls with splitting wallpaper and chipped wood were naked except for the Combichrist poster with a large, golden triangle faded into the background. "It's... how do I say this without sounding crazy?" He glanced over his shoulder, watching his twin successfully knock down a stack of motorcycle articles and almost tripping over a pile of ripped and discarded jeans. "It's talking."

His twin who was now kicking the dirty clothes to the side with clear annoyance—the grimace that plastered over his face apparently not enough to display such aggravation—looked up then, a brow raised to enhance the sudden judgmental look that appeared on his features. Unless his brother was being theatrical and saying that its usual humming sound was it speaking… it had never done something like that before, "You sure you aren't being dramatic?"

Dante took a hand to his heart, looking wounded, but a chuckle that fell from his lips, "Although I do like entering a party with flair, I'm telling the truth." He turned then, hands reaching out the grasp at the dresser's French doors. Upon his touch, the dresser erupted with a red light. It flashed violently, runes of black burning and curling their way into the pale blue wood, and the color that made the room began to bleed. The blues, yellows, and reds dripped from the walls, peeled up from the floors, and drifted off like smoke from the ceilings. All the while, the runes increased until the dresser was nothing but a smoking, black box.

Even if he had witnessed it over twenty times beforehand, it never ceased to amaze Vergil how the portal appeared. The loss of color, a signal that they were being pulled to a separate dimension, a sliver that stood against the human world, was always impressive, but more importantly, the power that it brought when touched by its keeper was breathtaking as well as frightening. That power… even if he had stepped down from his former ways, he still felt that tickling urge to retrieve the possibilities he had once coveted. He had to admit, he did miss the power he had unlocked at one time.

It was still surprising that the duo had kept the portal's location a secret. If anyone caught heads or tails of just where exactly the portal was kept—in a demon hunter's dresser—they would surely die of laughter.

He had to fold his arms tightly against his chest so as to silence the itch that touched his fingers. Especially when the portal's ominous, blood-red glow erupted from the black box's doors. It burst out, enveloping the black box entirely as it enlarged like a hungry mouth. Its very presence silenced the colors about the room entirely, washing them out until only the grays and whites remained.

The twins remained in silence, watching the portal pulse frantically. It took a moment to turn, to rotate clockwise, and it took an even longer moment until its hum of life touched their senses.

Vergil averted his eyes, unable to look upon the portal when it gave out such a melodic voice. Such a melody was like a siren to those who hungered for something more. Even if it was a part of his past, Vergil was no exception to its harmonious tune. "I'm not hearing anything out of the ordinary." He spoke normally, but his voice had an edge of urgency that his twin acknowledged with a slight glance.

"Give it a second, Verg. No wonder the kid gets annoyed with you, so damn impatient." Vergil returned his gaze on the portal and his brother, glaring.

"That's—"

' Absque dubio veniet. '

Vergil blinked, eyes slowly moving to the portal. Dante only grinned, glad that he was not indeed going crazy.

' Absque dubio veniet. Equitare… unda tenebris. ' It came again, soft but audible, yet Vergil was sure that upon human ears, it would sound like a breath of air. It sounded inhuman, genderless, and devoid. That itch crawled over his skin again.

His twin turned away from the gate to the Underworld, grin still present, "It keeps repeating stuff like this. I tried talking to it once, but it didn't change topic. Any ideas?"

' Cito mittere lumen par alarum. Absque dubio veniet. ' It reverberated as if spoken by a multitude of voices, the syllables coming out breathy and long.

"It's Latin… I think." Vergil spoke uneasily, his nails digging into the fabric of his sleeve.

Dante shook his head, "Thank you, Captain Obvious. You know, demonology is all about that Latin and—" he turned, ready to continue scolding his brother on the rather useless response, but the sight of his twin made him pause.

Vergil's blue eyes were dripping red, glowing profusely with the crimson color, and his skin looked dry, caked on like porcelain makeup. His jaw was set tight, bulging from the line in his chin. He stood there, close to the bed, with his nails… no, claws, digging into his arm. It looked to be a weak state of a Trigger taking place. Truth be told, Dante couldn't really remember the last time he had seen Vergil's Devil Trigger, the practice of embracing one's inner demon. If anything, it had been a long while since he had seen his brother use any powers other than his strength and his sword, Yamato.

"You okay, Verg?" Dante spoke, his voice dropping an octave. "You don't look so good." He stepped away from the portal, nearly tripping over a haphazard pile of magazines in the process. His brother only shook his head, white claws digging into skin this time. Spots of blood smeared on the blue sleeve, but his twin didn't seem to notice.

Dante looked behind him, eying the portal. Although he himself didn't thrive for power, he could feel what the portal offered. It made his inner beast warm with delight, but unlike Vergil, he could easily ignore it as well as silence it. Perhaps his brother was reacting from it? Odd, his brother had been near the portal before… "I'll seal it again." Dante offered as he backed up—this time stepping over the magazines, "That might help you look somewhat 'normal.'"

Yet as he turned, giving the portal his full attention, did the portal's red hue change. It happened with a powerful, bright flash that sent a hot wave of air out to the room. It scorched the hairs on Dante's arms and blew the articles of media and clothing on the floor to the corners of the room. With a violently increasing hum, the red oozed out and bled to the floor like waterfalls of blood, and in its place, a snowy, pristine white took its place.

' Absque dubio veniet! ' The voice, too, changed. It grew solemnly, thick like mud, and reverberated within the room like a drum. It burned Dante's eardrums to the point where he had to cover them.

Then it got even weirder. The portal gave a final flash of light, this one whiter and longer than the last; then the white fell, its hum fading into a whisper, and the colors in the room died with it, the grays dying away with a faint breath. All but they eyes of the two demonic twins, a pair of blue and a pair of red, lit up through the sudden, invading darkness. At first, it drew panic in both of the demons, but the hum of the portal could still be heard over the silence. It was faint but still present; however, even without the telltale song of the portal, they could see the portal still performing its circular dance.

"Fuck, that was weird." Dante whistled, "Maybe I should close that…"

Vergil nodded behind him, his red eyes pulling back to their former blues. His dry, cracked skin of snow gradually receded to how it was before, as did the talons, but his fingers did not withdraw from his arm. Yet his undesired attention was no longer thirsting over the portal but on the new addition to the floor. "Dante, was a naked woman lying on your bedroom floor this whole time?"

The brothers stood at the foot of the bed, both overlooking the oddity on Dante's bed with mixed expressions. They had retrieved the woman from the floor, finding her to be unconscious and incredibly naked. At first, Dante had insisted that she remain as such, but after a long and silent stare from his brother, they got her into one of Dante's shirts and a pair of boxers. Pulling the shirt on a sleeping woman with horns was just as awkward, the hole of the neck barely fit over one curved horn.

"Did she come from the portal?" Dante questioned, scratching the back of his head uneasily. He'd asked the same question three times over, "I mean, this has never happened before. You don't think she's one of Mundus's whores, do you?" At that idea, Vergil shook his head. "Come on Verg, we're never that lucky. Those assholes always come back to try to get a piece of our ass, one way or another. Besides, I'm not saying that bastard is alive or anything." He finally tilted his head to the side, looking to his brother for words, but he only received a nod and silence.

"Would you say something? You haven't said a word since you questioned about a naked woman on my floor." He snapped, pushing his brother on the shoulder.

Vergil pushed him back, but didn't meet his gaze. He hadn't said a word whatsoever and had been staring at the woman what with her white hair, black horns, slim body, and china doll skin since the discovery. Her features were smooth, almost statuesque. He had only strayed away from her once to give his brother a scolding look about allowing her to remain in the nude. "She just… looks familiar." He spoke softly, finally.

Dante winced, "If she had black hair then I could see what you mean, but…" he sighed, "she's gone, Verg. She didn't get sent to the Underworld, just down into the dirt."

His brother shared his sigh, "I am aware of that, but thank you for reminding me that she's dead. I appreciate it." He turned on the heel of his boot, eyes finally pulling away from the sleeping woman.

"Uh, where are you going? We have a hot woman in the bed. The part's just getting started."

Vergil waved him off as he headed to the door, kicking away at any of the items that happened to be in his path, "I'm going home. Call me when she's awake and do be careful, we don't know what she is."

He quickened his pace when he met the stairs, ignoring the calls of his brother as he walked faster. His wrist was still stinging from when he'd dug his talons into it, despite the fact that it had already healed. There was even that bit of desire still clinging to the back of his mind. A part of him still wanted, still hungered for the power that the portal gave off, and so he wanted to get as far away from it and as far away from the woman who looked like his long dead wife.

The boy was pressed up against the wall yet again, his bloodied sneakers dangling in the air. This time, his body was much too tired to offer up resistance; however, it didn't keep him from shouting vulgarities at the ball of slime. The gash on the side of his head had grown, he probably had a concussion. It reached to his forehead and was still bleeding. Without a doubt, his left leg was broken and his arm was probably out of its socket. Either way, he felt like shit, and the feel of the reeking ooze at his neck wasn't helping the pain lessen any further.

"The mortality in you has made you weak. Does that not anger you? Do you want to be like those humans?"

He pulled at the hand that held him, at the fingers that closed about his neck to cease any bad language that he could dare utter.

"You've done nothing wrong yet they judge you. This arm makes you look like a monster. Imagine, oh imagine, what the clueless people would think if they saw such an ugly sight? They'd burn you alive. They'd use you as a sacrifice or guinea pig. It makes you look like a monster." Nero gasped at that, fingers seeping into the blackness, for the familiarity that it spoke with was rather eerie. He'd thought those exact words minutes before… or had he? Had this thing been—

"Even if you cut off your arm," Its chorus of voices altered, smoothed, and shortened. It stepped up in pitch, its voice morphing into his own, "You'll never be able to escape the fact that you're a monster."

Monster.

"Humans can be so cruel. I hate them."

The wet slime began to crawl up his neck, encasing his skin in black ink. It moved slowly, teasingly and all the while it made his skin crawl. He struggled then, thrashing in the demon's hold as that goop moved to his chin.

"They're just so cruel. They're just so weak. Why does my father have to favor them? They're disgusting."

It reached his lips then. In his final attempt at retaliation, he closed his mouth, but the substance slipped in without difficulty. It slipped in like water and instantly brought him into a coughing fit. Whatever it was, it tasted awful. Something like expired meat. Yet no matter how much he coughed, it continued on until it reached the back of his throat.

"If they deem me a monster, then why not show it to them?" Again that black face smiled, showing off its endless rows of jagged teeth. "Why not embrace the demon blood within me? Why not take on what my father could not?"

He felt it drip down his throat, burn through his body, but the slime didn't stop there. No, it crawled up to his nose, his eyes, and his ears. It spread like the plague and encased everything that it touched in a thick, black goop. It was so very cold and so very gross, but the coughing and the thrashing did little to deter it. The black stretched like fingers, reaching the water line of his eyes. When it touched his eye balls, he screamed, but the scream was silenced by a mere tightening of the hold at his neck.

Why hadn't he listened to his father? Never talk to strangers—especially demons—and don't skip school.

Who was that creepy, gooey dude? A decayed, badly summoned version ('tis why he's all slimy and gross) of a boss in Devil May Cry 2 :3

The repetitive phrase from the portal is: Without doubt will come/It will come. While the other phrases are: Ride the wave of dark/On a wave of the dark. Quickly to send a light pair of wings/Quickly send a light of wings. The translations are rough so pardon my misuse. I'm more knowledgeable in Spanish (not fluent anymore, sadly).