Glimpses of sunlight snuck through the edges of the windows inside the Kindred Rose, reflecting in the glasses sitting on top of the counter and laying bare the worn wood it was made of. Sparda's eyelids rose ever so slightly, exposing his crimson eyes to the powerful light that enveloped the lounge room. Though he found himself resting on one of the leather seats, a long blanket covered his frame in nearly its entirety,

Eva… The woman had her eyes shut, her long strands of hair resting upon her cheeks, covering her eyes. The woman nestled beside him, coated under the blanket in the same way he was. Shock engulfed Sparda's expression, like powerful sparks, the moment he felt her hand softly caress his shoulder, the demon swallowing hard. Had they… slept together? Sparda slowly shook his head, covering the outline of his forehead with the palm of his hand. No, it couldn't possibly be. He and Eva alike still wore their clothes from the previous night, though the demon knew not whether to be relieved or… let down. Ridiculous. I should be thankful it didn't get that far. The children - They too were under soft, violet sheets; the boy drooling from his mouth, inches away from falling off the seat he doze on.

Trying to remember what happened last night was an arduous undertaking. Flashes of Eva's lips came to mind, the music that led his steps, but not a thing of what followed. Could it have been an effect of the liquor?

He had little time to dwell on it, an unmistakable voice violently pulling him away from the depths of his own thoughts. "Morning," Harry blurted quietly, strolling through the bar with a smoke nestled between his lips. Of course. The weary bartender leaned against the counter, staring bemusedly at the overnight couple. "The two o'you passed out on the chair. Told her not to overdo it." There was a glass of water on the table, right in front of Sparda, one that he soon found himself clutching, tearing away from its place and drinking as though he had to quell the thirst of three men. "I, uh… left that there to keep you guys warm. The kids, too," he added, shooting a glance at the velvet blanket.

Harry looked a lot more casual without his brown, leather jacket, wearing only the untucked white shirt beneath it. In fact, with the dawn of morning, the entire atmosphere that once surrounded the Kindred Rose had changed. Slow-paced Jazz replaced by the chirping of birds, the busy steps of children by utmost silence. Sparda found himself smiling warmly as the last drop of water met his tongue, even in spite of… everything that'd happened last night; The burning emotions and the confusion that led to that moment. Thinking rationally had become an arduous challenge, as had denying the undeniable. The truth that stood right in front of him.

Sparda had fallen for a human.

What of his purpose, then? What of Mundus, his comrades… The convergence? As the empty glass returned to its given place, the demon found himself contemplating just that. Journeying to the Human World, seeking to understand its inhabitants, despite knowing of the tremendous curiosity that weighed down on his soul. Had it been a mistake?

"We close on Wednesdays anyway, so I figured, y'know." As he spoke, the brown-haired man flicked his thumb down, causing the lighter in his hand to generate a small flame, which he brought closer until it met the tip of his cigarette. Sparda did not answer, though the sense of gratitude in his eyes said more than any mere words could. Even so, his hands shook… trembled, no matter how much he attempted to keep them still. The demon's smile was no more, only a grimace he could not conceal, his teeth clenched in anguish. What will I do…? Bringing forth Mundus' army… It would mean the death of billions. He had come to terms with that fact long ago, yet… nothing. Not a thing in the world could grant him the resolve to kill Eva. To let the woman he loved die.

Perhaps it was a futile thing to agonize over. The ones who surrounded him would all come to lose their lives… If not, their friends and families would, surely. He had no control over that fact. Their intention was to wage a war, after all. To place Eva's life above that of his own kind, a life that would wither in less than a century. It was foolish. Foolish. The thought went against everything he stood for. Demons - Unlike her, they had a much greater lifespan, a much greater understanding of how to make the world that belonged to the humans flourish. His days spent with Eva and her kin, they were incredible. Beyond anything he could have ever imagined. But he couldn't let his feelings get in the way of that, howbeit it pained him to do so.

Sparda's disquietude would not go unnoticed, no matter how much Harry tried to overlook it. As the demon rose from his seat - taking careful steps not to awaken the woman beside him - the bartender couldn't help but wonder what had him so deep in thought, leaning his head back while pondering over the fact on his lonesome. As the two finally locked eyes, a smirk took hold of Harry's expression, the barkeep waving his hand and urging Sparda to sit next to him. Sparda felt so… exhausted, a feeling that became more prominent by the second. At least enough so, that the invitation became hard to refuse.

Harry lifted himself into a sitting position atop the counter, while Sparda leaned against it, much like the smoker had been before. The demon-in-guise sighed through his nose, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes, letting a brief flash of silence set in before it was ultimately broken once more. "I take it your family's not around, yeah?" That's what the barkeep asked, his eyes set on the wall in front of him, as opposed to the man he spoke with. The question itself felt rather amusing, more so due to it being an echo of Eva's query from the night they met. It must've been common for them… growing up with a father, a mother. Perhaps even both. "I have… never had a family. Wanted to, sometimes." He answered honestly, probably for the first time since he began to walk amongst humankind. He wasn't certain why that was, but… speaking to that man was something he felt compelled to do. Guilt, maybe. For knowing he'd soon be dead by Sparda's own doing. "How about you?"

"Divorced," Harry answered quickly, a gust of smoke exiting his lips through a long exhale. "She's the one who walked out on me, I…" There was a chuckle there, brief as it was. Like his words were coming out faster than he could muster to think them through. "We wanted different things, is all."

"She had her work, I had the Kindred Rose," he emphasized the title with a grin, some semblance of self-awareness in his voice as the bar's showy name rolled off his tongue. "Shit just doesn't mix together sometimes…" Sparda saw him reach for a bottle and a glass. Knowing he was gonna have to talk about his wife for the next few minutes, for Harry, the action came almost instinctually. Sparda himself inclined his head downward, again shutting his eyes, this time with a hint of a grin. "How'd you settle it?" It had his interest, admittedly. Human relationships sounded so boorish, truly, though it may be that that was what made them so fascinating. "Well, we fought," Harry told him after a long taste of scotch, and an even longer silent pause. "She got a job in D.C., wanted to move, but I was havin' none of it. Building this place, actually running something I set up all on my own … It was the fucking dream since as far back as I can remember. Like hell was I giving up on it."

"One of us was bound to get fed up with the other eventually," he added with a shrug of his shoulders, smiling faintly. Sparda attempted a smile of his own, though little came of fruition. It was so hard not to think of Eva, not to imagine himself and her together. What may have been, what could have been... "Do you regret it?" The demon asked, finally. A somber tone engulfed that of his voice, much like the prospect of death that plagued his mind.

And Harry answered in a heartbeat, as though he had no doubt in his'. Not a single one. Perhaps he didn't. "Every day."

With time, the man let the glass rest in the counter, setting it aside so as to gather his thoughts. "Y'know, I like to think, and… I know this is probably the drink talking, but…" He trailed off with a laugh, his gaze drifting toward Sparda's. "Sometimes ya gotta do things you know you'll regret... so long as it makes you happy."

Something you'll regret…? Sparda felt the world reel around him, a mental spotlight being placed above him and shrouding everything else in darkness. He almost laughed at himself for considering the notion, and yet…

Part of him, a small, meager fraction of the Dark Knight not only took the human's words to heart, but reveled in them. To do what you felt was right, even when it wasn't, despite knowing the consequences. A fantasy in its purest form; as were the thoughts running through the demon's head when faced with his own personal ultimatum. So, which was it? Letting the humans perish, or standing up against the ones he called his own. Which one was going to be the source of all that regret?

Is this what I want?

Sparda was silenced, nigh choked on his own words upon hearing Eva stand up from the seat on the edge of the room. Averting his gaze, his eyes desperate to avoid hers, he bit his lip. To hell with Mundus and the fate of the world. That woman had him more nervous than both combined. Eva walked up to the two of them in a saunter, her expression one Sparda couldn't read, as his eyes refused to move away from the floor. The woman sat on the stool beside him, not saying a word, or more so, not knowing which words to say. He imagined she was just as… surprised as he was, looking back at what'd happened yesterday. They were both seeing double when…

"Sorry I woke you," Sparda said in a low voice, breaking the flow of his own thoughts. What else could he say? For one, he was too flushed to even think straight. Despite that, nothing but relief washed over the white-haired one when Eva smiled back at him, reviving the luster in his crimson eyes. She looked like she wanted to say so many things, her lips trembling in expectation of the sound that refused to leave them. That is, until something caught her eye, causing the woman to stop dead in her tracks.

"Your thing is glowing."

Sparda's necklace, the perfect amulet, flashed in deep reds like the siren of a police cruiser. He immediately clutched the object with his white glove, despair written in his expression as panic began to rush down his veins. It can't be. This soon...?! Indeed, that glimmer was a direct fallout of the Hell Gate, signaling what was about to come. There was no time to think. There was no time at all. Sparda swiftly rose to his feet, rushing towards the front door in a frenzy. "Stephen!" Eva shouted from behind him, confusion apparent in her voice. He hardly had the time to answer her call, turning his head back with a grimace to utter what may very well be the last words he would ever say to her.

"Wait for me."

Before long, Sparda was out of sight, having burst through the doorway to make his way through crowds of unaware humans. They had no idea of the chaos about to take their mundane lives by storm. They couldn't possibly imagine it. As the crowds subsided, and an empty street corner came into view, Sparda's human skin gradually came to dissipate, fragments of it falling off his body in place of the insect-like husk that enveloped his demon form. From his purple vest, two large wings tore their way through and gracefully flapped downward, sending the Dark Knight soaring through the skies.

I won't let her die!


Time was nearing for the end and the beginning alike.

The wastelands of the Underworld looked barren to an extent previously thought unimaginable. That was because, in a single site, hordes of demons gathered in columns, soldiers preparing for battle, each yielding a weapon of its own. Interim, hundreds could be seen flying through the red skies, drawing dark lines of smoke amongst the clouds. Where they were all headed was a mystery to no one. It would not be long until the rupture of the Hell gate, when the army of Mundus would be able to run freely through the Human World. With scorching fire in his eyes, Sparda marched onward toward his destination: Mundus' castle.

Once past the castle's main entrance, Sparda was met with a long hallway, tens of meters long, with an equally grand, rose carpet that sprawled throughout it. It led to The Great Hall, a strategy room of sorts, where the generals of the Demon Emperor gathered for one final convocation before the upcoming conflict; Four of them, assembled in a manner in which malevolence itself could be felt emanating from their sheer presence. There, amidst those all-powerful beings, is when he saw Mundus, his long silver hair flowing as the hellish winds struck against his face, in a manner almost angelic in essence. Yes, he too had adhered to a human form. His once gravelly voice had withered in place of a mellow sounding one. Every aspect of his features, from Mundus' chin to the tip of his nose evoked beauty in its purest form, resembling that of a deity. No longer did he have the appearance of a frightening creature, and not a single soul could be blamed for thinking the Prince of Darkness preferred it that way. In many aspects, it was more than evident that both he and Sparda had been captivated by the allure of humans.

As Sparda's hooves met with the castle's spotless floor, his footsteps reverberating through the room, there was no avoiding the menacing gazes of the demons of whom he'd fought alongside countless times.

Nevan, the Sorceress of the Abyss. She held a resemblance to the fairest of women, howbeit only in appearance. Her luscious red hair covered her light-green skin, hovering over her naked breasts. What remained of her revealing figure was covered by a long dark cloak, its fabric made out of heinous winged creatures whom she manipulated at will.

Beowulf, Mundus' strongest general outside of Sparda himself. Unlike Nevan, he looked nothing short of a feral beast, like a lion forcefully stripped of its mane, towering them all. Beowulf had but one horn above his temple, and four large wings on his back. He seemed restless, sitting alone in silence while awaiting the coming opportunity to satisfy his urge for blood.

And lastly, Agni and Rudra, the massive twin demons whose blades blocked Sparda's path. "Hold there, straggler!" Said the one whose skin was a shade of withered red, Agni, who pressed his red sword against Sparda's neck. "Our job is to guard this door!" Added the one with dark-blue skin, Rudra, who kept his identically colored sword adjacent to his companion's. They knew of Sparda's position, of course, as well as his business there. The demon's belatedness, however, did very little in his favor. Nevan held back the wicked grin threatening to form in her lips, her hips shifting to the right in a provocative manner. "Sparda, hun'," she muttered sadistically. "You had us thinking you wouldn't show~~." As the Dark Knight's presence became known to him, Beowulf shot a look at the opposite direction, a soft growl making its way through his razor-sharp teeth.

Amidst the commotion developing before him, Mundus' divine-like voice echoed through the hall like the delicate tune of a harp and as powerfully as the slash of a sword, silencing all those in the room. "Don't fret. Let him through." In response, the blades of the two brothers, Agni and Rudra, immediately returned to their sheaths. The tension in the air had Sparda's slit, pupilless eyes narrowing even further. The demon felt at an impasse right away, cornered like an animal.

He marched on, nonetheless. Knowing it was much too late to back away in any manner, shape or form.

Sparda struck the table in the center of the room with his clawed hands, refusing to let his gaze falter away from the Dark Emperor. "I won't be part of it." He stated so with conviction, not an ounce of hesitance in his vigorous voice. The utterance of those words sent shockwaves past the ones present to hear them, like a deafening thunderclap one couldn't shield their ears from. The larger of Mundus' generals turned his head in its direction, letting out a blast of wind through his nostrils. "Part of what?" Asked Beowulf, a tinge of resentment in his tone he couldn't possibly hide.

"The slaughter, the convergence…" The demon continued through gritted teeth, fighting back the urge to raise his voice. "I'm through with it."

Mundus' widened eyes conveyed everything he had to know. To think Sparda, the ruthless swordsman under his wing, would ever come to say such a thing. Sparda could hardly believe it himself. Fighting and killing… Up to that point, it had been nothing short of his entire life, what gave meaning to every step he took. He'd sworn allegiance to Mundus for that very reason. To search for that meaning he so desperately craved for.

For better or for worse, Sparda had finally found it. After hundreds of years spent battling an enemy of no… true entity, all for a hollow goal. The truly laughable thing was how long it took him to realize it. Sparda finally had a purpose to call his own.

"I don't understand."

"This was our goal. Our dream."Mundus tried to grasp the situation to the very best of his ability, scrunching his delicate features together in utter puzzlement. He couldn't, however. Not even if the Demon Emperor tried his hardest. Love - for a human no less. Such a thing was far beyond his grasp, farther than the humans themselves lied from their world. Mundus' stretched out, nigh crazed eyes were the sole part of his body to move as little as an inch, as his body was frozen stiff.

The same could not be said for his collaterals.

Beowulf stood up in a matter of an instant, charging in Sparda's direction independent of anything that stood in his way - Among those, the table in the center of the room, which he hurled to the side with utmost force. "So that's it, then? You're turning your back on us, Sparda?" The beast's foul breath became above tangible as he leaned forward, displaying his sharp teeth to the one he challenged. Unmitigated fury danced around his tongue, as though fire itself was ready to shoot out of his mouth, and yet Sparda stood firm, locking his eyes with Beowulf's without so little as a hint of fear. He didn't give him an answer. Truth be told, Sparda didn't have an answer to give. By then, Mundus had had enough. His fingers curled up into fists and his voice enveloped the room once more. "Stand down!"

A menacing silence came to pass, enhancing the tension present for them all to feel. No one else dared to make a sound, not even the perverse Nevan, who found herself struggling more and more to suppress a mad laugh. Mundus' left hand drifted to his chin, while his pale fingers slowly enveloped it. They both knew each other too well to assume either could sway the other. A stalemate with no foreseeable solution. "I assume you don't intend to just stay out of it," he asked the deserter in question, knowing full-well what answer to expect. Sparda's mouth moved, though the words that intended to leave it took much longer to do so.

As his friend stared at him in turmoil, Sparda couldn't help but feel guilt weighing down upon him. A sense of sadness one simply couldn't shake away. Betraying those closest to him, nothing short of waging war against them, for the sake of Eva and the humans. It was a decision impossible to back away from, something he wasn't certain he could achieve on his own. Was he truly ready to throw his life away for such a cause? In the end, the answer came naturally. Reflection urged him to realize he should've died hundreds of battles ago. That each of those times, he lived on for no better reason than because he kept fighting. For centuries he'd fought for Mundus, and he had fought for himself. That day, he would fight for Eva, and if he had even the slightest chance of saving the woman he loved, it wouldn't have been for nothing.

Suicide or not, Sparda's mind was set. No amount of guilt and regret could ever stop him.

"I'm going to protect them. As many as I can." Thus, the demon had sung his parting song. Beowulf, Nevan, Agni and Rudra… even Mundus, had nothing but shock in their eyes, for they no longer could they see Sparda as anything but a threat. In response, the Prince of Darkness turned his back on him, a final gesture, an attempt to show contempt as he was faced with the pain that stemmed with the prospect of killing his closest friend. "We'll strike in less than an hour."

"After that, there is not a thing in this world that will stop me from taking your life. You understand that, don't you?" He could not falter, not in a single word, not now. Not after the millennia of fighting it took for them to get as far as they did. Mundus hoped the statement would bring sense to him, that he'd just stand aside if given the chance. In more ways than one, it seemed he was just as foolish as Sparda. To that, the Dark Knight nodded wistfully, his fate having been sealed by the act. Soon, his steps came to echo again, one by one, until they made no sound at all. Until Sparda had left the castle.

As Mundus' perfect teeth gritted together, the Demon King began to lose his balance, rage and grief taking over him completely as punched the wall beside him with all of his strength, sending debris flying to all sides and creating a crater much larger than his fist. Behind him, chatter and shouting engulfed his surroundings in response of what had just taken place, all coming from his generals. He couldn't hear a single one of them. For a long time, it stayed that way. Mundus' thoughts had become clouded beyond any semblance of recognition.

"What'll we do about him?" One question managed to stand out amidst the many others, finding its way to him. Mundus frowned deeply, pushing himself away from the wall as he found himself standing in front of his generals, each and every single one of them looking up to him, awaiting his command.

"Kill Sparda. No compromises."

[Author's note: Apologies for how dang long this one took to come out, I sat on it for quite a while. Expect future chapters to continue coming out sporadically and bear with me if possible!]