Metempsychosis

Chapter 3

From Chapter 2…

Yamato whipped out, lightning quick, of its sheath, the tip stopping just before the man's neck. "Leave me. I won't tell you a third time."

But the man did not leave. Instead, surprisingly enough, he lifted his thumb to press against Yamato's sharp blade and started forward towards him. Blade cut into flesh and blood dripped onto the floor.

"People inherently fear evil, however…" the man said. "Occasionally, a person may become seduced by evil."

"What are you getting at?" he demanded, slightly annoyed now. Although, he had to admit, it was getting slightly interesting now too.

The man bowed his head, as if in a show of respect. "Share with me. The story of Spada…"

He spared the human another look. Then with a silent command in his actions, he turned and walked away, knowing that the foolish human would follow.

"Nero, are you okay? You look a little pale," came Kyrie's concerned voice as he entered the kitchen in the morning.

He suppressed a yawn before answering, "I'm fine, Kyrie. Just had that dream again."

Nero had shared the dream with Kyrie after the third time he'd had it in two weeks. That had been about a month ago. Neither of them could fathom a reason for the dreams, although Kyrie had suggested that it could be because of the incident with the Order. Perhaps his subconscious still had questions regarding Sparda, she had said. Nero was inclined to agree, as it was the most logical explanation, though it had already been half a year since then. The frequency of the dreams was getting ridiculous too. It was invading his sleep almost daily now! Besides, he had a gut feeling that it wasn't quite so simple.

Other than the dream sequence that he had told Kyrie about, he was getting flashes of other disconnected scenes in his dreams too. He had different ones every night, and sometimes he would awake in the middle of the night after seeing some of them.

Pelting rain. Swords clashing. Flashes of red and blue. The sensation of a long fall into darkness…

To top it all off, the voice that he hadn't heard since soon after getting Yamato had come back with a vengeance, except it no longer clamored for power, at least not always. It called persistently for revenge now. Nero had no clue what that revenge was about and the voice never said anything more than that. It was as confusing as it was annoying, but he dare not tell Kyrie. She was fine with him being part demon and a freaky-looking right arm, but he didn't want her to know about the voice in his head.

At the same time, his gut feeling was also telling him that Dante might know something about the dreams, which seemed more and more like snapshots of someone's memory to Nero. But Nero wasn't too inclined to bother the elder hunter if he could help it. For all he knew, it was just something minor that he could deal with himself. As a result, Nero found himself taking a rare day off from the patrols around Fortuna and entering a section of the Order's library that he'd hardly ever been to.

It was the section where all the books about Sparda were kept.

Normally, Nero never bothered to read the largely religious texts. What he knew of Sparda came from the church's preaching sessions that he'd been made to attend since young. He would've skipped out on them all as he grew older, if not for Kyrie. Even so, he tended to doze off or daydream during those sessions. But because of his temper and aptitude for fighting, nobody commented about it to him even though he was sure they'd gossiped behind his back.

Basically, he knew minimal facts about Sparda (for the church's preaching was filled with lavish praise for the Devil Knight and little else, explaining why he hadn't heard of Sparda's descendants until recently), but enough to know that the Devil Knight had a heart and was a savior of mankind. What he needed now was more facts, both about Sparda and his swords.

Especially the Yamato.

At first glance, Yamato looked like any other normal, non-demonic sword. It was a sleek, Japanese katana, free of any of the Gothic-like ornamentations found on typical Devil Arms. The slender scabbard was simply designed, pure black without any runes gilded onto it. The sword hilt had a woven black-and-white diamond pattern with an oval-shaped guard.

It was almost plain-looking if not for the innate sense of elegance to the craft of the sword. Even so, its appearance was still incongruent to the real power of the sword; Yamato could rip apart the inter-dimensional fabric with a single slash and cause utter destruction to those unfortunate enough to be caught in its path.

Perhaps there was something about it that caused it to channel memories too?

Well, they'd better be memories or something that was logically explainable. He refused to even consider the possibility that he was losing his mind. He might take huge risks when he fought demons, such that some people might deem him crazy, but he was not mentally unstable.

He started browsing through the shelves carefully, trying not to think of how much he seemed to be following in the footsteps of his recurring dream. Some people might think his dreams a foreshadowing, but he preferred to leave that kind of hocus pocus alone. He eventually amassed a reasonable stack of books that he had deemed were likely to contain the information he was looking for. Setting the books down on a nearby table, Nero settled down on the plush armchair and began to read the first book of the stack.

Three hours later, he had gone through the entire stack and was annoyed to realize that there really wasn't much else he'd gained from reading. Perhaps the only "new" thing he'd learnt was that Dante's brother was really his elder twin. No name was given too. There was, however, an interesting little article in one of the more recently published books that mentioned that there had been an attempt to open a portal to the demon world about eleven years ago. It seemed to imply that it was Dante's brother who had wanted to do that and that it had been Dante who had prevented tragedy from befalling the human world.

Nero didn't know anything about Dante's brother, other than the fact that Yamato belonged to the man. Even that little tidbit of information had come from Dante and wasn't even mentioned in any of the books. In fact, most of the readings about Sparda had neglected to mention that he had descendants. If there were, they were there like a little footnote, like there was nothing of importance. If the article was to be believed, then Dante had fought his twin brother and at the end of everything, his brother had mysteriously vanished.

The flashes of red and blue from his dreams appeared in the forefront of his mind again and he quickly banished them as an unpleasant tingle went down his spine. It seemed that if he wanted to know anything else about Sparda and his descendants, he would have to go to Dante himself. Luckily for Nero, he had made it a point to look up where Dante stayed and had even visited the hunter at the Devil May Cry once. It appeared that he would have to make another trip there soon enough.

Still, it wouldn't hurt if he put it off for a while more, right?

Lady sat in the café, idly stirring her latte as she waited for Trish to arrive. Her mind had been going a mile a minute since yesterday when Dante had revealed his worries to them. For some reason, she her encounter with Nero also kept entering her thoughts. Somehow, her mind seemed to be telling her that the two incidents seemed to be connected. Perhaps it was merely because Nero bore a resemblance to Dante and almost assuredly had some Sparda blood in him, and she had just met the young man.

Or perhaps, she was really on to something, psychic she was not.

"Lady." Trish had arrived, and took the seat across from her.

"Hi, Trish," she greeted in reply.

She waited for the waitress to take Trish's order and leave before getting straight down to business. Normally, she might've done a bit of small talk before bringing out the main subject, but today, she didn't bother. "So, what do you think of Dante's 'feeling'?"

Trish thought about it for a short while. "I think that he's most likely right. When it comes to his twin, Dante is rarely off the mark."

Except for how Vergil seemed to have abandoned his humanity in the pursuit of demonic power, were the unsaid, but mutually understood, words.

As much as that fact might seem a huge blemish on Dante's record with regards to his knowledge of Vergil's psyche, both Lady and Trish knew better than to take it into consideration in this case. It would be a point of contention of titanic proportions if Dante had suddenly said that Vergil had turned over a new leaf and was coming to make friends with all of them. But if it were something more general, like Vergil would be involved in something on the horizon…

That was as good as the ironclad truth to Lady and Trish. It was something inexplicable to those who did not know Dante like they did, but to them, it was something they knew instinctively. And instinct had always served both huntresses well in their lives.

"Then that means, we really need to prepare for the worse," Lady concluded. It was as she had expected.

"It might not directly involve Vergil. Perhaps something of his could turn up again." Trish was a little more prepared to be optimistic. Or perhaps she just hoped that Dante could be spared having to face his twin brother in a battle to the death once again.

"He didn't get a 'feeling' with Yamato until Nero retrieved it," the other huntress pointed out reasonably. "I don't think it'll be like that anymore. Also, I'm sure what's left of Vergil's possessions is already with Dante, with the exception of Yamato."

"Well, there is that blue coat…" Trish said deliberately in an innocently contemplating tone, secretly awaiting the reaction that Lady would surely give.

"Trish!"

The blonde huntress laughed. "I was joking, Lady. It does seem that Vergil may somehow reappear again. Sons of Sparda are hard to kill, after all." They both should know.

"Even by one of their own," Lady agreed.

There was a lull in the conversation as the waitress returned with Trish's drink. When the waitress left, Trish picked up the conversation again. "Speaking of Nero, what did you think of him?"

"He resembles Dante's younger self a lot. If Dante does have another relative out there, Nero definitely fits the bill. I didn't talk to him, so I can't say much else I suppose." She paused. "But he has the Yamato…"

"Everything seems to be revolving around Yamato lately," Trish commented, half amused but nonetheless agreeing with what she was saying. "Nero is quite similar to Dante. I never could place it, and I still can't, but in some manner, he reminds me of Vergil too."

"Maybe it's merely because of Yamato."

"Maybe."

Yet, the both of them had the nagging feeling that it wasn't just so simple.

How long had it been since he had been conscious and could stay conscious out of his own free will? Too long. Far too long. But better late than never, and now he was close to full strength once again. Just a little longer, just a little more time and he would be able to regain the last remnants of his energy and powers. Then he could finally take over the body of his host.

This was not to say that he had slumbered since the day he had found his unknowing host. He had regained consciousness intermittently for brief periods of times. Mostly, they were when his host had been in danger. There was no way he would let his host die with him inside, so he had made sure that anything out of normal with his host would cause him to awake.

It was during one of those instances, probably the most dangerous of instances that the boy had ever gotten into, when he had awoken to sense the presence of his beloved sword, Yamato. Although it was in a broken state, he had known it was his sword instantly.

Perhaps "awoken" was too mild a word for that particular time. He had been very sharply jarred awake by the potent rush of adrenaline and fear from the boy. Nevertheless, his disorientation did not last long and he had been able to discern the situation quite clearly. His host was in danger of dying, which would not do at all. The boy had already been impaled by a sword, and was losing blood. He needed to enable the boy to fight back, and to do that he needed to stir up the still mostly latent powers the boy had.

Sometimes, he really hated slow learners.

So he had dredged up the memory of when he had first seen the boy, when he had been frantic in his desire to protect the girl, and thrust it to the forefront of the boy's mind just as the three Bianco Angelos closed in.

It had the desired effect.

He felt the boy stirring again, his latent powers starting to rise as a blue glow emanated from his host. The world became tinged in a red haze as his host experienced the effects of triggering his devil. He let his own powers merge with the boy's, sending out a homing call to Yamato. His sword did not fail him. The strong, demanding call of its master and the growing strength of a demonic aura with an energy signature unique to the Sparda bloodline made it begin restoring itself rapidly and completely. Then Yamato flew into the boy's right arm, where the pulse of his power was the most intense.

With Yamato firmly in hand, the boy's own powers finally broke out as he triggered and the powerful energy blast sent the three Bianco Angelos flying as they disintegrated into nothingness. He retreated then, though not really by his own volition. It always happened; the burst of energies he used to aid his host would always send him back into slumber. But this time, he somehow knew it would be different.

And he was right. With the comforting presence of Yamato nearby, his healing had sped up. He could remember things prior to finding a host, prior to the period of time he had been wandering in the darkness. More and more often, he found himself being able to awake of his own accord, even when his host was not in danger. Those instances lasted for short periods of times, mere seconds, at the very beginning. The times he stayed awake grew longer and longer as the days passed. However, true to his initial evaluation, his host was much stronger than normal for a boy his age. Even mentally.

It made stripping away the boy's control of his body difficult. He would need to adopt a more subtle approach, such that the boy wouldn't know what hit him until it was too late to stop it.

So he had started to integrate himself more firmly into his host's subconscious. He explored his host's memories, seeking to find his weaknesses. He took over the boy's dream state, wanting to know how much he could control the boy's subconscious. At first, he merely observed what the boy dreamt about. Then he attempted to direct the dreams subtly, making sure the direction they moved in wasn't too out of normal for the boy. When he found that he could do that quite freely, he moved on to his next step, which was to control those dreams.

It was a rather risky move, but he gave the boy snippets of his own memories as dreams. It stood to reason that if his host began doubting his sanity or his identity, it would be easier for him to use the body for his own purposes. Additionally, the dreams were slowly, but surely, wearing away the boy's energy. It wasn't obvious, but he could feel it wane every single day since he started. It was, however, nothing that would make him suffer bad consequences during a fight; he wouldn't endanger his host, himself, that way. Lastly, there was another possible benefit to this.

The boy had finally started looking up the stories of Sparda in an attempt to explain his dreams. It was a step in the direction that he had wanted the boy to take. But it wasn't enough, and he was growing impatient. His host was stubborn. In that regard, he was reminded of that man.

And that wasn't always a good thing.

He needed to up the pace, to speed things up. He had lost far too much time already, even if said time had been necessary. He wasn't willing to wait any longer than it was absolutely necessary. His host had to look for that man sooner rather than later. He was going to make sure of that.

It was time the boy reconsidered his decision to visit Dante later rather than sooner.

The rain fell in heavy, unrelenting torrents as lightning flashes lit up the ominous skies. Thunder punctuated the sound of rainfall like a harsh drummer's beat. The moon was round and full, partially obscured by the dark clouds. But it still seemed much larger than what was normal and it cast an eerie, white glow.

Far below the heavens, on the rooftop of a tall, ancient tower, a heated, lethal battle was taking place, its participants oblivious to the dramatic display by Mother Nature. For they themselves were intimately engaged in a macabre dance of death.

Metal clashed with metal in strokes so swift, they were barely visible to the human eye. Red and blue blurs streaked across the stone roof, sometimes pushing close to the edge but always never falling off. The blood-red coat flashed out again, as its owner dodged a vicious slice that missed him by mere inches. He had gotten better, but there was no doubt that he would ultimately not be a match for him. Just like in the past.

He always won. It was just a matter of time.

For now, he would enjoy the thrill of the fight. It had been too long since he'd found a worthy opponent. Despite what he might say, this man never failed to give him that unique adrenaline rush he craved. After another flurry of hard, heavy blows and of him dodging or deflecting the bullets that his opponent managed to squeeze out, they were both standing some ways apart, panting for breath. The sound of their breathing was almost in harmony.

His red-coated opponent charged at him again, the sword tip dragging on the stone floor. The rough friction caused sparks to fly. In a blink of an eye, their blades were locked together again. But this time, his opponent was more forceful, almost knocking his katana out of his hands. He quickly regained his grip, using the move that was meant to disarm him to his advantage.

Holding onto the hilt of his katana, he rammed it hard against the other man's solar plexus. With his strength and the unexpected move, his rival was sent flying backwards, hitting one of the stone pillars harshly. He watched his rival land on the ground on both feet, unfazed by the pain. The black gun was drawn and almost immediately, it started to fire round after round at him.

Spinning his katana in front of him, he skillfully gathered all the bullets that were aiming for a piece of him on his blade. Did he think that he would go down so easily to such uncouth weapons? He would learn not to underestimate him. As soon as he had all the bullets, he laid them on the ground in a perfect, straight line. Then with a perfectly executed flick, the bullets were ricocheting upwards and towards their owner.

As he'd expected, his rival didn't so much as blink. Instead, he crouched low on the ground, eyes carefully watching the line of bullets. Then with a precise downward slash, the larger sword had cleaved the bullets clean in half and they exploded harmlessly on either side of the man.

"Why do you refuse to gain power?" he demanded then, as he cautiously watched the other man straighten up. "The power of our father, Sparda?"

"Father?" the other snorted contemptuously. "I don't have a father. I just don't like you, that's all."

With that, his opponent charged him yet again. Their swords clashed yet again, grinding against each other with unyielding force. Their blades screeched shrilly against each other as sparks formed where their blades connected. Neither of them would yield wiling; neither of them wanted to yield at all. But in the end, one of them did. The sleek katana flashed, sending the broader sword flying out of the other's grip.

Then, with his renowned speed, he impaled his opponent straight through the chest just as the other sword landed tip-first into the stone. His satisfaction was palpable as warm, crimson blood splattered onto the cold stone floor…

…

Nero jerked awake violently, the force of it causing him to actually sit up on his bed. He felt unusually cold even though he was covered in sweat and he could feel his heart pounding away like he'd just gone through several hundred demon clean-up jobs at one go. His Devil Bringer was glowing brightly, the kind of brightness that he associated with him being in battle. It had never done that before whenever he'd just awoken, not even the times when he'd awoken from the nightmares of his time trapped in the Savior or those of losing Kyrie permanently. He looked at his right arm closely, and it was then that he realized that he was clutching something in his hand.

Yamato.

Why was Yamato manifested? He had never manifested it in his sleep before. Not even when he was having dreams about fighting demons had he ever done something like that. Was he losing control of his Devil Bringer? It couldn't be, right?

Dreams… Oh god, he'd just had another of those dreams that made no sense whatsoever. Only this time, it wasn't that recurring dream about a library. It was a new one. No, it wasn't really all that new to him, now that he thought about it. But it was the first time that he'd seen some semblance of logic to the flashes of some of the other dream scenes he'd seen before.

The last thing he remembered was of him running a sword through his opponent. What made his blood run cold, however, was the fact that he knew both the sword and his unfortunate rival.

The dream him had used Yamato to coldly, mercilessly gut…

Dante.

Well, I guess it's already pretty obvious by now that it's Vergil who's possessing (sort of, anyway) Nero. Although the clue was already in the character tags way before this chapter. Now, what will Nero do? Updates are strangely more frequent than even I had expected, though that's to my own detriment in RL. Oh well.

Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

carzla