Golden Forest: You'll just have to wait a while until it's officially published. Who knows how long that will take? =P
OveractiveImaginer: Oh...uh, yeah! That's totally what I was doing! (Not...) I just came up with that on my own, ha.
Here we are, Monday morning (my time)! Read on and enjoy!
When Dante and Tristan awakened from their short naps, the sky was still darkened by the night and lit by the moon. The sun would rise in a few short hours, and the quicker they moved through the dark, the better chance they had at getting to the Hellgate unnoticed.
"So this Order of the Sword thing," Dante began as they trekked across a barren forest path toward the cathedral in the distance. "What's the story?"
Tristan shrugged, stepping over a fallen tree. "Like I said, they worship Sparda. They believe him to be the true Demon King, that one day he'll come back and free humanity from demonic oppression."
"Sounds like a load of horseshit."
Tristan glanced curiously at him. "I think it is, too," he replied, "but I keep my mouth shut. People have been known to disappear if they go against the Order. In fact, one just disappeared recently. His name was Castor Price."
Dante stopped dead in his tracks. "Did you say Castor Price?"
Tristan faced him with confused eyes. "Yeah. What about him?"
"He's working for Mundus."
"How do you know that?"
"Vergil told me. He's looking for Castor as we speak. Mundus plans to resurrect through Castor's body."
Tristan resumed his pace after a moment, and Dante followed in his steps. "Sounds like he wanted to get out, then, rather than having been sent away," Tristan said. "I don't know much about him, other than the fact that he was a member of the Order. And that on the night he disappeared, four dead guards were found outside the Hellgate." He hesitated for a moment, frowning in concentration. "Now that you mention it, though, I'm sure his membership was a front to get to the Hellgate and reach Mundus. The Order wouldn't suspect one of its own."
Dante chuckled dryly. "How's that for irony."
"Why do you say that?"
He waved a hand. "Nothing. It just proves to be a small trump card over my brother."
Tristan was silent for a moment before asking, "What made your brother turn against you?"
Dante's mind flashed to their last encounter, where he had driven Rebellion straight through Vergil's chest – almost to the point of death. If Kat hadn't been there to stop him, Vergil wouldn't be alive. "He's power-hungry," he replied hollowly. "He would give up anything and anyone to get what he wants. And so he did."
"Is he trouble?"
Dante glanced at him. "He can be, if we don't reach the Force Edge in time." Before Tristan could ask, Dante continued, "The Force Edge was the sword that belonged to Sparda. With it, Vergil will be unstoppable. He and Mundus are racing for it, and I've got to beat them to it."
"And what do you plan to do with it?"
He hadn't thought much about that – what would he do with the most powerful weapon ever to exist? He certainly couldn't wield it – if he did, even for protection and order, he wouldn't be any better than Vergil. The power would corrupt him, he was sure of it. The only person who deserved to put their hands on it was Sparda, and that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
So what would he do with it? Well, he would have to find a way to destroy it – if that was possible.
But he wasn't ready to discuss such a delicate matter with Tristan. Not yet, anyway. So, he said, "I don't know. I'll cross that bridge when I get there."
They stopped walking at the edge of the forest and found themselves standing about a mile away from the front of a tall cathedral. The cathedral roof was lined with stone spokes, lending an eerie, dark appearance to what should have been welcoming and comforting. A black wrought-iron gate lined the cathedral's perimeter, sealed shut at the entrance. Four sentries stood guard outside the gate with swords sheathed at their sides.
Dante and Tristan crouched behind the trunk of a large tree, peering out at their enemies through the low, hanging branches and small boulders. "Members of the Order," Tristan pointed out. "I'm sure they're no match for either of us, but we don't want to raise the alarm. Not yet, anyway."
"The Hellgate is in there?" Dante asked skeptically.
"In the graveyard behind the cathedral. It's hidden in one of the mausoleums. But I'll bet my right arm that there are five times more guards inside." He glanced at Dante. "We should split up. It might be easier."
Dante gazed suspiciously at him. "Trying to get rid of me already?"
Tristan rolled his eyes. "You'll just get in my way."
Dante laughed dryly.
"You will," Tristan persisted. "I know my way around the cathedral. It's easier to move on my own."
"Is that so?" Dante asked with a smirk. "And how exactly do you know you're way around this place?"
Tristan swallowed nervously. "I've been here before."
Dante narrowed his eyes. "Alright. You can tell me later."
Tristan glanced uneasily at him before explaining his plan. "You can sneak through the gate onto the cathedral grounds, but the only way into the graveyard is through the cathedral."
Dante sighed. "Into the belly of the beast we go."
"I will distract them," Tristan continued, removing the silver mask from within his cloak. "They've been looking for me for a while now, so it would be an appropriate alarm if I showed up. You will have to sneak your way through the cathedral and into the cemetery once I've cleared the path ahead."
Dante watched him carefully as he pulled the silver mask over his face. "You're awfully willing to do something so dangerous for someone you just met."
"I've got business to settle with the Order," he replied, his voice muffled through the mask. "And I'm not afraid of anyone here. Besides, when we get to the Hellgate, destroying it will be your problem. I can only get you to it."
Dante nodded slowly. "So that's why you wear the mask."
Tristan sighed quietly. "I've caused some…problems…for the Order before," he responded. "I'm one of their most wanted."
"Is the Order really that bad?"
"They're extremists," Tristan replied darkly. "The citizens of Fortuna see them as guardian angels. But, me?" He rose to his feet and unsheathed his sword. "I don't give a damn. My reasoning is that anyone who protects a demon isn't a friend."
Dante smirked at him. "Is that so?"
He lowered his head and fumbled with his sword. "Well…besides us, I suppose."
Dante rose to his feet and clapped Tristan on the shoulder. "You'll learn the rule of things soon enough, kid. Until then, just make sure you're swinging your sword at the right people."
Dante set forward through the forest, leaving Tristan staring confusedly at him. "What? Are you saying the Order is right in what they're doing? You don't even know the half of what they're up to."
"I'm saying," Dante replied, turning to face him, "that everything isn't as it seems. I never knew my father, and I sure as hell wouldn't waste my time protecting him. But before you go on a witch hunt, make sure you know who the enemies really are. These people in the Order are just puppets – the real enemy is the one hiding the secrets of the demon world, using the power for himself."
Tristan folded his arms over his chest. "You're not talking about me, are you? You're talking about yourself."
Dante hesitated before turning away and resuming his path. "It's easy to get lost in this world, kid," he called over his shoulder. "Be sure to keep your eyes open."
Tristan watched as Dante made his way across the rolling hills and towards the front of the cathedral – like he owned the place. Unfortunately, Tristan couldn't deny that he had a certain pizzazz that protected him like a shield – or a guardian angel. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he would end up okay.
But Tristan wasn't so sure he could say the same about himself.
He stood tall, drew in a deep breath, and set forward along the winding path through the forest that would lead him to the side of the cathedral. If Dante had any chance of getting inside without being noticed, Tristan would have to raise the alarm from the outside. Of course, the guards wouldn't all abandon their posts inside – some would be on their toes, while others went outside to investigate. That would give Dante about six minutes to get through the cathedral and into the grave yard. Likewise, that would give Tristan six minutes to beat the living crap out of every member of the Order that he could.
He had performed this routine before, except without help – and that time, he had been trying to get out rather than in. With one of the Nephilim twins on his side, the Order didn't stand a chance – at least, he hoped.
After five minutes of stealthily making his way through the outlying forest, he reached the tall stone wall. He ran a gloved hand over the cobblestone and looked up at the spiked railing. He remembered nearly losing an arm to it, after cutting himself on the barbed wire and later finding that it had been basted with some kind of synthetic poison. He'd almost lost a limb that day.
With a sigh, he sheathed his sword. Then, he bent his knees and leapt as high as he could. He clutched at the stone wall and carefully began to hoist himself up, avoiding the poisoned wire. The wire was settled exactly twelve inches above the top of the wall, wide enough to pull himself through. He ducked his head awkwardly and pulled himself through the gap. The barbs caught the edge of his cloak, but the material was too thick for it to pierce through – thank God, he thought.
He pulled his legs through the gap and over the fence. Then, he dropped himself to the ground on the other side. He immediately ducked behind one of the nearby shrubs and watched the guards casually pacing the entryway of the cathedral.
Tristan sneaked his way around the side of the cathedral and scaled the wall until he reached a low window. He pulled himself inside into the empty hallway and carefully peered in both directions, watching out for any approaching knights. After determining his safety, he crept up the stairs higher into the cathedral.
The truth was, both he and Dante probably could have gotten into the cathedral grounds and made their way into the cemetery unnoticed. But he had something else he needed to do before helping Dante find the Hellgate – something that he'd been waiting to do for five years. It wouldn't take long, and he'd be killing two birds with one stone.
As he neared the top of the stairs, he unsheathed his sword and hugged the wall. He could hear voices and footsteps beyond, casual conversation between two or three guards in the adjacent hallway. One was close to the entrance of the hallway – the other was at the far end.
He listened carefully as the closest guard paced near the mouth of the hallway. He counted his steps – one, two, three – and drew in a deep breath. Then, he emerged from his hiding space, positioning himself directly behind the nearest guard. He crept quietly behind him, remaining unnoticed until he pressed the tip of his sword against the guard's back.
The guard stiffened and reached for his sword. "Don't move," Tristan warned.
"W-Who are you?"
The guard at the other end had reached for his sword. Tristan drew closer to his hostage and wrapped a hand around his neck, squeezing it so he couldn't breathe. "If you say anything," he shouted across the way, "if you so much as breathe, I'll kill him. And I will kill you, too."
The guard shuffled his feet nervously and released his weapon, looking behind him for some kind of invisible salvation.
Tristan pressed the blade harder into the guard's back and marched him forward, his hand still tight around his neck. He nodded towards the large, hanging bronze bell in the center of the hallway. "Sound the alarm," he ordered to the other guard.
The other guard hastened towards the bell and immediately yanked at the rope. Five loud dongs echoed through the cathedral, followed by shouting and cries of panic. The guard stepped back and stared at Tristan with wide eyes, hesitantly reaching for his sword once more.
"Which way to Sanctus's chambers?" he demanded.
The guard reached out a shaking hand and pointed to the hallway behind him that led deeper into the cathedral. "At the top of the stairs," he said quickly, "down the right hallway."
In one swift motion, Tristan shoved his captive forward onto his hands and knees. He stepped back, pointing the tip of his sword at the guard on the ground as he continued to back away.
The guard scrambled to his feet, unsheathing his sword and stepping to his comrade's side. "Who are you?" he asked again.
Tristan pushed the mask up on his face, and both of the guards gasped. "Tristan," the first guard whispered. "Tristan Elliot. You…You're –"
"Still alive, yes," Tristan returned darkly. He pushed the mask over his face once more and lifted his blade again, carefully walking towards them. "And I'm not alone. There is a man outside the front of the cathedral, waiting for me. He's the Nephilim – the son of Sparda."
"You expect us to believe that?" the second guard demanded, although he seemed uncertain.
"You're going to believe it," Tristan replied. He disappeared and reappeared in an orange cloud directly behind them. They gasped and backed away, pointing their swords at him despite the distance between them. "Because if you don't, I will kill you where you stand." He backed away towards the staircase behind him. "Now go find my friend and deal with him. If I'm still here by the time you get back, you can do with me what you will."
The guards glanced nervously at each other.
"GO!" Tristan shouted, thrusting his blade towards them.
They scampered off like frightened puppies, rushing down the hall and out of sight.
Good, Tristan thought as he made his way up the stairs. That should keep them off both our trails, at least for a few minutes.
In the distance, he could hear more shouting and even louder ringing bells somewhere on the cathedral grounds. He knew their foolish security measures all too well: the Holy Knights would position themselves outside the cathedral, in front of the cathedral, and in the main foyer. They would never suspect that the intruder had come from within. By the time they discovered that it was Tristan who had upstaged them, he and Dante would already be gone.
But he needed to find Sanctus first. He had taken something from him long ago, and he wanted it back. He wouldn't leave Fortuna without it.
He trudged up the stairs two at a time before reaching the dark hallway. At the end of the hallway stood an oaken door with intricately carved patterns lining it from top to bottom. At the very center of the door was a keyhole – and Tristan didn't have a key.
No problem, he thought. He reached his hand forward and watched as his forearm morphed into dark orange scales. His fingers stretched a full inch longer, and his fingernails became sharp, black talons.
He made a fist and shoved it through the center of the door, destroying the keyhole completely. Then, he pushed the door open and entered, his hand returning to normal.
The chamber room wasn't incredibly big, like he'd always imagined it would be. A bed draped with a gold chiffon canopy and made with gold sheets was positioned along the back wall. Two stained-glass windows were positioned on either side of the bed. In the center of the room stood a shrine with a glowing orange ball – the same device Sanctus had used to keep track of Tristan nine years ago.
Tristan ran a hand fondly over it, peering into his reflection. It had been one of Agnus's inventions, a tool used to monitor Tristan's every move so that he belonged to the Order no matter where he went. Fortunately, Tristan had found a way to counteract such a task three years ago – Sanctus couldn't keep his thumb over him once Tristan learned how to teleport. Thankfully, Agnus hadn't been able to predict that.
Fucking creep, he thought, thoroughly disgusted. That old man had kept a watchful eye on him since he was nine years old.
His demonic arm reformed, and he placed his hand over the orange ball. The ball brightened and grew warmer. Then, a crack split down the middle of it, and all light and color immediately extinguished. With a dark smirk, he knocked the ball off of the shrine. It thumped loudly against the floor and rolled into the darkness behind a nearby shelf.
Then, he turned and faced his prize, what he had really come back to the cathedral for: Aetherius. The sword hung on the wall, like a misplaced, valuable gem one might find at a thrift shop. It was embellished in black from blade to hilt, as dark and powerful as Tristan imagined they came. His family had held onto it since he was a child, promising to give it to him when he was old enough. The weapon beheld every memory he'd ever yearned for – the truth about who he really was.
And now, he would have access to those memories. Now they would belong to him.
He took careful steps towards the sword and reached a hand forward, his eyes wide and his mind entranced.
"So it's true," an old, frail voice remarked behind him. "Tristan Elliot has come back to Fortuna."
Tristan's hand froze halfway to the sword. He knew that voice, even if he hadn't heard it in almost five years.
"What have you returned for, Tristan?" the man questioned.
Carefully, he turned and reached for the hilt of his own sword. He found himself facing Sanctus, the leader of the Order. He stood before Tristan in his traditional white robe, crimson and gold scarves, and ceremonial headpiece. He folded his frail hands before him, and his sad eyes peered at Tristan with inquiry, as if he feared Tristan's next moves.
I should have killed you when I had the chance, old man, he thought darkly. So much torment that man had caused him, so much grief. I should have killed you nine years ago.
"You know why I've come back," Tristan returned ominously.
Sanctus nodded. "For the devil's arm, of course." he said softly. "But why now, after five years?"
Tristan carefully made his way towards him and unsheathed his sword, pressing the tip of the blade at Sanctus's heart. "I guess I was just waiting for the right provocation."
"What provocation, have you?" he asked calmly. "I called off the Holy Knights' pursuit of you long ago. You've been free to do as you please."
"Then what the hell do you call your little crystal ball over there?" he demanded, nodding towards the empty shrine.
Sanctus lowered his droopy eyes. "Does it matter?" he asked quietly. "For the past three years, you've been gone from us. You could have left Fortuna if you wanted."
"Leave Fortuna?" Tristan scoffed. "Without saying goodbye?"
"Ah," Sanctus said sadly. "You've come to kill me, then."
"Why shouldn't I?" he demanded. "For four miserable years, you locked me up in Fortuna, kept me away from my family. And then what happened, Sanctus? Because I wasn't there to protect them –" He shoved the blade through the old man's chest, leaving him gasping and choking for air – "THEY DIED!"
He yanked the sword out of his chest, and Sanctus collapsed to his knees. He clutched at his bleeding wound and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning in pain.
Tristan paced before him with hateful eyes. "You trapped me here, and for what?" he continued heatedly. "So Agnus could run your little experiments on me? So you could hope to destroy the demonic power within me?"
Sanctus wheezed, collapsing against the wall behind him. He slowly lifted his head towards Tristan, his eyes empty. "You couldn't begin…to understand…" he heaved, "…the truth about yourself…"
Tristan bent down near the old man, leaning against his sword for support. "Then enlighten me."
"The world needed to be spared," he grunted. "To be spared…of you…" He struggled to summon a deep breath. "I regret nothing, Tristan. You were born a devil, and always will be one. And if I hadn't been so foolish…I would have killed you the moment I learned the truth about you. But I…I couldn't bring myself to do it. I craved your power, Tristan…so much so, that I allowed you to live…but out of my own insincere affections."
Tristan stared expectantly at him, barely blinking.
"You know the truth about your family's death," he continued, struggling for breath like a fish out of water. "Mundus was responsible."
"And what else?" Tristan persisted.
"You were raised…by humans," he said, his voice growing weaker. "But you were not conceived by humans. Your birth parents…they are demons."
Tristan's heart skipped a beat.
"You want to know the truth about yourself?" Sanctus asked, managing a dark chuckle. "Fine. You can have it." He lifted a shaking finger and pointed to the weapon behind Tristan. "But once you learn it…you will wish you had thanked me for sparing you the burden of knowledge for the past nine years."
Tristan repositioned himself, leaning closer to the old man. "That weapon belongs to me," he whispered darkly. "And any knowledge that comes with it does, as well."
"Yes," Sanctus nodded. "It does belong to you, as it belonged to your birth father." He managed another amused chuckle. "Your heart is as black as his, and it will destroy you. And when it does, I will see you in Hell."
He continued to alternate between choking and chuckling, until finally he stopped moving altogether. He remained lifeless, with a half-smile frozen on his face and his eyelids drooping.
After a moment, Tristan returned to his feet. He faced the weapon on the back wall once more, his heart heavier than it had been moments ago.
He had never killed another man in his life, even one who deserved to die. For what Sanctus had done to him, he deserved much more than death – and hopefully, where his blackened soul was headed, he would receive it.
Tristan had thought that killing him would make his heart lighter, would free him from the pain he'd been carrying since he was taken in by the Order nine years ago, but it had incidentally made everything worse. He glanced back at the deceased old man, and sickness overtook his stomach. He swallowed to avoid losing it right there in the chamber room.
You did what you came to do, he told himself. And we're not finished yet.
He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then reopened them. There was still work to be done, and Tristan needed to regroup with Dante. That was most important – even more important than the hell he'd gone through to recover his rightful weapon, Aetherius.
He drew in another deep breath and reached for the weapon. It was much heavier than the cheap sword he'd been toting for the past several years, and obviously meant for more than just hacking and slashing.
He held the sword laterally before him, observing the shine of the black blade and the black hilt. Your heart is as black as his.
For a moment, he didn't want the sword, and he definitely didn't want to know who his father was. He imagined it would only tear him from the inside out.
But he had come all this way for Aetherius, and he couldn't afford to leave it behind. Whatever demonic power lay within him, only the sword could unleash it.
He closed his eyes and willed his soul to connect with the sword. An intense, rushing sensation spread over him, and for a moment, he was lost in oblivion. He traveled through a dark funnel cloud, looping up and down like a bad rollercoaster, before finally coming to a halt in another dimension.
The world around him was black as night, and an eerie, chilling mist swirled past him. He could hear faint whispers on all sides, like pleas from the dead. Wherever he was, he wanted out of there.
But in the distance, he saw the figure of a man. Carefully, Tristan made his way towards the person, calling out, "Hello?"
The man remained motionless, clothed in a dark cloak with the hood pulled over his head.
Tristan stopped just feet away from the stranger, gazing curiously at him. "Hello?" he called again. "Can you tell me who you are?"
The man slowly lifted his head, and a dark smile spread over his lips. He was broad, both in the chest, the shoulders, and the stomach.
Finally, he lifted his head all the way. Tristan gasped and backed away, tripping over his feet and falling onto the ground.
"Son," the man said, stretching out his arms. "After all this time, you've finally found me."
So who is Tristan's father? I guess you'll have to find out later!
Alright, everyone. I'm sorry to say that I am cutting the sneak peeks from here on out. From this point on, things get intense. And I wouldn't want to take away from the moment when you actually read the chapter. Don't hate me...
But besides that, read and review! I will update the next chapter ON MONDAY. Not on Fridays anymore. I don't want to post three chapters too closely together.
See ya then! :)
