AN: Yay! DMC 4! sigh…the only thing I have to say is: Nero looks goooood-o…:P hehe. Can't say the same for Dante O.o Enjoy the chapter and review please!
:Six:
…5 hours earlier…
Montoya had seen a lot of ugly demons and creatures in his relatively short life as a mercenary with specialties but this was crazy.
Who the hell left so much destruction and what the hell was all that sticky stuff! He grumbled, lifting up a leg to see strands of sticky gunk, trailing from his boot. From where he stood on the splattered ledge before the sea of black, gummy goo, he bent down to gingerly touch the dark, sticky substance next to his foot, rubbing it between his fingertips. It definitely wasn't human blood - coagulated or not. Taking a quick sniff of the smeared substance, he winced with a sour expression; it definitely wasn't a common Hells' demons' blood either: this was much more rancid and putrid.
With a swipe onto his fatigues, he gripped firmly to his M4 and stepped further to the edge of the ledge where there seemed to be a mass of rock and debris littered over something glistening underneath in the centre of the pit. Apprehensive of what that something could be, he had no intentions of finding out. His deep, forest green eyes scanned the immediate area for another path through the dimly lit passageway; the only directions out were either up through the enormous hole formed from the collapsed ceiling, or forward, going around the scattered debris in the pit.
It's a long way up to the ceiling. He thought. Looks like there's no other choice but the sand pit. Better get back first.
He turned from the ledge and began to walk back towards the entrance way of the passageway where his partner was on watch.
Something in the air raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck; tiny prickles from invisible needles stung at his cold, sweaty palms. They were instinctual signs that alerted him subconsciously, prepared him for a slight movement as soon as the pit was about to leave his peripheral view. A slight twitch of a muscle and then a shift in the clustered, damp sand and the spiked arm or appendage of some sort shot out towards his body.
Swivelling back just in time to duck away from the dangerously sharp barbs, Montoya began to open fire at the limb, not really thinking of the consequences. As soon as the first few bullets pierced the tough skin, more limbs flew out from below, aiming to spear the warm piece of moving flesh.
Eyes widening at the multitude of spiked needles speeding towards him, he crouched low with his feet slightly spread and sprang backwards, flipping to avoid the lashing appendages. A quick flash of steel in the dim light and the five appendages were flailing in the air; sharp clicks as the needle points from the tip of each appendage clacked on the stone ground. The stubbed limbs thrashed once more in the air and flopped back over onto the broken debris of the ceiling.
As he dropped to a crouch, he saw that his partner had once again saved him from further wasting ammunition. Long, straight, black hair tied back low at the nape of her neck, her small and compact form stretched out with each hand, deftly swinging her dual daggers; his sister was a petite but definitely competent fighter.
"Nice of you to help out," he began with a sarcastic tone. "When were you thinking of joining in the fun, Selest? I coul-"
"When I felt like it and you wouldn't have." She quipped, her serene voice cutting him off before he could finish. Her brother's emerald eyes narrowed in response but didn't say anything. Instead, he shook his dark head, shouldered his weapon and wandered ahead to the ledge that overlooked the messy destruction of the ceiling to survey their next move.
Selest silently walked next to him, evaluating the possible exits, unperturbed by the mess that ran along the walls and ground. Staring at the gaping hole in the ceiling, Montoya was definitely not going to go through the damn pit of hell.
"Well, looks like the only way is up; unless you wanna swim in that gunk." He gestured to the pit of slimy sand. He took off his pack and fumbled around for the grappling gun that he had packed. With a snap, he slid the hook in place and turned to his sister expectantly.
Slipping her blades into their sheaths at her hips, she reached up to encircle her arms around his neck.
"Don't try anything funny." She warned, glaring at his mischievous grin.
"You're my baby sister," he replied, amused at her wariness. He wrapped an arm around her waist and aimed the hook through the gaping hole in the ceiling to a pillar on the floor above before shooting off one last remark, "why would I do that?"
…
Instinctively, she lifted both her arms, a weapon in each hand, pointed towards the voice she would always remember; the silky, soothing voice that lulled her to sleep at night, that read stories of fantastical creatures and dark knights, that filled her heart with pride when he praised her work.
Then she remembered his inky profile as he emerged from the shadows; half his face highlighted in nauseating, neon blue; contrasting in the dark, murky gloom when she looked up from her mother's cold, dead body. No, this was a stranger that had no face; a wolf in a sheep's skin, a chameleon to the darkness. This was someone who had sold his soul to the Devil and did all His bidding.
She didn't have a father anymore, that man had died along with Mary that night she found out the truth behind her family. The truth that shattered her dreams, hopes and happiness; a truth that she had lived with chaos for all those years and never knew, never noticed. But she knew now and that was all that mattered. Just pull the trigger and you can end everything. All the pain, all the sadness.
Mary kept her weapons trained on him, never faltering, her feet planted firmly to the ground, narrowed eyes focused on the figure in front of her and nothing else.
This is it. I won't fail again… I can do it. I can do it. I can do it. I ca…
"You've grown, Mary. How long has it been, dear daughter? It's good to see you so disciplined. Stronger."
A corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. She had grown. Grown to look just like her worthless mother. Grown stronger. No longer was she the insignificant, useless and frail-looking Mary that she used to be. Now, standing before him was a completely different individual; a woman holding herself upright without a quiver of fear or hesitation. She was strong and it seemed that she had learned to overcome her inner reservations of fear – made evident by the various ridiculous instruments of death that she adorned herself with. Replacing the fear with anger, how predictable human behaviour was. Fear made her stronger, vengeful, hateful and with such a temper that she was currently displaying, she would be lashing out at any moment. The other corner of his mouth lifted a fraction higher.
"Don't call me that name!" she snapped, just talking to him was making everything ten times worse. Stop talking and pull that trigger! "Ever. Again My name, is not Mary." She bit out; feeling the trickle of burning hate spread through her veins. Stop wasting time! Finish it!
"It's been six years and I've waited a long time for this." She steadied her aim, knowing that this was too easy. Something felt off. It wasn't there the last time she confronted him; it was like he wanted her to shoot him. Stay there and be a good doggy.
Pulling the triggers, bullets burst forward straight towards their target, but in the blink of an eye, he disappeared. There wasn't anything other way to describe it. One second he was there, the next second he was gone from sight, no sign of movement or wisp of a breeze. Her eyes widened as she turned her head left, then right, immediately alert.
"Yet I have waited longer for this moment, dear Mary." His baritone voice rang out, pronouncing her name like a sour taste in his mouth.
Spinning around, there he stood, a ghost of a smile on his disgustingly smug face; laughing at her stupidly stunned expression.
"I have waited twenty-two years for this opportunity and now I have you, in my palm." Shoot him, shoot him, shoot him! Her mind was screaming at her now and she could only comply. Lifting her arms, Mary was too late.
Raising both his hands, he swiped her arms swiftly up and away from his body, wrapping long fingers around her wrists in an iron grip. He yanked her forward, only to lash out with his foot into her stomach, sending her flying back high into the rough, granite wall.
Maintaining her focus, Mary dropped to the ground in a crouch, still clutching her weapons in either hand and aiming them directly at their targets. She grunted in pain at the force of the hit to her abdomen; a dull ache throbbing in her shoulder blades from hitting the hard wall, also meriting a gasp as the uneven, rough surface dug into her back. So strong, like last time. It seemed like every time she met him, he would always be stronger than her, would always defeat her.
But something still felt different, like he had something dragging him down by the ankles Something feels so wrong
Seeing her so-called father smirk, she renewed her efforts; a burst of rapid gunfire blasting forth as she ran forward, arms still outstretched. Seeing her stupidly bold tactic, he moved his body aside and grabbed her right arm with a tight grip, swinging her forward and making her lose her balance.
Counting on such a move, Mary twisted her upper body around to shoot at Arkham with her left gun. Another burst of shots rang out; four dull thuds followed by another, accompanied with a sharp crack, indicated hits on flesh and bone. She held out a hand to break her fall, still clutching her weapon, Mary used the momentum to flip forward with one hand; scraping skin on her knuckles on the rough surface of the floor but her focus remained on the target. Currently lying on the ground, her father was slowly trying to rise; a hand on the ground and a leg propped up, he leant his body sideways to get up.
Raising both her weapons, she walked forward two steps, watching him glare at her with a hollow, glowing glint in his eyes; a passive expression that held no fear or any feeling at all for what was to come next. No comeback? He's not going to fight back? Is this what it looks like to be defeated?
She wanted to hear his pleas of mercy but she knew there would be none. As low as he was, he would not beg or cry out for leniency because she wouldn't give any. Something was wrong and she knew it but what would it matter? She had him right here, just where she wanted him; she'd fantasised about the ways she could kill him and now she was going to fulfil her destiny. Everything else can just take a number and wait in line.
Fingers on the triggers, she watched him smile, a small, secretly, knowing smile and that only made the pain and rage burn brighter in her heart. For all that this monster had done, she was going to send him back to hell.
With that, she pulled the triggers, gazing at how his body jerked every time a bullet punctured his skin and sliced straight through him. She knew that one or two bullets would have no affect on him as experience had shown; she needed to riddle his body, tear it up to shreds to know that he wouldn't be able to haunt her ever again.
But even as the bullets jolted his body, he was still standing, trying to maintain his balance. Why won't he just die!
So she kept shooting, kept her fingers on the trigger, her mind screaming out for him to just keel over and die but she never stopped shooting, only until both weapons hollowly clicked empty.
Dark, blood pooled slowly underneath the mutilated body, spreading outwards in a rough circle, reaching her boots but Mary could only stare at the motionless body. Lying on his back, arms and legs splayed out, he was a bloody mess. There were gaping holes all over the front of the body, some in the neck and on the upper limbs: all oozing black, thick blood.
Was he really dead? Could it really have been that easy?
Mary holstered her empty weapons and drew her Desert Eagle before stepping closer to the body; the blood dripping slightly from the sole of her boots with each step. Keeping her firearm trained on the body just in case, she nudged the foot with her boot once. No movement, no sign of a twitch.
Is this it? Am I supposed to be happy now? Where was the light that was suppose to come? Guide her back to peaceful times, of happy mummy, happy daddy and candy lands. A dream of a family, of sunshine and butterflies, while running through a meadow of tall daisies, brushing her shins as she ran through the fields. That's what everything was supposed to turn back into, right? She'd been hunting, chasing, fighting her way out of the wretched existence she led for the better half of her life; didn't she deserve a break?
Isn't this how it was supposed to end? Her pain, her sorrow, her agony and her torture. Shouldn't there be a reward for all that she had been through?
Her brows furrowed as her eyes narrowed. For all that she had lost?
…Flashback…
It was raining like it had every other night. The damp concrete pavement of the sidewalks glistening with dirty, murky water and the occasional puddles. The dull, artificial light of the street lamps set off a sallow luminance to the passers-by that were hurrying to get to shelter, away from the pouring rain. Men in their grey trench-coats hunched their backs and drew their collars tighter, while the women bunched their shoulders and clasped their scarves closer to their necks – each set of eyes were downcast. Each breath exhaled was let off as a white mist of steam. The thud of tiny droplets hit the fabric of umbrellas as cars whooshed past on the road, kicking up water on the sidewalk only to rain back down onto the legs of the unfortunate pedestrians.
It was freezing cold, cold enough that ice was beginning to form along the pavement. Bunching her own shoulders, Mary stuffed her hands into the pockets of her scruffy jacket. Walking further down the sidewalk, her boots clapped into a puddle, sending droplets of grimy water onto pristinely pressed pants and snowy, panty-hose covered legs; earning her various vicious glares. Her own tired and worn jeans were soaked through at the legs and all she wanted was to get away, find some nice, dry place to sit down, maybe try to buy something hot with the limited money she had.
Everyday, living had meant to find some means of finding a scrap of food for dinner by any means necessary. Not the 'sell your body' means, she wasn't going to resort to that if she had any say; it was the 'sell your special services to the highest bidder' means. The kind of service that was unique to one line of field; the type where elimination was desired. It was always to stick close by to the shadows, always shy away from curious glances and gaping stares at the ludicrous notion that a girl, innocent, petite and pretty as her could ever mix into such an unruly, disreputable profession. Because while she may have been once virtuous and innocent, one glance at the firm set of her eyes would have warded off any line of thought.
Sadness? Sorrow? Anguish? Grief? Angst? Her so-called aunts and uncles - family acquaintances more so - would coo over her, comment on her blissfully praising her 'parents' for producing such a beautiful daughter. They said that her eyes were windows to her sweet, angelic soul. They were right, weren't they?
Her soul had been twisted and shaped to a darker, distorted and perverse path; she could feel the change, the differences of what she used to be, what she was now, what she should have been compared to other girls her age. A child, that's what she used to be, what those girls were. A scared little girl. Pathetic. If she was given a second chance, she would have killed him in a heartbeat had she heard his despicable voice, right then and there.
Staring straight back up at the faces around her, through sopping wet hair, she trudged further along the sidewalk before turning around the corner, into a dark alleyway. The end of the alleyway was dim; no light reached the walls of the seemingly dead-end except for a faint glimmer that reflected a minute gleam of radiance from the street lamp on the main walkways. It didn't matter either way, she knew her way around like the back of her hand. Taking another turn to the right, she headed forward past the alley and turned right again, facing was looked to be nothing but a brick wall – one couldn't really tell in the dimness. Only a faint glisten of beaded water on a circular key hole panel, could one really see the outline of a door through the gloom. On the other side of the door would be her home.
A home. Her sanctuary, which he didn't know about.
Knock once, knock three times, then knock once, and twice more after that. That was the way they always did it, for their own safety, of course. It seemed like a childish cubby house rule: to knock in Morse code fashion but in actual fact, it wasn't childish at all. It was the only thing they could do to distinguish themselves from the creatures that tried to impersonate people; tried to penetrate their fort.
That was the way Vern had taught them.
Always got to be vigilant. They may be stupid and slow, but once they find flesh and blood, mimicking their prey isn't all they can do.
It was so frightening at first. All that knowledge packed into one night. When she was exhausted from blindly running around the streets, she couldn't bear the ache in her legs, the burning in her raw lungs as she ran to nowhere. But she did stop and she collapsed on the sidewalk of the wet, dirty and rough pavement. All feelings of pain and grief washed away as the rain beat across her upturned face. She had stared up towards the sky; watched and thought deliriously as the tall buildings surrounding her vision leaned inwards, ready to collapse on top of her, trapping her within the debris. She had closed her eyes, the drumming of rain drops beating on her eyelids and slapping her cheeks.
A hand had jerked her body upwards, lifting her up, away from the cold, frigid winds and a gush of warmth blasted through as she was carried into somewhere noisy and bright. Who…? She had thought dazedly. After more clunking footsteps it was more quiet and darker but definitely more warmer. Opening her tired eyes, he had set her down on a soft, plush couch next to a fireplace. She opened her mouth unwillingly, tried to say something, but the only sound that came out was a raspy, incoherent "I…"
Kneeling down to her level, he said in a soft and gentle but slightly gruff voice, "I know."
With that, she had closed her heavy eyes, a small droplet squeezed out of the corner of her eye, trickling down her cheek to mingle with the water beaded on her skin. Dropping her head down to her chest, she fell asleep with the stranger looking over her like an angel.
That was two years ago, and after learning of reality, Vern was still like an angel. Maybe that wasn't a good word to describe him. A guardian was more like it. He resembled a mentor more so with all that she had learned from him. He had taken her in after that incident and introduced her to her new family. A family of rag-tags, each special and skilled in their own unique way. And her? What was her distinctive uniqueness? Why was she different to any other homeless girl?
Your eyes. Was all he had said in reply with a knowing, thoughtful glint in his own eyes. The moment I saw your eyes, I saw through your sorrow and found your strength. He had later concluded.
A series of muffled slides of metal on metal and chains rustling behind the reinforced iron and steel door and light beamed from the opened door. The harsh contrast from the darkness made her eyes narrow and pupils constrict, but she walked through the door anyway. Adjusting to the sudden brightness, she took off her soaked jacket and pulled strands of soggy bangs away from her face.
"Thanks." she accepted the towel proffered and began to towel her short, close cropped hair dry.
"We've been waiting for you. You shouldn't have left without telling us where you were going, Mare." A soft voice rose from behind her as they walked to the 'lounge room' of the small accommodation that served as their headquarters. It was an abandoned building but they couldn't be too careful with their fortune. Being discovered was the last thing on their minds. Furnished with second-hand, used oddities, Vern had it decorated to resemble something slightly more comfortable.
"It wasn't for long. Just doing the usual housekeeping." The housekeeping meant keeping ears open for any signs of 'unusual' cases or jobs that called for specialty, hit-man work. In this line of field, they needed any kind of advantage and more pairs of ears meant better odds of survival for everyone.
"We just finished a job and got a bucket load for it, settle down for a sec." a languid voice coolly interjected from the room ahead. Stepping into the lounge room, she saw that everyone had gathered; hands wrapped around a warm bowl of what seemed to be aromatic, hot chunky stew, which made her mouth water. The speaker gave her a look with forest green eyes and a crooked grin, amused at her bedraggled, drowned rat appearance and continued to scoff more food down.
"Tell one of us where you are next time." a slightly gruff, low voice spoke firmly. Vern was in between taking a mouthful of a piece of beef when he stared at her hard, his grey eyes boring into hers to drive his point across that he wasn't impressed. Her degree of freedom had some limits after all, even though she was thankful that he saved her.
Giving into the gaze, she maintained her dignity and pride; thankful or not, she still needed to get out to wriggle her toes once in awhile.
"Fine." She held her head up and strode over to the stove pot to scoop her own share of steaming hot stew before sitting down with the rest of her comrades, her family members and friends and began to eat.
…End Flashback…
It felt like a lifetime, remembering each face of her beloved second family. The only people that truly understood her; understood her more than anyone else she had known. Nothing was going to bring them back; she had known that from the start. She knew that although they were gone, their souls still screamed for justice but what would she get in return?
The control she held, what she had held just moments – or was it an hour? – ago felt so powerful and overwhelming; it lifted a huge weight from her heavy heart. But remembering their faces, Vern's face, her mother's beautiful, caring face. Nothing could bring them back. Not even scum like this would be able to erase the past memories that forever burned themselves into the back of her eyelids.
Her arms suddenly felt weak, felt like they weighed ten tonnes and she dropped her aim on the prone figure before her feet. It was over. There was nothing left for her. There was still that character in blue but who was he compared to the evil that was on the ground and out for the count? He seemed to have ill intent but she wasn't a hero, let someone else take care of that. It wasn't her problem anymore.
Letting out a weary sigh, she looked up at the sky; hazy black shadows played on the dark, inky night sky. It was time to get some rest for her weary body; she desperately needed to drop her head onto a nice, soft, cushiony pillow.
Relaxing her shoulders, her fingers loosely grasping her weapon, she stared down at the gun. In loving memory, it had been inscribed. Sometimes people had to let go of them once in a while.
Holstering the weapon, she hitched Kalina Ann higher; readying herself for the long trek back down the tower and turned to face the balcony entrance, heading towards the door.
A squeak sounded from behind her and she froze in her tracks, eyes wide. Another squeak and a series of sickening cracks, sounded through the silence of the balcony. Mary spun around with her Desert Eagle immediately drawn. Her eyes widened further as she saw her father's body stand upright, the squeak of his shoes sliding on the slick blood on the marble tiles. The figure fully stretched upright, a ghastly smile playing on its disfigured face; her father's once noble profile completely shattered by the blood and gaping holes.
Fully stretched as it was, her father's body was still hunched a bit to one side, the figure seemingly leaning more to its left side. A low, throaty moan escaped the blackened lips of the figure as its eyes gleamed ruby red. With tentative and clumsy movements, it took a step forward, as though careful not to slip in the thick, black blood. She aimed her weapon, ready to shoot at the creature again. Was this really her father?
Another anguished groan and the figure bent down, back hunched over completely as a ripping sound emanated from the body. Material was ripping as Mary stood, watching her father's skin literally split in half as bones from the spinal cord flexed upwards, thorny spikes protruding out from each vertebra and barely covered by muscle tissue at the spine. Lifting its head, the glowing red eyes stared back at her, skin was stretched to its limits and was torn around the sides of the mouth as the jaw flexed open impossibly wide: something that resembled a ghostly smile revealed sharp, jagged teeth. The clothes stretched around the body was torn and ripped at the arms and legs as sharp, bony pikes protruded from each joint. The hands lengthening, stretching the skin to the point of breaking and revealing raw, red flesh; forming bony, sharpened claws.
What the hell was that!
She began to shoot, not stopping to run from the thing that was half crouching, half standing before her. Mary fired off two shots before the creature suddenly sprang at her with a savage snarl. She only had a quick second to decide her next move and she jumped sideways to avoid the clash. Tucking in her head with her hands held out before her, she made to roll over to the side of the balcony but was stopped when something latched onto her ankle. Without a second to consider her situation, she was flung off the ground and into the air, spinning head over heels.
…
Falling down from the balcony felt like an endless process. Her heart felt like it was going jump out of its ribcage as soon as she was tossed into the sky. With her quick reflexes, Mary swung Kalina Ann across to her front and quickly aimed the ballistic towards the ridge of the only protruding and sturdy-looking structure above, which happened to be the bottom structure of another balcony. Desperately hoping that the compact grapple hook within the multipurpose weapon was able to sustain her weight, she flicked the catch to release the safety and pulled the trigger.
A second later, her falling figure was jerked to a stop by the waist strap of her weapon and she was reeled back upwards at an incredibly slow pace. Dangling on the end of thin wire, she was swinging wildly from side to side, feeling unbelievably vulnerable. Another guttural snarl followed by a shriek shattered the silence of the night. Holding her breath, she glanced up, wary of her precarious situation as she saw the ghastly creature draped in tatters of grey fabric, leapt up to climb the side of the tower. Its glistening flesh shimmering in the dim light as sharp claws dug into the stone of the tower, the pale, spiny bones of the vertebrae bobbed as it began to clamber up the ledge and leaped straight into one of the windows of the upper floors.
Letting out her breath, she could only hope that when the reel of her ballistic finally pulled her past that window, the creature wouldn't jump out at her.
…
She was so…fiery. Something his deceased spouse was not. Little Mary was now…perfected. His plan was going smoothly, indeed.
It's time to take this little game to the next level; all the pieces are set. The only thing left was to give a little nudge and a push. After all, he couldn't risk his dear daughter dying by herself in this lonesome, perilous tower.
His sneer widened to a manic smirk. Everything was going so well.
AN: More OCs! I don't believe that in the whole game, only Dante and Lady were the only brave souls to enter Temen-ni-gru. Where's the police when you need them:)
Thanks to the reviewers: Chrome, Tyrant Hamster, Bettany - hope this wasn't too long of a wait.
