Chapter seven

Red on red

The street is empty at this time of night. Both individuals standing in the cold air dressed very differently than what the temperature dictates. Dante is leaning on the metal railing smoking his cigarette. Trish is standing beside him sharing the luxury, a slim cigarette between her fingers. He smells her heady perfume, sweet to the point of sickening and even the comforting smoke does not overpower it.

The half-devil can't help himself, he thinks about the things that took place back home. What transpired on that damned chair. Too fey to be real, yet too real to be a dream. The strange thing being – that nothing has changed. The next day and weeks after flowing without a beat of difference. The only reminder being that stupid piece of furniture taking permanent residence in the office. But instead of sitting in the middle of it, like a forgotten object, now neatly placed in the corner of the room. Frustrating as it is, the hunter's managing on living with the tension, even functioning as is his norm. It's no wonder really, his partner is pure dread from their first meeting.

Dante steals a glance at the deviless, she seems content, if anything, in the unsettling predicament they're currently in. And it's unsettling all on his end though. This current hunt is nothing special, another gluttonous demon, is all. But they're simply standing and smoking, not sharing any conversation, as the walking nightmare is having a feast. Most possibly across the small, one-vehicle street no less.

Dante finds the change of scenery welcome and even invigorating. The demonette seems to be enjoying it too. Consciously or not the half-blood knows it's all for her. This trip was his idea, taking up an international hunt. The slay in Berlin was thrilling, bordering on massacre even. They had exterminated a large demon nest. Once that commission was done with they moved out of the capital. Their next one led them here.

It isn't a shabby neighborhood. Old in fashion – yes, but needing reconstruction. The hunter turns and looks over the railing. It seems puzzling to him that the thing is here. The slope behind it – very small and needs no protection from it

His mind though wonders back to their current mission. It's a lone demon, he doesn't know its kind, but the deviless most possibly does. The demon hunter cares not for such information, unless his prey has some ability or power he should be wary of. And the weak points, well, he enjoys finding those out on his own. This one isn't like the ones in the nest, it's much larger and it's a solo player too. The half-devil hopes, against all the odds, that he won't let any more humans become the monster's meal. But the chance to hear frightened screams is almost nonexistent. The creature tends to tear out the throats of its victims, whether to silence them or simply because it's in its nature – Dante doesn't know. He tosses his smoke over the railing and soon Trish does the same.

The half-breed turns his attention back to the apartments over-street. They not only know which cottage building but the exact condo the demon had or will attack. His partner turns to him and informs that the deed is already done. He tries not to feel any remorse about it, perhaps he wouldn't have been able to stop it anyway. So the demon hunter simply nods, he doesn't ask her how she knows, and simply walks toward the entrance of the said apartment.

Dante climbs the few concrete stairs and his gloved hand lands upon the door handle, finding it unlocked. It's a weird fact but it's unimportant and the hunter walks inside. Trish then closes the entrance door with a heavy clink of the lock. He takes in the apartment and his stomach coils into many fine sailor-knots.

The TV is turned on, white cable cord severed and the screen showing static snow. The street lights coming out from the windows along with the TV are more than enough to illuminate the room so that both hunters of demonic descent could investigate it fully. The stench of blood and gut – excrement, is strong even for any human being to withstand. The whole west wall of the room covered in specks of gore. Judging from the blood splatter, most of it from a ripped open throat or two, the half-devil thinks. The culprit no longer in the vicinity but somewhere near. Very near...

Dante steps closer to the victims, deeper into the pastel palette covered living room/kitchen area. He minds where he puts his feet, not wanting to step into the congealed blood. Not because of leaving footprints but because scrubbing his boots is one of his least favorite pastimes. The half-blood passes the sofa walking closer to the main course of the vile creature, leaning down to inspect the bodies.

Trish kneels onto the couch, maneuvering her weight to peer down behind it. She snorts mentally – he's got that remorse-filled look about him, idiotic half-human. The demonette thinks to herself that she'll never comprehend his humane complexity.

She studies the corpses, taking less time than her partner to assess the recent happenings. A family of three, slaughtered recently, in between the span of mere thirty – sixty minutes. The mother and child strewn behind the loveseat, the father caught near the half-wall, which separates the main area from the kitchenette. A tilt of her head, she contemplates, the woman – in her early thirties, of medium build and mid-length blond hair; the daughter aged between seven and nine. also pale-haired with two braids framing her lovely, terror stricken face; the father in his mid-thirties or early forties, of medium build, tall, brown haired.

The wife (her marital status the deviless could tell by the golden ring on the corpse's finger) died first, most possibly, judging by the looks of it. Her neck crushed in the vice grip of their prey. But that's hard to tell because her throat's been ripped out in one powerful bite. It's odd she thinks, by the description that they have, it tended to use its his claws for that job. But even mindless demons sometimes prefer variety.

The dead woman's blouse in shreds, her insides half thrown about, half eaten out – one thing's for certain, her torso is empty. Her ribs broken out, the streaks from talons visible on them – telling that the hellish creature had imbedded both of his claws inside and then torn the bones out – in order to reach the yummy parts. The demon ate her messily, taking mouthfuls from almost everywhere. The mother's upper body was stripped of flesh – her breasts eaten, perhaps the monster found that part delectable because he had to devour them after tearing the ribcage. Most of the organs fully eaten, only pieces of gut and lung left.

The girl was most possibly killed second, her position beside the elder woman's corpse indicates that. Trish smells the urine coming off of the child, yes most possibly second. She wasn't as lucky as her parent though, being still alive as it took mouthfuls of flesh from her body. The cause of death – blood loss (or shock). Both of her hands missing, one torn from the elbow down, the other hand – bitten off. The marks of biting as random as on her mother, but concentrated on the regions of her limbs. Left leg torn from knee down, the right hanging on tendons and flesh – it hadn't finished eating the daughter. Unlike the previously inspected victim, the huntress notices that the demon devoured muscle and flesh, ignoring even bone, gobbling them all up. The insides of the little girl left untouched.

Trish turns her head – now the husband. He was the third one to perish, the demon did barely even taste him. A few indications left showing that it took a taste here and there, but the body not maimed as the others. Only the head crushed, that way completely ruining the person's identity (not that it's important, really). The demoness then takes her chin in hand, imitating an outward thinking notion. The man was not as tasty or perhaps it preferred women instead. The father's clothes almost intact, still wearing shoes fit for the season.

Trish pieces the most likely scenario: the husband had returned from work (most possibly, judging from his still recognizable garb), that fact would explain the unlocked door; he was heading towards the kitchen, the rest of his family was watching TV. The two females most possibly heard a sound by the window and decided to inspect it, hence their position behind the sofa, by the French-styled window. The demon had barged in through it, reason to why it is shattered, serving as an entrance–exit point. It crushed the mother's neck first then swiftly tore her throat with his teeth, splattering the child with blood and she either fainted or became petrified with fear, the latter more believable – considering the information the hunting woman's gathered. It devoured the little girl then, but stopped short of one of her legs – at the moment the third meal came from the kitchen to check out the faint noise (the TV must have been blaring pretty loudly if he hadn't heard the glass shatter). His face was bashed in with one slam of a clawed limb and after a few samples, the demon had returned to the more delicious ones. It ignored the girl, seemingly as it hadn't returned to finish her young flesh, her organs were less tasty, therefore they weren't touched, but vice versa with the mother... The deviless doubts that the creature ate his full. It kills chaotically – her kinda demon. At that she grins psychotically.

Trish sighs dramatically, really now weren't these couple of minutes enough for him to piece this thing together? He's still staring down the bodies intently and wearing a refined look of loss. The demonette turns her body and lounges on the couch.

Dante looks at his partner from the corner of his eyes, she's sitting in the spot on the piece of the furniture that is magically free of gore specked about the rest of it. She seems to always defy the law of getting dirty, well, most of the time.

The sound of breaking glass fills their ears and the half-breed swiftly abandons the apartment, jumping out the window, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The half-blood sprints towards the nearest cottage after his prey – and it won't get away.

The demonette slowly gets up, walking closer to the window. Her moves – methodic and slow. He'll take his time, she knows. Moving out of the way the now burgundy-dirtied curtain she sits down onto the windowsill. Her legs dangling outside, curtains swaying behind her. The deviless looks leisurely about the narrow, empty cobblestone street. Gaze slipping over intricate gothic lantern-like lights and old bricks. A lovely place, well-fitting as a grotesque with demons in the picture. Truly, very lovely. Her vision stops in straight-line at the other broken window.

Eyes narrowing slightly, let him vent, he's worst without it. Remorse, such a common word with a complex, indecipherable meaning. And good, Trish thinks, flicking her hair. She's better off without knowing such basal human trivia. The apathetic huntress turns her attention onto other matters. Mulling over this – angers her, for whatever odd reasons.

Such a dead silent place this is. Seemingly, sounds of shattering glass would rouse suspicion but obviously don't. No blue lit sirens of polizei ringing in the distance. Perhaps, Trish guesses, it has something to do with it being Friday night. Rarely would any be awake and home at this hour. Europe had that perfect clockwork weekend vibe. Nightlife bustling always, but the weekends – you'd always be able to tell when they come around.

No agonized screeching sounds but the demoness knows even without them – that her partner's prey won't perish quickly. Retaliation, ey? That's not quite Dante's play, more proof that's he's royally pissed. Slashing the throat to an Antideus demon, clever. It won't die from a wound as such, only his noise would be tamed, but there's another reason than discreetness. In a twisted way, it is to die in accursed silence the demon once gifted to its victims. Bravo, the demonette salutes the half-devil in her mind, he deserves it for his crooked creativity. And that's something she appreciates, those rare moments he presents such ability.

A forceful wind reaches her face before it is even caused. The broken window completely shatters under the weight of a tossed out dead demon. Trish sees it in slow motion. Enjoying the moment that way, just like the display of the end of the family laying slain behind her back, before. Glass shards and pieces of what used to be wood paneling fly her way. Slowly, oh so very slowly. She revels in it. The sharp bits hit her and reverberate from her like sound, not damaging her perfect sitting form. A fluctuation of pure demonic power – and the shards change their initial direction, falling onto the road. The hellish corpse finally reaches the cobblestones of the winding path, time returns to its flow. The demoness's partner jumps out of the house.

"Done, already?" she asks indifferently, eyes watching him like a vulture.

The half-blood nods. He grabs one of the curved long, ridged horns of the Antideus. Quite massive indeed, over two meters tall, the demonette assesses. Its body littered with messy, rage telling wounds. She can't believe it's Rebellion, no – the cuts are too dented, too small to be made by a sword. The carcass carved up by something different the demon hunter carries.

He unceremoniously starts dragging it, leaving a bloody trail behind. Trish languidly stalks several steps away, looking over her partner. Dante's all gore. Red on red. The deviless visibly shivers. Blood, now that she loves. She loves it on Dante. The hooves on the demon's goat-like legs clink on the stones. The half-devil's relaxed heavy steps, the clinking and her clicking high-heels – music to the deviless's ears.

They walk slowly the empty winding streets. The demonette feels another hellish presence.

The half-breed stops by a long, dank, dead-end alley. He gazes down into its darkness – just what he needed, a perfect place to drop off their dead weight. The feeble demons in the back shifting restlessly, feeding in the garbage, stop their digging.

Trish looks about the narrow building in-between. It fits well into this place of iron coiling vines and old red brick, if not for the over-flowing trash containers. Dante tosses his burden and the body skids deep into the alleyway. The hollow-eyed, twisted jointed, skin-wrapped skeletons of demons move hesitantly closer to it. A feast, such a reprieve after eating rubbish. The demonette puts her hands on the half-blood's shoulders and stands on her tiptoes.

"Bon appetit" Trish whispers into the hunter's ear.

He can feel the wicked glee in her murmur. She's far too close for his comfort. Delicious agony. Just as swiftly as she leans onto him, she turns about and walks away. He follows without words, only an amused smirk marring his features. The rain starts pouring, neither abhor it. It will wash away the evidence leading to their prey that is being rapidly devoured. Good, less work for the police. Mysteriously ending bloody trails never were the taskforce strong-side.


They walk for hours the winding, narrow paths, sharing comforting silence. Finding a suitable stop, they walk into the oval square. Completed with iron benches, same fashioned lantern-like lights, a loud tower-clock counting the hour and a calm, waving river.

Both hunters stalk closer towards the water. The deviless leans onto the intricate, black-iron fence, admiring the city-light lit avenue across the flowing river. Dante shuffles a moment in his pockets, finding two packs of cigarettes (he has to carry hers because her outfit has no pockets in design) and his dark silver lighter with skulls etched in it. He removes two cigarettes from each, takes both into his mouth and lights them.

Handing one to Trish, he studies her expression. The half-devil's never done that. She takes the smoking slim without a glance, not caring whether he lit it. There's no moment where she eyes the thing with disgust, but she should. Shouldn't she? The half-blood shakes his head, he's overthinking a simple act, there's obviously nothing intimate about it. He scolds himself for fraying more nerves for such nonsense.

"What now?" the demon hunter asks.

"We head home" the demonette answers still gazing over to the city.

"Had enough of Berlin?"

"No" she takes a drag and exhales "I could never have enough of it... And besides we're not in Berlin"

"It's all the same to me" he flashes her a charming smile.

The huntress smirks.

"You're hopeless"

Dante's smile lingers for a minute and he talks while smoking.

"I liked it though"

Trish counters knowingly.

"I know"

"Might do this more often" he offers.

"Should"

"So..." exhale "Ya don't want to stop by somewhere else on the way back?"

"No, no cars. A portal now, not later. I don't want any more driving"

He shrugs.

"Fine by me" the half-breed then tosses the butt into the water. A minute later his partner follows suit.


A/N

As far as I know, there's no demon breed called the 'Antideus' in the DMC universe. It's something I made up. Basically it's made up from these two words:

The prefix anti- means 'against' or 'opposite' of something (e.g. anti-hero, antibodies...)

Deus is Latin for 'god' or 'deity'.