Author's notes: Well. . . I'm back.

At some point, I had a lot of things to write, a lot of feelings to express, and I think it's a way for me to honor my young friend's memory. Plus, I did receive a very encouraging review, which gave me the boost I needed to go back to writing.

So it's not perfect, it's certainly no Literary Prize material, but I do my best to improve.

This chapter is kind of heavy on exposition, so I counterbalanced with an action scene afterwards. I'm starting to put in place a few story elements that will be important later.

And yes, the Blacksmith's name is no coincidence.

I really hope you enjoy. I do realize this chapter is a bit slow, but I intend to spice things up next chapter. Again, reviews and comments are highly appreciated. Thank you all for your commitment.

NO RETURN

'Devil May Cry?'

'Hi, hello…'

'Hi, good-bye.'

'…wait wha-?'

And he hung up. This conversation had occurred at least eight times, this evening. Eight clients, no password.

That was kind of the problem with opening a devil-hunting business. This kind of profession being relatively frowned upon in the world we live in, you can't just put an advertisement in the paper saying "Devil hunter seeks devils to hunt." Only a few informants like Morrison and Enzo Ferrino (although Enzo was working more for that witch with the stilettos, these days…) knew the real purpose of the Devil May Cry (DMC, for short). They were the ones who directed the potential clients to the agency and gave them the password to let Dante know that it was a serious job with a serious paycheck at the end. For the everyman (the guy who does the daily grind, pays his bills and watches Stephen Colbert every Saturday), the DMC was nothing more than a handyman gig. As such, there were a lot of people just calling for someone to walk Fido, to babysit little Billy or to buy a bottle of cyanide in order to get rid of an overbearing in-law. Since these "clients" weren't aware about the password thing, that took care of that. But after the eighth call without an actual job, Dante began to think that putting the DMC in the phone book wasn't such a good idea.

He took a look at his clock: 2:34 AM. Well at least a shower could sober him up a bit. He climbed the stairs up to the bathroom, closed the door and began to fumble the faucet (hot water, was it red or blue?)

VRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

This basically was the sound he heard. Blinking rather stupidly, Dante tried to identify this rather ear-splitting noise.

It couldn't be the bathtub (otherwise, he would really have to call this Italian plumber whose name he always forgot), it wasn't the sound of a motorbike driving under his window, it wasn't…

'DANTE!'

That was a woman's voice. In hindsight, that noise he had heard was the sound of a door being smashed open. That couldn't be Trish, cause she was only coming home in two days, and Patty would NEVER have smashed the door open. That left only two people, and of these two people, only one had a valid reason for wrecking his front door (assuming of course a 6000$ gambling debt is NOT a valid reason…).

So, getting out of the bathroom, Dante just went down the stairs and said:

'…seriously, don't they teach you to just KNOCK, up there in Paradise?'

Liya was there, her breathing shallow, her eyes on fire and spear in the hand, standing on what once was his front door.

'I would offer you a drink, but my coffee machine needs repair so…'

'Cut the crap, Dante! I need the stone, now!'

He didn't fail to notice the slight echo in her voice. That plus the aura that was starting to emanate from her, he knew she was barely holding control.

'Look, seriously, what are you even gonna do with that piece of rock?' Dante asked nonchalantly. 'What, you want to put it on a necklace or something?'

'I don't have time to explain! Assia's been taken, and I need…'

'Or do you really miss good old Nergal so much?'

She paused. He had said that very flatly, but with a deliberate, inquisitive smile on his face. They just stared at each other for a few seconds. Then she blinked.

Of course, he knew. It was only a matter of time anyway.

Dante took a slight pleasure from that sign of defeat on her part. Clearing his throat, he continued.

'A long time ago, long before the Armageddon even occurred, Irkalla, the Sumerian Realm of the Dead, was given to the Goddess Ereshkigal. Her role was both to welcome the dead in her kingdom, but also to breathe new life into the world. Then, one day, the desert demon Nergal overtook the Kingdom and sent Ereshkigal into exile. As such, to prevent this new demon king to come visit little old Earth, the Irkalla Key was forged by Heaven itself to seal this realm for all eternity. When the Armageddon took place a few millenniums afterwards, the key was broken into three fragments during the conflict. God knows what happened to these three pieces afterwards.'

His history lesson over, he turned to face Liya, a terrifying coldness in his eyes.

'And then, 2000 years after the War between Heaven and Hell, a Fallen Angel comes out of nowhere, destroys a few places along the way, and starts seeking these stones. MEANWHILE, the Musubi sect, who's notorious for wanting the complete and absolute end of the world, tries to stop said angel to get the stones themselves. So tell me, Liya: what's your interest in freeing Nergal?'

For a moment, they just stood there, face to face, eyes deadlocked into each other.

'…you did your homework.'

With a light sound, her spear vanished from her hands.

'I won't deny knowing about the legend of Ereshkigal, but I have no interest, either in Nergal, nor in Irkalla. I never did. Right now, Musubi has two of the three pieces of the key, and they took hostage a little human girl. If we don't get the stone to them, she will be killed, Dante!'

'And we shall do anything possible to save her of course, but you still haven't answered my question, Miss: why look for these stones in the first place?'

Her eyes were fidgeting. For some reason, this question seemed to embarrass her. She took a deep breath and said:

'You know about the Blacksmith's Oath, right?'

'Of course! A little trick used during Armageddon to guarantee Heaven's and Hell's arsenals: a blacksmith can only be defeated by one of his own weapons.'

'Yeah, that's it.'

'So?'

She seemed to hesitate, then finally said:

'So the key to Irkalla was forged by an Angel named Rodin. He was, without a doubt, the best blacksmith in Paradise. He was even one of the Infinite Ones.'

'God's personal bodyguards?'

'An elite group of angels placed directly under the authority of Metatron himself. Only a few warriors were considered worthy enough to wield his weapons.'

In spite of the few beers that were still using his brain as a punching bag, Dante was starting to see where this was going.

'So that's why you wanted the key…you wanted to kill Rodin.'

'No, Rodin died nearly twenty years ago...'

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then she finally admitted:

'...I'm here to kill his son.'

Beat. Dante's eyes just fluttered in the distance for a few seconds, as if he had skipped a wagon at some point.

'...sorry what?'

'I'm here to kill his son. Rodin's son.'

It seemed as if a veil of melancholy covered her face for a second. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and added:

'His name is Amali.'

Dante slowly nodded, giving the information some time to reach his brain.

'The Master of Musubi...' he said.

'He's been in control of the organization for nearly a decade, now,' Liya continued. 'Under his guidance, they have become more and more extreme. Before he took over, Musubi was a sanctuary for those who wanted to escape the Great War. For a very long time, they had remained hidden. But today, Amali wants to use the Brotherhood of Musubi to break the balance of power between Chaos and Order. He wants to become the third force in the Eternal War.'

'And so you wish to get him out of the equation?'

'As Rodin's son, Amali can only be killed by a weapon forged by his father. Irkalla's Key is the last of Rodin's swords still in existence. The rest of them have been destroyed nearly 20 years ago.'

If working as a detective had taught Dante anything (aside from living on caffeine 24/7), it was to beware of situations that seemed too clear to be true. Cause when it happens, it usually means that there's a crack in the story, somewhere.

Case in point...

'Not bad...'

Liya shivered. She couldn't help but notice the touch of irony in Dante's voice.

'Gotta admit, you almost got me. Nice story, really. Except for one, tiny detail.'

The devil hunter's eyes were terrifyingly cold, as if he was merely watching an insect stuck on a slate. Despite the unpleasant sensation of being put under an x-ray scanner, Liya did her best effort not to blink.

'Angels have no right to procreate. Creation is a priviledge only He can have. Any Angel who breaks that rule is guilty of Hubris.'

Three sentences. Pronounced with no grandiloquence, no self-congratulation. Merely the exposition of some general knowledge. And yet, though Dante couldn't tell if it was the light or just the after-effects of the alcohol, he was pretty sure he saw a shadow, a barely noticeable wave of discomfort on Liya's face. There was no doubt that Liya didn't expect Dante to know so much about Divine Laws.

'I run a Devil Hunting Agency, that requires a lick of culture, you know?'

Liya head just fell, as if she was desperately trying to find something to retort.

'Dante...' she said, her voice overwhelmed with confusion. 'It's far more complicated than you think...Amali...'

'OK, look, cause here's how I see the situation: On the one hand, I've got an object that can obliterate the world in the blink of an eye, and on the other hand, I got a Fallen Angel who swears to me she won't do anything bad with it, except killing the non-existant progenity of yet another Angel. So unless you got anything to back up your claims, I think I'm gonna keep the stone and take care of Musubi myself!'

'Dante, please listen!'

'Unless of course there's another reason for you to want Amali dead? That wouldn't be the first time you hide things from me!'

'Dante, enough!'

'C'mon! Why don't you tell me what Paradise promised you in return for his death? Absolution? VIP access back to Heavens?'

'You really don't trust me, don't you?!'

He did not answer. He did not have to answer. The scorn, the contempt, the pure disdain in his gaze was eloquent enough. She just sighed. She had no choice. No time. With a slight jingling, she summoned her spear back in her hand.

'Very well...at least it will make things easier for me.'

She seemed cold. Huddled up, quivering, Assia was just looking around her, at the vast marble room and the hard wooden chairs. Silently. Merely sobbing from time to time. She seemed so small, sitting in her corner, terrified. Watching her all alone in the dark, like that...it made Ziz feel profoundly shameful.

Silently, she entered the room, a basket of fruits in her arms.

'I...I brought you some food,' she said. 'Thought you might be hungry.'

Assia just huddled up further in her corner.

'...you must feel cold.'

Ziz took off her scarf and put it around the child's arms. This small act of kindness seemed to bring Assia to speak.

'Why am I here?'

'Do not fear, my child. We won't hurt you.'

'Who are you?'

Ziz just made a weak laugh.

'I don't think you'd believe me if I told you...'

'I want to see Liya...'

These words seemed to touch Ziz on some level. After a second of hesitation, she merely said:

'Liya's coming, child. I promise.'

'How sentimental...'

Ziz repressed the urge to snarl when Mammon entered the room. He was accompanied by Tarask.

'You know I haven't been this...choked up since I got a hunk of tofu caught in my throat!' Mammon said pompously.

'Give it a rest, Mammon.' Tarask said.

'Oh please! Tarask, old friend! Show me a little smile! What could possibly happen now? Do you fear our wingless friend will prove to be such a hassle?'

'Don't underestimate her!' Ziz intervened. 'She was one of the Infinite Ones.'

This just made Mammon laugh.

'Are your trying to tell me that one of Paradise's Elite Soldiers got exiled from the Skies Above? Do you take me for a fool?'

'None can claim to have never made mistakes, Mammon.'

The voice that had just spoken was young, and still there was something almost metallic in its intonation, as if its owner wasn't used to speaking very often.

Amali was around 20, but the expression on his face was reminiscent of an old man. His black, curly hair were falling on both side of his face, and he was walking slowly, almost limping on his left leg. Yet, the moment he came into the room, everyone else seemed to freeze.

'Do not forget,' he said, 'that most of the demons locked up in Hell used to be angels. The Almighty can be quite ruthless, when he wants to.'

'My Lord,' Tarask said, his hand waving towards Assia, 'this is the child. Ziz was highly successful in her mission.'

'I didn't expect any less of you, Ziz. You have my thanks.'

The young lady stood up, and took the two stones she stole from Liya's flat.

'These are the remaining fragments of the key,' she said. 'Soon, the last piece will be in our possession.'

'Excellent,' Amali said. 'Soon, we will finally have the complete set to reforge the Key of Irkalla. It is now only a matter of hours before we can achieve the Creation.'

Dante made a quick count: his drums, his desk, two windows, his couch, his juke box ('No, wait…I broke that one.') were in pieces. Were left standing and in an acceptably undamaged state the lamp, the mirror and the telly. Good thing Morrison only came to visit in two-week time, his heart might have stopped from the shock.

Liya was twirling her spear with great strength, her hits raining upon Dante like a storm. Put against the Son of Sparda, she had to keep the initiative. Let him have the advantage for just one second, and it wall all over. So she struck, relentlessly, without hesitation, without pause, without paying attention to the growing fatigue that was slowing her muscles down.

'You're good!' Dante said. 'Even that demon from last night was less fun than you!'

He was merely keeping his Royal Guard up, knowing that, sooner or later, the fight would end on its own. She had already infiltrated Carver Towers earlier in the evening, so she clearly didn't come to his office at maximum capacity. He could already see the growing exertion each of her attacks demanded. She wouldn't be able to keep up that way. She knew it. She had to finish this. Quick.

She focused the energy in her spear and sent a wave of light to her opponent. Not powerful enough to end the fight in one stroke, but at least enough to unbalance him. Dante barely had time to deviate the attack with his blade, sending the shockwave crashing into his mirror.

'Oh, COME ON! That's seven years of bad luck!'

'You wanna see bad luck?!'

Seizing the opportunity, Liya jumped forward, readying her spear.

It took her a few seconds to get a grip on herself. It took even longer to register the pain when her jaw came into contact with Dante's boot. It took even longer yet to notice she had dropped her weapon.

'Well! I think we're done here, aren't we?'

Dante was still standing, fresh as a daisy, the blade of his sword on his shoulder.

'Look, you're gonna exhaust yourself to death if you keep this up. Let's call this a draw, shall we?'

Liya barely managed to get back up, shaking, her vision clouded by her weariness.

And she ran up to her adversary.

'Poor girl…'

What she was going to try only had one chance in a million to succeed. She wouldn't even try it in a regular fight. But this was no regular fight, and she was running out of options anyway.

She started to summon an energy sphere in her left hand. Dante raised his sword in a defensive position and readied himself to repel the assault.

He smiled.

Of course, there are much nicer ways to please people, but he had to admit, that was perfectly executed. That's the kind of moments that just brighten your day, make you say 'What a wonderful world' with violins in the background. He had to admit, she had totally caught him off-guard.

When she was running to him, he had expected some final, last-chance attack in which she'd focus all the energy she had left. But he should have noticed. That detail. In retrospect, he couldn't believe he missed something that important.

…her left hand.

Because she didn't go for his blade. She went for his forearm. More out of surprise than out of pain, he had dropped his blade.

He had to admit, she didn't hesitate one bit. She had done this with a decisiveness, a precision that bordered on the surgical. In one second, she had seized his sword, landed behind him, and thrust the blade in his back.

When he turned around to face her, blood erupting from his wound like a scarlet cascade, he felt kinda proud of her. She was still out of breath, she was still barely standing, but the fire in her eyes was radiant, powerful. They stayed there for a few seconds, eyes locked into each other's. Then, in one last breath, Dante whispered:

'…yeah, that was fun.'