I have finally updated this story! Credit goes to SpoonyAzul for beta-ing the chapter and clarifying the wording in some scenes.

The search was on. Lady was left to her own devices, free to search the library as she pleased. She heard nothing but the sound of her own footsteps while mismatched eyes scanned the room. Her pace slowed almost to a grinding halt as she looked around the bookshelves. Her answer had to be in one of these books, but most came across as too old to make use of, even just by the musty smell of the ancient tomes.

She reached out her arm to one of the shelves and drawn one tome out of the hundred books still left untouched. With a deep breath, Lady blew the dust off the cover and found that she could read the title much less the book. Small markings embroidered the front, but the female demon hunter would find herself hard-pressed to call those tiny chicken scratches 'letters'. She could read nothing but nonsense as she flipped through the pages.

This isn't it.

Lady shook her head as she dropped the book by her feet and continued searching. With every book she read, even the spine had much of the same odd lettering. She couldn't let herself be frustrated by the fact that there would be knowledge inside these books and not be able to read it. Still, it was tempting to see if maybe there was something she could read, knowledge she could understand.

Carrying on with her search, she scanned the bookshelves again when a book caught her eye. Its blue color stood out from the rest of the ancient tomes and it was slightly thicker than the first one she picked out of the library. In place of a title was some sort of circular pattern.

Looks fancy enough.

Skimming the book at random pages, she found only a collection of myths, tales of a 'black-horned demon' and its many feats as told by one storyteller after another. Some stories spanned decades and a few spanned centuries. Each tale described the demon saving humanity in some way, the text that followed more embellished than the last. The scribes held this demon in such high esteem, as if he was an idol to worship.

"As if he was a god," Lady murmured. Every bit of it sounded like a fairy tale for children, but she knew the subject too well by now to think just that. The demon's name was never mentioned in the book, but the tales were of Sparda. She was as sure as she was breathing. She'd heard the tales before...

That's when she heard her father's voice. His voice, inflection and all, began narrating the words before her. She tried to shake away the thoughts, but could not get them out of her head.

Her mind flashed back to her youth, to those nights where her father's idea of a bedtime story was yet another legend of the dark knight that fought for the sake of the human race. He spoke of the demon's sacrifices as if he'd seen the events first-hand, spoke of the power that Sparda had given up to live like one of them. One of them! Weak, lowly humans. Could you believe it, her father would ask, a demon desiring to be human?

Mary would nod her head, even though she doubted it even then. Bedtime stories always took place 'once upon a time' and princesses were always involved, damsels in distress with a dragon keeping them prisoner in tall towers for god-knows-what. Then the valiant knight, riding on horseback and wielding a mighty sword, would come to slay the beast and save the princess in the tower. She knew that those things didn't exist, so why would this one be different? Why this one knight?

Still, Arkham seemed so interested. He really did believe, right? It would have broken his heart if she said no, so she agreed instead. Mary wanted him to know that she was a good girl.

And just as she imagined that, she knew this: he died never knowing her honest opinion about the legends.

That thought, along with all the others, was just simply too much for her to bear.

The huntress slammed the book shut, hurled it away from her with as much force as she could, and buried her face in her hands, silently sobbing while trying to hide her tears.

Sometimes, it was the little things that set her off.

Deathvoid.

Something within Dante's subconscious dubbed the gate before him with that name. The fact that it was covered in a swirling portal of darkness might have helped him come to that decision. Coming from said portal, thin black tendrils reached out at the hunter, trying to lick at him. The gate spanned the entire width of the stairs and stretched vertically higher than he could jump. There was no way around it at all.

The hunter scoffed; the only way past the obstacle would be through it, he guessed. Something like this was bound to be standing in his path anyway, and it was better to get it over with, so he took a brave step forward. Once within the void, the ground just dropped from underneath him and sent him plummeting straight down into the darkness below.

No walls, no floor, there was nothing to hold onto to slow his fall. He had no telling which way was up or down. He'd gotten enough of that feeling while fighting the demons that posed as angels, but no more. He sought out a balance as best as he could and righted himself just as he landed on something hard. He landed on his feet in a crouch and looked to either side. Nothing. Nothing to see, anyway. Good to know he'd given the place an apt name before even stepping in; it was dark and quiet as death down here.

Dante summoned the gauntlets and greaves, looking around at the space the weapons could light. He tapped his feet on the floor. It felt like solid ground, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. With time and one careful step after another; he found that the room was circular. No exit in sight. Just various semi-circular things in the walls—they looked like eyes.

Dante approached one and reached out to touch it when he heard something shift behind him, alerting his senses. He whirled around to face the dark just as something glowed in the very far distance but it faded to nothing. Had it been watching?

He tensed, but not of his own will; a pressure was bearing on him from all sides, stifling him. The light in his weapons dimmed to nothing.

One of the 'eyes' opened from the left end of the room, cast a shadow to his right. Off— on— the shadow was to the left. Off— On— the lights flickered on, off, from every direction, one nearly managing to blind Dante. He raised his arms up to shield himself then the room went pitch black. He put his arms down, listening for anything. The 'show' must have been the work of a demon controlling the void.

Dante shrugged, relaxed his posture now that he could. "This is supposed to be scary?" he taunted, calling out to nothing. "I get a bigger fright from my agent when he doesn't get his cut. You should meet him sometime!"

A loud cry of pain answered him. The light came on behind him and cast his shadow, but at the end, just outside the reach… Lady was curled up, sobbing and shivering. What looked like blood was seeping from her figure and into the floor. The sight was unnerving, for all of a second.

Dante pointed Ebony at the demon. "Nice try. Too late, though. I already know she's safe."

'Lady' looked up at him, scowling. Off; Darkness enveloped everything again. On; The shadow was cast behind him. Looking over his shoulder—Vergil did the same. They were back-to-back, both poised for a good shot if either was quick to take advantage. Dante faced forward again, smirking. "That's just too easy."

He turned quickly intending to behead the demon with a swipe and the lights went out again so that he struck only empty space.

Dante frowned. How unimpressive that he face a mimicry demon now, especially one that had shown him all its tricks so far. He walked around the room, slowly, channeling his energy into the gauntlets and getting them to light again until they could sustain it on their own. With the weapons come to life just barely, Dante stopped circling the room, making his way to one of the lights and knocking on the lids. "You can't keep hiding forever!" Not like you can do anything in this form, anyway, he finished the thought in his head.

From what it showed him so far, it only cast illusions using a light source— if there was light, or even an object. The demon was useless in total darkness as well; while he couldn't harm it, without a physical form it would barely touch him either, only try to keep him still. Solidifying it was the only chance either of them had at an actual fight, it looked like. Killing it would be a matter of when, not if.

He continued tapping, then drew back and punched the shell. The lids flew open.

The demon hissed from the far side of the room. Dante turned to face it and found a formless mass. "So, there you are."

The darkness came closer and closer, shrinking in the face of the light and morphing into a vaguely more human shape as it slunk towards Dante's shadow. The hunter ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and watched. The thing, whatever it was supposed to be, seemed to be looking at him. Its eyes glowed an ominous red before a voice echoed off of the walls.

Why do you fight?

Dante's eyes darted around briefly at the sound before registering that it was the demon's voice; deep, raspy, angry in tone and questioning. The devil hunter just shrugged his shoulders in response. "What? all you're gonna do is ask questions?"

The voice said once more, with no change, Why do you fight?

"Why the hell's it any of your business?" Ivory was leveled at the demon's head. It wasn't that difficult; Dante could just shoot it now that this thing was physically standing in front of him, but…

What do you hope to accomplish?

"Like I said, it's none of your business." His hand started shaking. Why? He already knew the answer to the questions. Why was he still shaking as if the demon had struck a nerve?

You're still afraid, human.

He was about to childishly respond 'I am NOT!' but his hand proved quicker as he pulled the trigger, Ivory ringing out in quick shots, its sound echoing around him. The light came off at the same time, the bullets missing their mark as it became dark yet again.

Damn, better timing! He needed better timing, but more importantly, he needed to calm down. The demon was trying to make him lose his cool. He just… had to ignore it and fire when it next appeared.

On—

The light was stronger and the shadow darker. The demon stood within Dante's actual shadow, as if they were connected, and held a more distinct shape than before. It was much taller, inhuman, it was a mirror of Dante's own demonic form. The mimic bared his fangs in blatant mockery of a smile, drew out a copy of Rebellion from its place on his back and motioned for Dante to 'bring it'.

Come on then, fight me!

"Now that's more like it!" Dante wasn't going to be taken down by some psychoanalysis bullshit from some mimicry demon. He was eager for a real fight…

Then he made a mistake.

He was the one to charge head-on into the darkness, straight into enemy territory, not the mimic into the light.

At first it meant nothing. Despite the advantage the hunter thought the devil had in his own element, they matched each other in strength and speed. They parried each other's blows, and each time they crossed swords they would break the clinch in order to take advantage and attack, only to meet the other's blade once more. They were caught in a livelock, and it couldn't last. Dante was going to make sure of it.

However, the number of mistakes grew.

As the time went on, they weren't evenly matched anymore. The demon was faster by so much as milliseconds and it was infuriating to no end for the devil hunter to attack and miss by a hair, or to be too slow to dodge the very tip of the blade that sliced into his torso.

This- this couldn't be happening. Shouldn't be happening. Dante couldn't lose to this thing. He couldn't! He tried to push himself to move faster, react quicker, to swing and slash but he ached, wounded all over because he wasn't allowing himself time to recover. He tried to ignore that because he had no time for it. Even when he pushed against his limits, his answer was to hurl himself full force until it broke and gave up trying to hold him in because that was his solution to everything.

He gripped the hilt of Rebellion so tightly his fingers were bleeding. Each move he made was close to tearing the cries right out of his lungs, but he didn't care. He was going to win. He had to! He just needed more than what he had then, more than the strength that was slipping through his fingers.

The mimic was smirking the entire time, and its expression was more apparent as the seconds passed on. With each attack that came its way, its claws morphed to bloodied fingers, its armor to tattered clothing, its scales to broken and bruised skin. He mirrored his opponent's human form save for the pitch-black of his skin and the tendrils of his own demonic aura trailing beneath his feet.

Dante lunged to attack, but the demon effortlessly knocked away another strike from Rebellion with its copy.

You're still afraid, human.

"Afraid of," Dante huffed, "afraid of what?" He staggered back and tried to recover just as much as he thought he needed, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. He greedily sucked in breath after ragged breath while he could almost feel his old wounds reopening, the tinge of copper in his mouth.

The demon in the shadows let out a laugh that echoed off of the walls and made it seem like there were more of him.

This could all be over for you. Just give in.

Give in...? It was all coming together now, and the devil hunter was disgusted with the idea. No. It'd never happen. He wouldn't transform into that thing, even if not doing so killed him (even if he was dying right then as he stood). Become a demon? Embrace it, the same way his brother did?

"Not a chance." He would take the mimic down without calling on those powers. He reached with his right hand and unholstered Ebony just as he had before. The demon lifted his arm, mirroring the motion.

Wait—

Something was wrong. He couldn't pinpoint where. He glanced down at his black gun on his…

Wait—

He pulled out Ebony with his right. His right! No, no, it couldn't be! It was supposed to be Ivory!

He looked back up at the mimic. Ebony was in the demon's left hand, where it was supposed to be. That was right, but this was wrong. All wrong, and it only got worse from then on.

Right before his eyes, the demon underwent a gradual shift. Each 'eye' in the room opened as the other began to close. The light got closer to the mimic, and the darkness that enveloped it like a second skin was beginning to lift. The aura beneath him was receding, while the darkness only grew on Dante's side.

The half-demon tried to think, to act, but a familiar pressure was bearing down on him, and he couldn't hold up any longer. The gun slipped out of his fingers. Rebellion fell away from his grasp. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

It took a while to sink in that he himself was slowly losing shape and form as his skin, his clothes, even his weapons darkened like his new surroundings.

"What… the hell?"

It became hard to think, even harder to breathe. Dante panicked like the scared human that he was and started crawling, clawing at the air, trying to reach the demon, trying to get up and run. However, his legs felt like jelly while his form began to melt into the ground beneath him.

Wait, I can't… he shouted, shocked that even his voice echoed just as deep and raspy and enraged as the shadow before but no less scared.

The darkness was sinking in completely. The demon lunged anyway, its fingers reached for the 'human', wrapped tightly around his neck—

That's when the lights went out and neither of them felt a thing.