Disclaimer:- Let's see……I don't own Devil May Cry, any copyrighted affiliations of it, or anything that may get me in a pile of trouble. All I own are a select few OCs, all of whom I hope you enjoy. So, go ahead and read on (I'm assuming that you didn't open this fic up just to hear the disclaimer. If you did, kindly skip to the bottom of the page and tell me what you thought of it)

Joe:- Sorry for the long wait, I don't actually have an excuse. I have a reason, but not an excuse. I simply never found the time to update quickly. This chapter's a big one, and took a good long while to write. I hope you all appreciate how big it is (Not: You might as well put that in your reviews. Oh, and I want them to be big too!!).

Speaking of reviews, I also apologise for the many reviews that I never replied to (So, let me now. They were all brilliant reviews; I would love to get some more.) because I haven't been on this for a while.

Gromit's Predator: War has been updated, twice. Even though he may kill me for spilling it, it involves Uzi wielding Jamaicans, very irritable old ladies, and hooded figures. And, of course, one mean Predator.

I feel very proud. No-one has cracked the code and discovered who Sparda's brother is. Not one of you included within their review (Thanks again) their idea of whom Sparda's brother is. It's too late now, because I've obviously just posted this chapter, which contains the answer. If you do, I'll know that you just read on and found out yourself. Hah.

And now, for the grand finale of the Battle of the Divine, of which I have started to get bored of, and therefore why I am ending it now.

Here we go. (Oh, and I know that I shouldn't do this, but, Laryna6, the reason for Matier's absence is coming up.)

Joel sighed with impatience as he traipsed on after the miserable old elder in front. He was currently part of a large group of young people and ancient vegetables (not literal vegetables) that were unfit for battle. Père was marching alongside him, his once enthusiastic and confident face now reduced to one of extreme boredom. They had been on the go for some time now, with the only eventful experience being an old man's transformation, which he had triggered due to shock of the sudden appearance of a perfectly harmless cave-bat. After a hasty return to normal, everything went silent again.

Up ahead, Joel noticed the old one stagger. He had been leading this godforsaken group of people for a while, and age was starting to take it's toll on him. He was getting too old for this.

Joel heard Père give a sigh of relief beside him as the old man sat down on a rock nearby.

"I think that we'll take a rest now," the old coot announced in a wheezy voice.

Joel gave no pretence of friendliness to this man. It was hard to sympathise with, (In Joel's opinion) a selfish old bastard. He was taking a rest now, when he needed a rest. But, when someone else was literally about to collapse, would he even slow down the pace?

Of course not. He would merely signal for Joel to help him to his/her feet.

Joel got a strange suspicion that the old guy hated Joel as much as Joel hated him. Every time the two spoke to each other, it would be in cold tones.

Joel walked over to a coffin nearby and inspected it. It was severely crumbled away, making it basically a pile of pebbles with a dead body inside. The stench was unbearable. Joel loathed these stupid catacombs. They stunk, they were much too long than necessary, and they gave you an eerie feeling that you were being watched. Something that no-one wants to feel when in the presence of the deceased.

But, Joel was not complaining at the moment, something that boded to Père as an ominous sign. For, Joel normally never kept his thoughts bottled up. The main reason of his silence was because of his growing concern for his father's well-being.

Père placed his hand onto Joel's shoulder. "It'll be alright," he said in a reassuring voice.

Joel looked up at him, his eyes glinting from the little light that was being produced from various lit torches. He was apparently suppressing tears.

Now, seeing an 18 year old boy (or, man) in tears was not a happy sight. What made it even worse was that Père knew exactly why the tears were coming out.

"It won't be like last time," Père stated, in a further attempt to reassure his younger brother.

Rather than making the situation better, it just made it worse. Memories sprang, unbidden, into Joel's head, memories that he would prefer to pretend never happened.

For, years ago, when the two brothers were in single-digits, a terrible tragedy happened. Something that was so far similar to the current situation.

A large band of demons were approaching the small town in which they resided. The alarm went off, and the Guardians prepared themselves from the onslaught soon to come.

The boys' mother was one of them.

Joel had pulled on her pants when she had turned to leave. He had been 5 at the time, so when he rose a toy sword, he wasn't taken seriously.

His mother, laughing, had stated the same thing that his father had just after the alarm rang after the ritual.

You're too young.

And, another thing, that Joel had heard from both his parents again., something that made him more anxious than normal about this new attack. It all seemed so familiar.

I'll return, I promise.

Of course, the mother had died in the attack. Ever since, the two boys had been traumatised. Loss of a mother at such a young age.

And now, Joel didn't know whether fate would decide to do the same thing it did to him years ago. He wouldn't be able to bear it if it did. It would simply be too much.

Forcing a smile, Joel nodded his thanks. He walked up to a Guardian that had been assigned to watch over them. She was red-haired and carried twin blades.

"Excuse me?" he said politely.

"Yes?" the guradian replied "...Joel, isn't it? You're Andrè's son."

Joel nodded in response.

"The name's Lucia. Pleased to meet you," she extended an arm, and Joel shook it. "I guess that you're fairly irritated. That you aren't fighting, I mean. You look close to Guardianship age."

"Yeah," Joel said vaguely "But, eh, that's not why I wanted to talk to you."

She put on a hurt expression.

"You had a reason? And here I was thinking you were trying to be polite."

"Wha-?" Joel stuttered "No-sorry, I mean-"

"I'm joking!" she interjected, laughing.

"Oh…right-yeah," Joel mumbled "Anyway, I need to ask, you see, I know that you lost a family member before, so I wondered-"

The smiled faded from the Guardian's face and was replaced with a grim expression. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

"Well, I, uh, wondered," Joel pressed on, still stuttering "How d'you manage?"

The Guardian was saved from answering that depressing question by a scream from the end of the group.

The two quickly stood up to see what had caused the distress.

A young girl was squealing and pointing down the path, where demons were sprinting towards them, weapons drawn. The Guardian held out an arm, preventing Joel from advancing.

Then, she held out her twin blades and ran at the oncoming enemy.

Joel watched helplessly as she struck a demon on the head. This was suicide. There were far too many, with even more arriving by the second. Père, being a newly stated Guardian, sprung up to help her, pulling his sword out of it's scabbard.

Joel could only back off as he watched a battle rage. The demons were recovering from the initial surprise of finding fighters among the young and weak, and were now going full on.

He was so engrossed in the battle that he did not notice the demon approach him from the side. It was only when the demon had started swinging it's blade did Joel realise it's presence. Reacting only by primal instinct, Joel ducked the swipe, then jumped back out of harms immediate path.

The demon was angered by it's target's evasion, but felt that it would not last longer. Taking a forward step, it spun it's staff towards Joel, hoping to cleave him in the chest multiple times. Joel managed to leap backwards, but not in time to dodge the full damage of the blade. One of the blades cut through his sleeve and some of his arm, leaving a cursed and steaming cut behind.

Gasping, Joel seized his arm automatically in pain, but then stumbled and tripped.

Looking up, he saw the demon raising the staff above it's head, ready to bring it swiftly down for the kill. Joel could hear his heart beat differently; faster and louder, he could feel it beating into his ribcage.

He closed his eyes and gulped, waiting for the end to come. He heard the demon give a last roar of satisfaction before it brought the blade down. Joel winced with the thought of what should be happening almost immediately.

It never came.

Daring a glimpse, Joel slightly opened his eyes. He could make out a new silhouette beside the opposing one closest to him. Opening them fully, he saw Père struggling with his sword held out, stopping the staff's descent.

The demon looked furious. Every time it was about to finish off Joel, something would prevent it. Judging by Père's groans, the demon was winning the tiny war between the two. Roaring, this time louder than the last, it threw Père off. Joel watched as Père went into the air, then his head collided with the wall, knocking him out-cold.

Feeling a sudden unexplainable anger, Joel rose his foot and kicked the demon in the chest. Fortunately for the demon, it was armoured, preventing it from receiving enough damage to do anything. But, an angered half-demon, even it is young, has astonishing strength, more powerful than a grown human. Therefore, the demon was knocked off it's feet.

Joel got up, his arm still hurting. He only remembered that he didn't stand a chance against the demon when it rose, livid. Joel could almost see the steam erupting from the holes in it's mask where it's nostrils presumably were.

But, once again, the demon's chances of killing it's target were reduced by interference.

For, the party of soldiers that had followed the demons inside the tower had arrived, Joel's father included. The opposing demons that had just entered not ten minutes ago were facing two-on-one numbers. Previously, they only had one fully trained and fit Guardian, an untested novice, and the odd selection of old people with some fight left in them.

Now, however, they were facing a division of the forces that they had previously fought.

Vergil took in his surroundings. The majority of the people here, apart from his warriors, were too old or young for anything. He was taken roughly from these thoughts as a blade went slicing through the air, approaching his head.

Vergil ducked, then reached out and grabbed onto the pole of the staff.

He pulled on it, trying to take it. The demon, sensing Vergil's choice of action, pulled it towards itself, trying to prevent Vergil from robbing his weapon.

Vergil bent down low, then retrieved a dagger from his belt, then slashed just below the demon's hand, on a severe weak spot on any being with a pulse.

The opposing force from the blade was relinquished as the demon squealed in anguish as blood spurted uncontrollably from it's wrist. Vergil yanked it off in victory, then watched with a twisted grin as the poor creature died of blood loss.

He then swiftly turned to slash at an oncoming enemy with his newfound weapon. He was surprised at how light it was, yet it was strong, wrought of an unknown substance. The curse on it was effective too, he realised. It slowed down the healing process of any demonic entity, and the wound inflicted continuously stung.

The only bad thing about it was the rancid stench the stench the steam erupting from it made.

He spun it in swerving arcs across his body, deflecting all of the attacks that were coming from surrounding enemies. He spun with it, increasing it's velocity, then worked his body downwards, severing the enemies unprotected kneecaps.

When they all fell, he threw one like a javelin at one of the helpless demons. The rest were dispatched by a hail of magically charged bullets from Betsy.

Andrè searched around the catacomb corridor in which the battle was raging. His sons should be around here somewhere…

He slammed his poled mace into the back of an unwary demon's head, crushing it's skull.

Ignoring it's screams of pain, he pushed it out of his way to continue his search.

His eyes rested upon a small figure evading death at the hands of a demon. Nearby the two, he could see an unmoving figure against a rock. Dashing forward, he held out his mace.

His yellows eyes shone out, exterminating the white and pupil of the eye, all that could be seen in them was a yellow light. For, a yellow mist was coming out of his newly formed body.

As the traditions went, those with yellow eyes had devil-forms of humanoid form with an alteration of some form or other.

Andrè's was a pitch-black skinned form with black hair. The blue armour that he was wearing was formed a darker shade, and his mace was shining, with yellow steam coming from it. His hands were horned, as were his ankles, which had punched a hole through his footwear. Had his thoughts not been fixed on the protection of his children, he would have cursed; those boots were expensive.

With a guttural roar, he slammed the mace across the demon's side, knocking him flying into the wall with a sickening crunch.

Focusing, Andrè pointed the end of his mace at the crippled enemy and fired his attack.

A yellow beam of some form of energy blasted into the demon's body, disintegrating it and leaving a black smudge on the wall; the only remains of the demon.

The powerful attack that he had just unleashed had leeched Andrè of his remaining stored energy. A sphere of yellow light bound into him, until he was back in his regular form.

He turned to Joel, who was now wearing a look of extreme relief. Joel took a step forwards his father, but halted when Andrè noticed something that made him grip his mace again. A roar had alerted him to a demon that was about to finish off the still figure of Père.

Vergil turned from the pile of dead enemies around him to check on his companions. He found an enemy that was about to cleave through a Guardian with dirty blonde hair who had his back turned.

Sprinting forward with his katana held out, Vergil jumped and raised Yamato to stab into the back of the demon. His grip slightly loosened when he realised it was too late.

Joel raised an eyebrow, unaware of why his father hadn't taken a step forward to aid Père. He turned his head to see what was wrong. He worked hard to stop himself from doing something stupid: the demon approaching Père was within blade's reach of Père.

He received the familiar helpless sensation for the umpteenth time that day as he watched tragedy occur. The demon raised the blade high above it's head, then brought it down.

Time seemed to slow down for Joel, as he watched in horror as the blade forced it's way down to Père's unconscious form. He let out a yell just before the bladed staff cut through Père's flesh, then down his body, making it look impossible for it to recover at any point.

His heart felt like it was bleeding, there was nothing he could do now. He felt an odd sensation of anguish spread across his features. He had just watched his brother die in front of him. He felt weak, fragile, as if a poison was going through his system.

First Mom, and now Père?

Vergil felt a sudden surge of anger. The demon had stabbed it's blade into the back of Andrè's body, tearing through the space where Andrè's heart undoubtedly was. Feeling the least he could do was kill the demon that killed Andrè, Vergil killed the demon in the same manner that it had killed Andrè: into the back of it's body and through it's heart. He twisted Yamato in a corkscrewing fashion, savouring the moment of vengeance. An eye for an eye, he thought grimly, a heart for a heart.

The demon gave one last shriek before dematerialising.

It was in the worst of moments did Joel turn to see his father's expression of the loss of his son, but found something else, something that would burn into his head for the rest of his life, along with the death of his mother and brother, though this would be clearer, marking his path of action for his life.

There was his father, a blade coming into his back and out through his front, where his heart was. He was already in a weakened state from his previous loss, so he was completely unprepared for this.

He could see his father directly in front of him, the blade of his attacker coming through him.

But all he could see behind Andrè was Vergil, his blade stabbed into the back of Andrè.

Dante parried a strike from Vlad, then counter-attacked, attempting a slash through his chest.

But Vlad was too quick; immediately after Dante's parry, he brought his curved blade back towards Dante, blocking the slash.

The two swords clashed, each of the two fighters attempting to knock the blade out of the other's hands. Dante stared into the grinning expression of Vlad, his own teeth clenched.

"Not bad," Vlad stated, not showing any signs of strain "I expected nothing less from Sparda's son."

Making a quick decision, Dante stopped pushing, letting Vlad's blade come forward and force his upward. With huge determination, Dante kept his grip on the sword, then brought it to swish through Vlad's unprotected stomach.

Vlad groaned, and stepped back.

"You have no idea what I can do," Dante replied, taking an upward stance with Rebellion.

Vlad actually laughed, which managed to unnerve Dante.

"You're very like your father! Do you know that?" he said, casually swinging his blade upwards to break Dante's stance.

"You knew him?" Dante spat, spinning to recover from his broken stance, then lunged "I never knew that he associated himself with filth like you!"

Vlad was still smiling, although he was showing signs of stinging from the insult. It was as if he regularly had pleasant conversation with battling enemies.

"Did you not know? He wasn't a rebel from the beginning," Vlad answered, parrying the lunge "In fact, we were in speaking terms, a good devil, if you don't mind me saying."

Dante struck Rebellion upwards after Vlad knocked it down after the lunge. He smirked as he nicked Vlad's leg, but not causing any damage. He seemed to be having the upper hand, but he had a grim feeling that Vlad wasn't giving his full potential.

Well, he thought, his loss. It's his own fault if I kill him before he's ready.

Deciding to go all out and catch Vlad by surprise, Dante froze for about a second. Vlad stared at him with a raised eyebrow, unaware as to what Dante was planning. Dante focused for another while, preparing himself to go as fast as he possibly could - teleportation, as the humans called it.

Vlad stood there, watching with unease. He knew that the half-demon was planning something, but didn't know what it was. He had seen demons do the same stance before, and set a curse onto anyone who touched them while in that stance.

However, it didn't look like Dante was doing the same thing. Choosing to act quickly, Vlad held out his sword, then took a step forward and swung.

Just before the blade made contact with Dante, Vlad noticed Dante's eyes flash red, then he disappeared.

Vlad took on a middle stance with his blade, ready to deflect any incoming attacks that he was sure would come soon. A rustle to his left made him desert his stance and swipe.

He hit nothing but air.

Dante, sensing that Vlad had fallen for his little diversion, struck him from Vlad's right.

Vlad let out a howl, not because pf the pain, but rather of impatience and annoyance.

Before Vlad could attack Dante again, his eyes flashed red again and he was gone once more. Vlad heard a rustle behind him.

He clenched his teeth. He wouldn't fall for that again. He kept his ready stance, waiting for Dante to come.

It was only when he noticed at the last moment that he had fallen for Dante's trick again, for Dante had attacked him from behind.

Vlad was knocked onto all fours. With a burst of anger and white hot fury, he pointed his fingers at Dante and clicked.

Before Dante could move again, a flurry of bats attacked him, the sanguinary pack biting at him from all angles. Dante tried in vain to beat the crowd off of him.

Vlad made his move while his enemy was distracted by his bats. Focusing some energy into his blade, he concentrated hard on his next attack.

The curved blade shone violet, indicating that the attack was ready. Aiming with the end of his blade, Vlad chose what spot to hit.

Bolts of violet electricity crackled as it erupted from the tip of the blade, then they zoomed around the air for a while. Then, as quick as a flash, they went on a bee-line towards the target aimed at.

Dante's eyes unfocused as he fell to his knees, feeling a considerable amount of pain going through his system; the bolts of violet lightning had struck him right between his legs, in the crotch.

He remained on the ground for a good while, trying to make the pain stop.

But, it was not to be, for Vlad was soon beside him, pointing his fingers at him again. A small group of bats appeared, grabbed Dante by the shoulders, then held him up into the air.

Vlad focused another type of energy into his sword, smirking in a sinister fashion as Dante stared at him reproachfully.

Releasing the energy, Vlad unleashed an attack at Dante's chest.

What looked like transparent violet purple ropes bound into Dante, inflicting damage onto his body. Dante screamed in pain as the violet ropes kept on binding tighter and tighter.

With a click of his fingers, Vlad made the bats disappear, and the ropes. Dante fell onto the ground, his breaths forced and ragged.

Vlad smiled at his work. He had gone a little too hard on the mongrel, but, then again, it had infuriated him with it's stupid little disappearing act.

Vlad rose his blade into the air, deciding to finish off the son of Sparda. He brought it down swiftly.

Dante knew that it was a stupid thing to do, but the only thing that he could do was a desperate attempt to keep alive.

Feebly moving his fingers, he concentrated the demonic battle energy that he had received from the last long week of battling; a considerable amount of power.

The air around him went white, and everything went into negative colours. Dante rolled over, only narrowly missing the falling blade, which was now going slowly downwards.

If he wasn't in considerable pain, Dante would have laughed at the expression on Vlad's face, and the way he went "Huh?" in slow motion, making it sound much longer and humorous. Dante always had a good time using this technique on enemies.

Dante devil triggered, the normally red sphere of binding light becoming light blue. He stuck his finger out into the air, making the air go back to normal, and making the distorted air around Dante go red. He felt his wounds go away quicker than normal as his black scales patched up the scars on his skin.

"Come on, then!" He taunted, his voice echoing through his vocal chords alone.

Vlad bared his teeth, showing two fangs where his canine teeth should have been. He didn't expect such a move from a half-demon, maybe the Sparda blood going through him wasn't tainted with the human's…

It didn't matter anyway, all that mattered at the moment was that Dante was still alive, and that needed remedy.

Vlad stood still, letting his enemy come to him. So far he had underestimated Dante, and he was not going to make that mistake again.

Dante stood still as well. The longer he stalled, the better. He was still wounded, and if he waited a little longer, he would feel better. He had tonnes of energy to spare: he had ever since the demons had multiplied, back in New York. He could keep this up for hours if he wanted to. And, so far, Vlad had proved to be impatient, he was bound to attack first, one way or other.

Dante felt better. His scales were now intact, and he felt no pain where the bolts of electricity struck. Oh, well, he might as well attack first.

Spreading out a pair of wings, Dante leapt into the air (Note: I'm deciding to make him fly properly, like in DMC2, not like the crappy hover in the other ones) and beat his wings to go high into the air, then kept his position.

Vlad stared up, his mouth set to a grim expression. If he wanted to play high, they could play high. Surely, Dante was forgetting who he was fighting?

Vlad's fangs lengthened, then a film of skin grew out from the bottom of his arm, then, he joined Dante high into the air.

He was greeted by a sword thrown like a boomerang. Vlad evaded to the left, but felt the tip of Rebellion nicking a piece of his chest. Vlad countered with a blast of electricity, which got Dante in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Groaning, Dante tried to breath regularly as he flew a bit higher to dodge a second blast. He should have brought Sparda with him. Vlad would be long gone by now. Dante could sense that he wasn't as powerful as Mundus, so maybe a few blasts from his fists and a dragon of flame would have finished Vlad.

However, Dante felt that he could kill Vlad without it. He had the potential.

Focusing hard, Dante made a copy of himself appear beside him. It was transparent and had a dark shade to it, but it could still damage enemies.

The two split: the shadow going behind Vlad while Dante took him head on. Vlad never noticed the transparent figure go behind him, all he saw was Dante coming straight at him, Rebellion held out as if to spear Vlad. Vlad raised his hand to click, but never managed to.

For, a blade had just impaled him from behind. Vlad took in a wheezing breath as the blade was pulled out, causing more damage. He turned around to see a dark shadow of Dante looking at him expressionlessly, his face blank. Vlad swept at it with his blade, but it only went through it. Then, just before he could react, a hand gripped him from behind, and he felt Rebellion just at his throat. The shadow before him vanished, as Dante focused all of his power into this last stroke.

Vlad gulped in panic, but regretted doing so immediately afterwards, as he felt Rebellion even closer to his throat.

Crìnge was right, he thought miserably , I shouldn't have gone.

Suddenly, Rebellion crackled, as red electricity ran up and down it. Dante's echoing voice ran through the air, like the angel of death.

"Tell Mundus I was asking for him."

That was the last thing Vlad heard as Dante pulled the crackling blade sharply to the side, slitting Vlad's throat.

Vergil and the survivors of the small band walked slowly out of the entrance to the tower. The sun was high in the sky now, casting it's warmth onto all of them. The demons that had entered the tower had been vanquished, and the young ones and the old had been saved. The only exception being a son of Andrè, and a small group of elders that had been foolish enough to try fighting. The only loss of the warriors were Andrè and a dark haired Guardian that had risked his life defending a pair of small children. The Guardian that had been assigned to protect the evacuees had survived, and had claimed to have met Dante before.

Vergil put his hand above his eyebrows to shield them from the sun as he gazed out to the small remains of fighting. Apparently, the head had just been cut off the snake, as he had received information that Dante had emerged from the fight with Vlad victorious.

All of the demons were not yet gone, but were still fighting honourably, their purpose for life gone, but still choosing to die fighting. They were now reduced to a small group, more than three quarters of them slain. They were putting up a brave fight.

Vergil broke out of his usual ways and smiled, for he could see a familiar face blowing the head off one of the demons with a shotgun directly in the face, then turning to Vergil and waving.

"All right, there?" Tailor called out.

"I'm still alive, at least!" Vergil replied, grinning broadly.

Tailor walked up to Vergil, swinging his shotgun from side to side.

"Ah, well, that's all we can hope for," he said "Can the same be said for Dante? Haven't seen him since he decided to be an idiot and agree with the Michael Jackson guy!"

Vergil laughed, something that he didn't normally do. Now that Tailor had brought it up, he hadn't seen Dante since his foolish ploy. He scanned the landscape for Dante, and his eyes rested upon a large rock. Dante was leaning against it, and was deep in conversation with the red-haired Guardian.

"So," Dante said "How've you been? Haven't seen you since you hired me."

Lucia nodded, smiling. It had been a long while.

"How's Granny?" Dante enquired suddenly "Still keeping well?"

Lucia's expression suddenly hardened. Dante felt that he had said something wrong.

"Dead," she said, just as Dante opened his mouth to apologise "Killed in an attack a few months back."

"Oh…" Dante mumbled, wishing dearly that he had not asked.

His expression brightened when he finally came up with a suitable statement.

"By the way," he stated "I never got my payment for killing that guy!"

Lucia smirked and merely waved it off.

"Forget it. I ended up killing Arius."

"Oho!" Dante exclaimed, in mock anger "What about all of those other demons I killed?! They should end up on the bill!"

Lucia opened her mouth to remark, but Dante continued.

"And Argosax! And that guy that I think was the sun god!"

Lucia was saved the liberty of having to answer to this by a large amount of yelling. Several fighters were screaming and pointing at an incoming carriage, moving by itself.

Lucia drew her swords and Dante took Ebony and Ivory out of their holsters.

A few feet away, Vergil gripped Yamato and Tailor aimed his shotgun at the carriage.

The Guardians and the twins could all sense that something powerful was in it. Something that they could not possibly fight at the moment, after the weakening they suffered from the immense amount of demons.

The human military saw the carriage, but could not tell whether it meant good news or bad. They were too preoccupied by the remainder of demons, which were showing no signs of giving up.

The carriage stopped a few paces away from the battle, and anybody that was close to it backed away nervously.

The door opened, but nobody could see anybody that opened it.

Finally, a figure stepped out onto the ground and peered around, and some others decided to join him. The first figure pointed at the carriage, and it disappeared into a wisp of smoke.

Nobody spoke, the only sounds coming from the fight still at hand.

Vergil's face was filled with awe rather than fear. He could tell that every single one of these newcomers were every bit as powerful as the strongest being he had ever seen. Some were a little behind that amount, but one or two exceeded it by an extreme amount. Mundus being the one that Vergil thought the most powerful.

The first figure gave him a strange feeling. Something that he could not put his finger on. Also, there was something about his aura that was familiar. His hair was platinum, like his and Dante's. His eyes were strange as well, but not as strange. They had the white, the pupil, but no iris. It merely looked like a white circle with a dark smudge in the centre. His skin was pale, not as pale as Vlad's, but almost the exact same as Vergil's. (Dante got too much sun to get pale)

He whispered something to the others, but Vergil was too far away to hear what he was saying.

"It does not seem promising. What do you say we should do next?"

His voice was deep, and was clear, even though he spoke at almost a whisper.

The one who answered had dark hair, and his expression was completely blank. When he answered, his voice sounded excited, but his face remained the same, indifferent.

"Well, I don't know about the others…" the second one spoke, taking a breath to think of what to say next, like a newcomer to English "But…it's been a long while since I had any action…why not kill a little amount of humans?"

There were some murmurs of agreement from the crowd, many of the faces looking excited.

Unfortunately, none but that group heard what they were saying. Though their minds were still focused on the newcomers, the battle was still on, so they still had to fight.

Crìnge and the others slipped into the large crowd of the battle, and joined in on the killing, slaying without mercy.

Dante punched a demon in the stomach, though his hand slightly hurt afterwards because of their armour. A half-demon's punch can break a thin layer of metal, but will still feel a little pain. While the demon bent over, Dante brought Rebellion down onto the back of it's head, slaying it.

He turned over to check on the others.

Tailor was in high spirits, blowing multiple demons away with his shotgun, not giving any quarter to those that crossed his path. Or his shotgun's.

Vergil effortlessly shot demons in the holes in their armour where their joints where, his gun set to semi-auto. He had just finished on his fourth demon (He shot it's knee caps, then finished it with Yamato) when he saw something ahead of him. The platinum haired figure was killing military soldiers and Guardians with some rather lazy swings of his arm where a long, thick and black-coloured sword was held.

Those who were caught in the path of the blade were knocked flying into the air inexplicably, as if the sword had some sort of power imbued in it. Vergil only noticed then that the figures flying through the air were aflame, like miniature comets zooming through the air.

The figure turned to face him, as if he knew that Vergil was looking at him. He raised his sword into the air.

Vergil closed his eyes, not knowing whether or not the sword was powerful enough to kill him with one fell swipe.

It never came. Vergil looked at the figure. He seemed to have thought better of killing Vergil, and put his sword into a hilt that was hidden under his black hooded robe.

"You're not going to attack me?" Vergil suddenly asked, barely managing to keep a façade of coolness and calmness.

The figure's voice was cold and harsh, yet he was smiling. Vergil had been around powerful beings enough to know the way they showed their feelings. Barely ever. Vergil could tell that the figure was merely trying to stay impressive. To anybody else he would have. Vergil had kept his voice in that same way for too long to be fooled by it's purposes.

"Not today," the figure said "You can live for another while, at least."

And with that he turned away, his sword remaining in it's hilt.

Just then, a roaring Guardian came into sight and brought his sword down onto the figure.

But, right before it made contact with the figure's head, it froze. The figure did not even seem to be concentrating, as if this was as easy as breathing. The Guardian was thrown into the air and quite a distance away.

Vergil, casting all honour to the wind, charged at the figure and attempted to stab him with Yamato. Yamato was normally resistant to this kind of power.

But, to Vergil's shock and horror, his katana halted in midair just before the figure. The figure turned around, and Vergil discovered that a third eye had appeared above his colourless ones. In fact, Vergil realised that it wasn't even an eye, it was pupil-less, and was completely red. There was also one more distinguishing feature about it , that was only recognisable because Vergil had seen the same kind in ancient sketches in scrolls.

It was diamond shaped.

Before the figure could say anything, Vergil found himself speak first. He didn't feel the immediate need to continue on in Sparda's diary at the moment, as he had found an answer that he was looking for.

"You're-" Vergil blurted staring into the figure's face.

The figure smiled again, showing a perfect set of teeth, with only slightly fanged teeth where his canines should have been.

"You have discovered-I think-the reason why I am deciding not to kill you?" the figure stated.

Vergil nodded, then said:

"You're Sparda's twin?"

The figure nodded, then turned and walked away from the battle calling out:

"It is time! We have wasted enough time here!" and then the diamond shaped eye flashed red, and a carriage appeared from thin air.

The rest of the head demon joined him, some looking disgruntled, others looking mildly excited; they must on their way to doing something else.

"Wait!" Vergil called out, waving his arms.

Some others stared at him with raised eyebrows, while others looked at him reproachfully.

The figure paused for a while, sighed, then turned to face the son of Sparda.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding tired "I have a busy schedule, hurry."

Vergil noticed that the fighters were not still. Bullets were stopping in midair all around them, throwing daggers and suchlike joining them. The figure must be preventing them all from reaching their mark.

"Why?-" Vergil started, not noticing how this must look. He was also unaware that if he looked back on this moment, he would have been ashamed. He was showing his enemy weakness. Not only that, but he was showing his own fighters weakness, something no commander should do.

"If you are wondering why I am the way I am," the figure stated "I have no time for that story. You may find out a different time."

The invisible bubble of protection went away, bullets coming through.

Crìnge counted the number before him as they clambered into the carriage. When the last had gone in, he realised that they were missing one. His eyes rolled automatically to heaven when he realised who it was.

"Where is Pontius?!" he demanded to the others of the order.

Joel stumbled as he walked, unable to suppress the tears erupting from his eyes, which were flowing freely down his face, giving a strange tickling feeling as they went. He ignored it as his mind raced.

His father had been killed by a son of Sparda.

He tried in vain to shake these thoughts out of his mind as he leaned onto a large rock, barely able to support his own weight at the moment.

The sun spread onto his face, warming his face and lighting it up with it's energy, the exact antithesis of what he felt inside.

Cold. Dead. Dark.

He wiped his face with his sleeve as he tried to stop crying. He was almost a Guardian, for the love of God! He felt sick with himself as he sniffled. He was just gone an adult! And look at the state of him!

He thought of the situation. He was the only survivor of his family, every one of them murdered by demon kind, half or full.

He watched the battle rage on from a safe distance, his eyes red. What to do with the sons of Sparda…

For he knew that he couldn't live with himself if he didn't seek revenge. He had never thought it possible. Every time a son of Sparda was mentioned, it was with a warm heart. Like they were saviours. Ha!

What were they possibly up to?

Did they have some sort of secret that Andrè, his father, had discovered? Did they not want it out? Possibly, but maybe not.

Were they actually with the evil ones, and taking down the Guardians and humans one by one from behind enemy lines?

That seemed possible. Joel couldn't think of any other feasible reason. His eyes watered again, but not with sorrow.

He would kill them both, one way or another.

They were obviously in it together, the way they seemed so close. From what Joel had heard of the legend, they were nothing like their father.

He could see a lone figure battling all those surrounding him with apparent ease. Joel approached a little closer, to get a good view of the figure.

He was wielding the most peculiar weapon that Joel had ever seen. The closest thing that it was like was a kind of whip. For, there was a steel handle, made of a scarlet material, but at the end of the handle it separated.

Joel was still coming ever closer to the figure with interest.

At the end of the handle it broke into many pieces, like many whips attached to a single handle. That was as far as the similarities went. All along the side of the whips were miniscule blades, like tiny tips of knives that were cut off the rest of the blade and put on the weapon. At the very end of a whip was a single longer scarlet knife that had a black mist surrounding it. Every single one of the whips protruding from the handle were like this.

The figure was also peculiar, his face pale and his expression nonexistent. He had a perfectly normal face, all right, but his lack of expression made him look soulless, like he had no feelings. His eyes were a dark shade of orange, and they vanquished all theories of him being soulless. They showed any expression that he was feeling, that his face was failing to show.

With a single spinning jump, he dispatched all of the humans surrounding him.

Joel realised that he was too close; if the figure turned around, he would see Joel clearly. But, a strange sensation went through Joel's body, as if the figure already knew that he was there.

"Yes?" the figure stated, not bothering to turn and face Joel, merely wiping the blood off of his weapon.

Joel felt his throat dry up, rendering him speechless as he tried to think of something to say.

"You are troubled, young one," the figure said, turning to face him, his eyes showing cheerfulness.

Joel managed to speak out.

"You can tell? Before I said anything? Even before you saw me?" he blurted out.

The figure's eyes seemed to delve deep into Joel.

"I could sense your aura," the figure explained "You are troubled, traumatised, even."

Joel found himself once again unable to speak.

"Do not worry," the figure continued "All wounds heal with time, especially with a half-demon such as yourself."

"I saw something that changed a lot of things," Joel replied weakly.

It was a good reply, leaving the person spoken to guessing. It didn't give enough answers to tell the person what you wanted hidden, but qualified as a reply, inviting the person to continue the conversation.

"Such as?" the figure said, punching a hole through Joel's evasive answer.

Joel was about to give another uninformative answer, but felt that he trusted this figure. There was something about him that Joel liked.

He launched into his story, knowing that he shouldn't be saying anything. But, he needed to say it to somebody to relieve a small portion of the pain, to even speak it aloud would be help. A problem shared is a problem halved.

Joel blurted out about his mother's death, how similarly it was to his recent loss of his father, how he saw Vergil with his weapon out behind his fathers unmoving body.

By the end of it, the figure had his eyes closed, shutting out all hope of interpreting his reaction to the tale.

"…I see," he stated after a small while.

He opened his eyes, and Joel found to his astonishment that they were filled with interest, with what appeared to be a tinge of care. Joel felt his heart slightly lift. He felt so much better now that he had voiced his problems.

"So," the figure suddenly said "You want to destroy the sons of Sparda?"

Joel nodded, feeling foolish with his reply. But the figure showed no signs of humour.

"That will not be easy, almost impossible for one such as yourself," the figure stated. Just before Joel could say anything "But, with the right training, a most accomplishable task."

Joel's eyes brightened showing excitement. The figure stuck out his hand.

"Pontius."

Joel accepted it and shook it.

"Joel."

Pontius turned suddenly to the side, looking disgruntled. Joel noticed a carriage by the side, fired munitions merely bouncing off it.

"I have to go now," Pontius said.

Then, turning swiftly back to face Joel, his voice hardened as he spoke.

"Do you wish to come with me?"

Joel nodded dumbly.

"And, do you make a promise to follow my orders, as a mentor?"

Joel nodded once again.

"Good," Pontius said, then offering his hand to Joel again. Joel noticed Pontius' orange eyes flash for about a second. "This will be your contract," Pontius continued.

Joel raised an eyebrow. A handshake? It seemed ridiculous.

He accepted Pontius' hand a second time, but this time there was a difference.

Where the two hands were clasped, dark symbols which Joel could not comprehend emitted. They were all black and shining, and Joel could feel a strange sensation going through his body.

"It is done," said Pontius. And, sure enough, the dark shapes were no longer coming out of the hands. Pontius let go. "Now, unless I give my expressed permission, you will not break your promise."

Joel felt a shiver of fear spread throughout his body, and he gulped.

"What happens if I do?"

Pontius' eyes flashed dangerously.

"You will die."

And with that, Pontius turned towards the carriage, then signalled for Joel to follow.

"Coming?"

Joel could feel himself grin.

"Of course……………master."

Joe: BUM BUM BUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMM!!

Waddya think? Yes, it was long, and most likely boring. I was disappointed by it, there was something wrong with it that I can't put my finger on. shrugs Meh, probably wasn't important.

Once again, I apologise for not replying to any reviews. But, I assure you, they were all brilliant, and had good points.

Well, tell me what you think about the chapter, here's your chance.

Well, that's about it, so, until next time,

Ciao.