Chapter 10

Sparda sat calmly, his eyes roving about his surroundings as he patiently waited to be called in. Trish had suggested that he wear some sort of disguise so then he didn't attract any attention until he had to. Trish had warned him that he would inevitably create a disturbance; he was deemed a God and Gods were meant to belong to another world, were never meant to be seen by the human eye. He had at first questioned the wisdom of Trish's choice when she had presented him with a plain black hooded cloak. He had at first thought it archaic but Trish had assured him it wouldn't be a problem while he was in Fortuna.

Trish had been right, he concluded as he sat there. No one at Fortuna had paid him any mind, most of the denizens wearing robes themselves that reached down to the floor. He was greatly amused. The people of Fortuna had gotten it all wrong. It was true that he had been there in the medieval times and he had quite happily protected humanity up until his capture, but as the world had progressed and evolved, he had changed with it. There was no real need for the residents of Fortuna to be so…out-dated.

He shifted slightly in his chair but then stilled when the grand doors opened. He watched in silence as a man stepped out. He drew in a breath quite by accident; the resemblance to his sons was uncanny. He had no doubt that this man was Nero, he could smell a lingering trace of his own kind about him, yet at the same time it was obvious that he aged faster than a demon, yet slower than a human. He could see it in the man's jaded eyes. Making sure to keep his face hidden, he slowly rose, trying to convey respect. Nero showed no emotion, merely sighing as though weary. He made no remark about Sparda's hooded face, getting right to the issue.

'What is it?'

'I need to speak with you, in private.' Something flickered immediately in Nero's eyes, and Sparda could sense the unspoken question on his lips. He checked himself and nodded, looking to his attendant.

'We are not to be disturbed,' he said, his voice curt. He looked again towards Sparda, discreetly trying to peer past the hood and into his face. 'Come with me.' Sparda followed him into the private chambers, blinking when he took note of the few articles that clashed with the medieval atmosphere of the office. A stereo sat on top of a desk, his sword had clearly been toyed with and a sleek laptop case sat to one side. Sparda discreetly noted his clothes as Nero moved to sit down; they were more fit for Trish's world, not this medieval realm.

Sparda had lowered his guard and he flinched when steadfast blue eyes stared into his own. They widened slightly in surprise but before he could see more, Sparda had turned his head to one side, shielding his face from view. Nero held back, confusion blunting his features.

'How can I help?' he said at last. Sparda cast another look around the office before he reluctantly turned his head towards Nero again.

'I don't quite know,' he admitted. 'I was told to come here.' Nero got up suddenly, definite bewilderment shining in his eyes. Without even asking for permission, he reached out and lowered the hood of Sparda's cloak, taking in a deep breath as he gazed into his face.

'Dante?' He sounded weak with shock before he hugged him tightly. 'I thought it was you! You can try and hide your voice all you want but damn it, you can't pull a fast one on me! Not any more.' Did he really sound like me? Did he have my voice? Sparda stared at Nero numbly as he continued to talk excitedly. 'How the hell did you make it?' he laughed shortly. 'Then again, you always got out of the craziest shit. We should have known better.' He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he frowned. 'What's wrong? No trash-talking today?'

'I'm…not Dante…' Sparda muttered, his heart sinking. How many times would he have to say it? Nero frowned deeply before his eyes brightened.

'Amnesia,' he said at last. Sparda could only stare at him incredulously.

'No,' he whispered hoarsely. 'It's not amnesia.' He caught a brief glimpse of himself in one of the panes of glass. His hair was falling messily about his eyes. For a second, he could see his son staring back at him. Poor Trish. Poor Nero. Poor Dante. He felt sick. He swallowed hard and stepped away from nero at last.

'I'm not Dante,' he repeated, his voice sounding perhaps a little more firm. Nero stared at him without understanding. 'Look. I will show you exactly who I am.' He stepped into the brightest section of the room and turned, looking towards a wall. Nero frowned and followed his gaze, his eyes widening with horror when he recognized the shadow instantly.

'S-Sparda?' His voice was little more than a wheeze. His eyes swivelled onto the demon again, unable to believe. His knees went out from under him, sending him to the floor in prayer. 'My Lord, forgive me. I did not know.'

He was a god here. They worshipped a demon as if he were some holy creature. When Trish had told him, he had listened and had thought that she was merely exaggerating. But as he stared down at the man, he understood the enormity of what was at hand. At the same time, he couldn't help but be impressed; Nero hadn't screamed, nor had he run for help. Sparda knew he had to act before the initial shock wore away, before Nero could draw attention to them both. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before he spoke, his voice loud and commanding.

'Trish told me you were there when my son passed away. Tell me all you know. Tell me everything.'