II.V. My Enemy, My Son
With dusk rapidly approaching, drowning the city in black light, the winds kicked up ferociously. As each shadow caressed every street corner and alley, chasing the sun, a light would click on in return. It was artificial compensation for the God given light. The skies were ugly-a wicked grey that cushioned the rising moon and the stars flickered like dying bulbs.
It was this intense change of weather that made Dante fully aware of what was happening. He stood still on the roof after Trish had long since departed, after Nero had diminished into blue light-and gazed out at the rapid changes. The night brought with it chilly weather, stinging winds that brushed his hair back against his skull. In minutes darkness was fully upon the city.
The moon started white but with each passing cloud an orange tint shaded it. Shaded it until it was yellowish. Then orange until finally, a legitimate blood red. Pedestrians carried on, fighting the intense winds seemingly unconscious to the mutation. But Dante saw. Then one by one, the stars rained from the sky in a fiery descent. Quickly, quietly they fell without cease, touching the streets and vanishing like snow falling into a hot grill. One star, gliding gracefully, dropped strategically near Dante and melted into the roof until it formed a dark, metallic puddle. He peered into it casually until the centre dropped and he beheld a portal.
His invitation to hell.
Gently, in the privacy and darkness of his room, the Crimson Knight suited up. Stained with the blood of fallen enemies' twenty-five years prior, Dante's red attire fit him like a glove. He pulled on the red trench and slid Ebony and Ivory to their rightful positions at his sides. The black leather gloves, flexible only according to his hands, welcomed them as if they knew what was to come. Finally, he stomped into his boots and left the room. He met Trish in the living room peering out the window with a suppressed look of fright on her face. He glanced at her momentarily on his way to the wall to retrieve Sparda. His glance did not go unnoticed. " Dante what's happening?" She asked softly, her grip on the curtains intensifying. He hooked Sparda onto his back before he answered her question. ".And the moon became as blood, and the stars of heaven fell unto the earth." Trish peeled her eyes away from the window long enough to give Dante an impressed look, unaware of his ability to quote biblical scriptures. She turned around again, pressing her fingers against the window and returned: "The people don't seem to realise what's happening."
"They don't know," he said. "They don't see as we see." He started toward the front door when Trish noticed his apparel and stopped him.
"Where are you going?" She knew well the answer to that question but she hoped he would deny her suppositions. She didn't give him time to reply as she started up after him.
"I'm coming," she demanded, but when she felt Dante's iron hand clasped on her shoulder to cease her following, she turned agitated knowing her defeat. "No."
Her brows furrowed almost childishly. "Why not?"
"I need you to stay here." He released his grip and placed his hand on the doorknob, talking to her over his shoulder. "Do something to occupy the time-read a book do anything-I dunno-Pray."
"But why?" She insisted, eager to accompany him. He released the knob and turned to face her again. He brought up his apologetic hands to her face and held it firmly to look up at him.
"In case I never see you again."
Hell again welcomed him harshly. He dropped to Hell's earth like a comet, landing upright and skidding to a stop on his heels. He stumbled forward a few times until he regained his balance and looked around. Complete silence accompanied him. Below him, the vast sands radiated a humid heat. The wind was still. Above, the skies were turmoil ire of grey and black, wrestling with the blue for one dominant colour.
North, South, East and West were lost. Dante had no direction. He needed no direction. He felt as if he were standing in the middle of a flat desert, untouched and uncharted. The sand was a perfect sheet of tan, stretching forever into the horizon. Only his footprints interrupted the flawless flow. The portal above him was the only entrance and exit, thus Dante would wait. The opportunist hunter waits for the prey to come to him.
He reached into his pocket to pull out his last cigarette and lit it. He had only taken two drags when something rustled his hair. Unsuspecting, he pulled the cigarette from between his lips and exhaled, preparing himself for what might be behind him. Slowly, he turned, peering over his shoulder first then finally completing the turn. Nothing. Conscious of the stability of his sanity, he replaced the cigarette and pulled Sparda from his back, pointing it down in a relaxed stance.
His hair rustled again, feeling like fingers at first until the gentleness changed abruptly to sharp claws and he felt his scalp give way and a warm sensation trickle down his cheek.
"Shit!" He jerked his head away from the invisible force and ran his fingers through his hair until he met the source of the problem and grunted in disgust. After wiping the blood from his cheek, he lifted Sparda defensively and turned violently to find the culprit. A laugh ran through his ears.
"Heh heh heh." Dante tore his eyes open upon recognition.
"Come on Virgil. No more games. Come on out!" He spun around again and Virgil was standing a few yards ahead of him, sword in hand. He disappeared in a flash and reappeared few more yards down. He raised his large hand and closed it, beckoning Dante to come to him. It worked, because Dante broke into a fearless run until he was upon him and swung Sparda with all his might. But Virgil had teleported again and begun reappearing every few steps as if he were toying with him.
At long last, when Dante decided against playing games with him any longer, he stopped and Virgil appeared behind him only to nudge him forward with the butt of his sword and leave Dante with the sound of his heavy laughter. The scenery had not changed, making his progress seem less that it actually was.
When the laughter melted away, he stood upright and he listened. There was the rising sound of thunder as a wave of Clydesdale hooves struck the earth in an incessant gallop. He looked on toward the horizon as they neared. When the horse beasts came into view, the fiery red of their manes blew wildly in the wind. Their metallic bits and chain-linked reins clanked heavily against the armour of their riders. Each horse, black ones, white ones and brown ones-were all in deep contrast with the red shag that covered their hooves and tails.
Atop each beast was a Nero Angelo clad in their intimidating armour. The eminent horns that leaked down either side of their stone faces served as blinds, restricting them to frontal vision. Velvet capes flagged violently behind them as they stormed in single file, row after row in an organised sea of destruction.
Dante observed in awe the mass, wondering when the persistent pour of minions would cease-if it would cease. Despite the numbers, Dante was not shaken. He would remain calm until Adoni-his son-came forward. As the crowd neared, a thick cloud of dust kicked up and blinded him. He could hear the first set come to a complete stop, but still more galloped in until he could hear nothing but the faint trot of the last bit of Demon Knights bringing in the back.
The dust cleared.
The sight before him could be limited in description even by imagination. Miles and miles of Hell's Army plagued the area. The front row of Knights each held a different flag, ranging from the United Stated to Zimbabwe. Every continent and country in existence was covered, each assigned to a dedicated group of minions set to conquer their assigned area. They were innumerable.
Dante did not flinch although his pulse thickened. His eyes darted about wildly in his head and his throat tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. Anticipation made him tremble. Or perhaps it was his nervous uncertainty.
Through the mass, one Angelo pranced through, a certain air of importance around him. The steed was as black as unadulterated darkness, the mane so deep a red it questioned the existence of that colour. The mammoth horse marched up to him and stopped short from a stern tug, turning its side to Dante so that the rider could look down upon him. Dante felt his teeth seize. At long last, he would meet with his son. Did he look like him? Did he resemble Trinity at all? It was hard to tell for he was encased in the common armour. The figure atop the horse was tall, not at all bulky or massively intimidating, but well chiselled and lean. His shoulders were back and he sat straight up as though his spine were made of steel. His presence would unquestionably be known in a crowed room-it was his charisma, prose and reflection of importance. He was a Prince. There was silence, then:
"Adoni," Dante called firmly when he finally trusted his voice.
The rider cocked his head inquisitively at him. "I am," he responded gruffly, his raspy voice muffled behind the armour. His voice- their voices mingled together in Dante's head, the startling vocal similarity churned together until he could not decipher Adoni's voice from his own. But Adoni's voice was powerful and obeyed by the endless army behind him. Dante's voice may have had an arrogant and confident air to it but it lacked the potency to move a military.
As though some unknown force in him took hold of his tongue, Dante suddenly wished more than anything to see his face and demanded rather than asked, "Show your face." Adoni was silent for a time, and then decided against a response. This pushed the envelope on Dante's patience.
"I want to see the face of the man I have to kill," he affirmed.
Adoni scoffed mightily. "You will see my face as a last request, believe me."
"Take it off, or I'll take it off for you." Dante's warning again drove Adoni to silence, but his facial armour hid his rage.
"What?!"
Dante, off to Adoni's left, rushed in quickly and swiped the helmet clean from his head as promised, catching it in his free hand before it finished its descent. The action was so swift, there was barely time for Adoni to anticipate and defend himself. Aghast, Adoni turned to face him, anger swelling up in his eyes. "Have at you, Dante!" He growled, drawing his sword.
With his jaw slightly loosed, Dante took in the full frontal view of Adoni. Despite having untamed, black hair and thin, creeping sideburns that extended down to his jaw and a tuft of hair under his bottom lip, Dante was looking at himself. A younger perhaps a little more handsome man than himself. But there was more to him than just what he saw, for his left eye was a pale green, and his right was jet black. And in it he saw Trinity. Dante could not move. Adoni picked up on his astonishment and smiled grimly at his father, returning the sword to his side.
"Do I resemble someone you know?" Adoni questioned, sensing the rise of his army approaching. He turned to face them and held out his hand. "Stand down!" He commanded, then turned to face Dante again.
"Or rather, knew?" He corrected. He circled Dante, silently hoping he would strike first to begin the competition.
"Could you strike me, your son, knowing whom I fully resemble?"
"So then you know who I am?" Dante asked calmly.
"Know you? I am you!.but you wish you were me." He paused momentarily to reach into the side pocket on his horse and pull out a mercury ball, a little larger than palm size and held it up to him.
"I own this. I own the army. The same will be for you-when you pry it from my cold dead fingers."
Dante now, never a friend of many words, rushed into the side of Adoni's horse again with such devilish ferocity, it sent him toppling off the other side. Unharmed but frightened, the horse thrashed its massive head from side to side and trotted away from Adoni's body. Dante removed Sparda and drove it downward into his sternum, but it clicked off his breastplate. Infuriated, Dante tried again, each time stabbing with more intention of breaking the shell. He managed to force a hole into the armour by the third strike, but Adoni drove his foot into him and pushed him back. He leapt to his feet quickly and fingered out his sword, thrusting forward enough to unhook a button on Dante's shirt when he pulled back to avoid the swing.
Adoni was just as an aggressive a fighter as Dante but with less patience. He kept pursuing forward, swinging his sword from right to left in hopes of dismembering him. Dante kept leaping back, every now and again blocking with Sparda. Adoni was a raging bull with a pendulum for arms, hell bent on making Dante pay for dishonouring him.
But his defence was better than his offence, and when Dante finally retaliated with a low strike that dropped him to his knees, it was only his graceful defence that stopped Dante from decapitating him. Adoni rolled to his feet and backed up to pace himself with Dante, but just as he did so Dante thrust forward with Sparda and it extended, missing him by just seconds. Sparda retracted again and Dante threw it at Adoni so violently, it bounded off his chest and retreated into Dante's awaiting arms.
Bitter, Adoni rushed in and gripped Dante's arm in hopes of dragging him down, but his arm only met with the surgical edge of Sparda. Blood ran from the open wound. Adoni retreated screaming in panic, ripping off the wrist guard with his teeth to view the damage. Dante waited patiently. Enraged, Adoni threw his weapon to the ground and flicked his tongue across the wound to lap up the blood.
"Only a fool trusts his life to a weapon!" He challenged, beckoning Dante to throw down Sparda. It came as a simple request to Dante as he dropped Sparda at his feet and kicked it away, inviting him to strike first.
And Adoni struck like lightning. He darted forward with his palms facing him; gripping hold of his white hair he forced his chin down upon his knee and released him only when the weight of Dante's body fell back. He staggered but never lost his footing completely. His attacks were relentless and unmerciful, a trait he obviously acquired from Dante. Both stubborn and refusing defeat, the blows delivered and received brought them nearer and nearer to death.
Adoni's fists burned like fire ripping into Dante's skin. With each blow landed successfully, Dante was forced to keep from his knees. His surpassing strength was almost discouraging. It was as though Dante was fighting himself. It was useless returning attacks for the unfair advantage were the armour that encrusted his body. But Adoni's impatience failed him. He rushed in quickly again and Dante ducked, driving his Inferit fist into the hole he'd already started and a large crack split across the front of the breastplate.
Stunned, Adoni backed up quickly and gripped his chest, fingering the crack. He forced his fingers into it to widen the split until he was able to completely separate the casing and pull it apart. At the last possible moment, Dante tackled Adoni around the knees and swept him up over his shoulder. He drove downward with his palm pressed into his chest and slammed him into the sand. But Adoni held fast around his neck and the two tumbled together in the sand, kicking up a small storm in the struggle. Winded, Adoni's last resort was to tangle Dante in his own excess clothing, which he accomplished easily by twisting his cloak down over his head.
Blinded and aggravated, Dante struggled to rip free of his entrapment, tearing the already loose buttons in his shirt until his bare flesh was exposed. With a deep grunt, he pried apart the vest and lunged for Adoni's neck. He scrambled atop him and seized his throat, pressing his fingers together until he could no long see the neck he held in his hands. Choking on the tongue that popped from between his teeth, Adoni grasped Dante around the wrists and begun to pull his arms apart. But Dante had no intentions of stopping until there was no struggle. Adoni thrashed his head violently, the green eye staring into his father's merciless face. His arms dropped to his sides and again his head turned, exposing the coal black eye that belonged to Trinity.
At once Dante's grip slacked, belligerence fleeing from him altogether. How could he look into his face and not see her? Adoni's hands roamed at his waist as if he intended to push him off but did no such action.
Dante felt cold fire bursting through his abdomen. It was an explosion from the nozzle of Ebony burning through his skin. He hollered and fell back, loosing his grip and leaping at once to his feet. There was another explosion, then another as each bullet tore through his body as though he were made of glass. He never imagined a blast from his own gun could hurt him so. The fourth shot dropped him to his knees, the surrounding sand plastered in his blood. He gripped the assaulted area, gritting his teeth to suppress the spreading pain. It raced through his system like injected nitrogen, freezing his veins so badly it burned.
"Argh!" His body twitched violently as his hands swept across his body, digging his fingers into the holes. The fifth shot went through his left breast, knocking him back into the sand. It drove him to immediate silence. It didn't even hurt anymore.
With dusk rapidly approaching, drowning the city in black light, the winds kicked up ferociously. As each shadow caressed every street corner and alley, chasing the sun, a light would click on in return. It was artificial compensation for the God given light. The skies were ugly-a wicked grey that cushioned the rising moon and the stars flickered like dying bulbs.
It was this intense change of weather that made Dante fully aware of what was happening. He stood still on the roof after Trish had long since departed, after Nero had diminished into blue light-and gazed out at the rapid changes. The night brought with it chilly weather, stinging winds that brushed his hair back against his skull. In minutes darkness was fully upon the city.
The moon started white but with each passing cloud an orange tint shaded it. Shaded it until it was yellowish. Then orange until finally, a legitimate blood red. Pedestrians carried on, fighting the intense winds seemingly unconscious to the mutation. But Dante saw. Then one by one, the stars rained from the sky in a fiery descent. Quickly, quietly they fell without cease, touching the streets and vanishing like snow falling into a hot grill. One star, gliding gracefully, dropped strategically near Dante and melted into the roof until it formed a dark, metallic puddle. He peered into it casually until the centre dropped and he beheld a portal.
His invitation to hell.
Gently, in the privacy and darkness of his room, the Crimson Knight suited up. Stained with the blood of fallen enemies' twenty-five years prior, Dante's red attire fit him like a glove. He pulled on the red trench and slid Ebony and Ivory to their rightful positions at his sides. The black leather gloves, flexible only according to his hands, welcomed them as if they knew what was to come. Finally, he stomped into his boots and left the room. He met Trish in the living room peering out the window with a suppressed look of fright on her face. He glanced at her momentarily on his way to the wall to retrieve Sparda. His glance did not go unnoticed. " Dante what's happening?" She asked softly, her grip on the curtains intensifying. He hooked Sparda onto his back before he answered her question. ".And the moon became as blood, and the stars of heaven fell unto the earth." Trish peeled her eyes away from the window long enough to give Dante an impressed look, unaware of his ability to quote biblical scriptures. She turned around again, pressing her fingers against the window and returned: "The people don't seem to realise what's happening."
"They don't know," he said. "They don't see as we see." He started toward the front door when Trish noticed his apparel and stopped him.
"Where are you going?" She knew well the answer to that question but she hoped he would deny her suppositions. She didn't give him time to reply as she started up after him.
"I'm coming," she demanded, but when she felt Dante's iron hand clasped on her shoulder to cease her following, she turned agitated knowing her defeat. "No."
Her brows furrowed almost childishly. "Why not?"
"I need you to stay here." He released his grip and placed his hand on the doorknob, talking to her over his shoulder. "Do something to occupy the time-read a book do anything-I dunno-Pray."
"But why?" She insisted, eager to accompany him. He released the knob and turned to face her again. He brought up his apologetic hands to her face and held it firmly to look up at him.
"In case I never see you again."
Hell again welcomed him harshly. He dropped to Hell's earth like a comet, landing upright and skidding to a stop on his heels. He stumbled forward a few times until he regained his balance and looked around. Complete silence accompanied him. Below him, the vast sands radiated a humid heat. The wind was still. Above, the skies were turmoil ire of grey and black, wrestling with the blue for one dominant colour.
North, South, East and West were lost. Dante had no direction. He needed no direction. He felt as if he were standing in the middle of a flat desert, untouched and uncharted. The sand was a perfect sheet of tan, stretching forever into the horizon. Only his footprints interrupted the flawless flow. The portal above him was the only entrance and exit, thus Dante would wait. The opportunist hunter waits for the prey to come to him.
He reached into his pocket to pull out his last cigarette and lit it. He had only taken two drags when something rustled his hair. Unsuspecting, he pulled the cigarette from between his lips and exhaled, preparing himself for what might be behind him. Slowly, he turned, peering over his shoulder first then finally completing the turn. Nothing. Conscious of the stability of his sanity, he replaced the cigarette and pulled Sparda from his back, pointing it down in a relaxed stance.
His hair rustled again, feeling like fingers at first until the gentleness changed abruptly to sharp claws and he felt his scalp give way and a warm sensation trickle down his cheek.
"Shit!" He jerked his head away from the invisible force and ran his fingers through his hair until he met the source of the problem and grunted in disgust. After wiping the blood from his cheek, he lifted Sparda defensively and turned violently to find the culprit. A laugh ran through his ears.
"Heh heh heh." Dante tore his eyes open upon recognition.
"Come on Virgil. No more games. Come on out!" He spun around again and Virgil was standing a few yards ahead of him, sword in hand. He disappeared in a flash and reappeared few more yards down. He raised his large hand and closed it, beckoning Dante to come to him. It worked, because Dante broke into a fearless run until he was upon him and swung Sparda with all his might. But Virgil had teleported again and begun reappearing every few steps as if he were toying with him.
At long last, when Dante decided against playing games with him any longer, he stopped and Virgil appeared behind him only to nudge him forward with the butt of his sword and leave Dante with the sound of his heavy laughter. The scenery had not changed, making his progress seem less that it actually was.
When the laughter melted away, he stood upright and he listened. There was the rising sound of thunder as a wave of Clydesdale hooves struck the earth in an incessant gallop. He looked on toward the horizon as they neared. When the horse beasts came into view, the fiery red of their manes blew wildly in the wind. Their metallic bits and chain-linked reins clanked heavily against the armour of their riders. Each horse, black ones, white ones and brown ones-were all in deep contrast with the red shag that covered their hooves and tails.
Atop each beast was a Nero Angelo clad in their intimidating armour. The eminent horns that leaked down either side of their stone faces served as blinds, restricting them to frontal vision. Velvet capes flagged violently behind them as they stormed in single file, row after row in an organised sea of destruction.
Dante observed in awe the mass, wondering when the persistent pour of minions would cease-if it would cease. Despite the numbers, Dante was not shaken. He would remain calm until Adoni-his son-came forward. As the crowd neared, a thick cloud of dust kicked up and blinded him. He could hear the first set come to a complete stop, but still more galloped in until he could hear nothing but the faint trot of the last bit of Demon Knights bringing in the back.
The dust cleared.
The sight before him could be limited in description even by imagination. Miles and miles of Hell's Army plagued the area. The front row of Knights each held a different flag, ranging from the United Stated to Zimbabwe. Every continent and country in existence was covered, each assigned to a dedicated group of minions set to conquer their assigned area. They were innumerable.
Dante did not flinch although his pulse thickened. His eyes darted about wildly in his head and his throat tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. Anticipation made him tremble. Or perhaps it was his nervous uncertainty.
Through the mass, one Angelo pranced through, a certain air of importance around him. The steed was as black as unadulterated darkness, the mane so deep a red it questioned the existence of that colour. The mammoth horse marched up to him and stopped short from a stern tug, turning its side to Dante so that the rider could look down upon him. Dante felt his teeth seize. At long last, he would meet with his son. Did he look like him? Did he resemble Trinity at all? It was hard to tell for he was encased in the common armour. The figure atop the horse was tall, not at all bulky or massively intimidating, but well chiselled and lean. His shoulders were back and he sat straight up as though his spine were made of steel. His presence would unquestionably be known in a crowed room-it was his charisma, prose and reflection of importance. He was a Prince. There was silence, then:
"Adoni," Dante called firmly when he finally trusted his voice.
The rider cocked his head inquisitively at him. "I am," he responded gruffly, his raspy voice muffled behind the armour. His voice- their voices mingled together in Dante's head, the startling vocal similarity churned together until he could not decipher Adoni's voice from his own. But Adoni's voice was powerful and obeyed by the endless army behind him. Dante's voice may have had an arrogant and confident air to it but it lacked the potency to move a military.
As though some unknown force in him took hold of his tongue, Dante suddenly wished more than anything to see his face and demanded rather than asked, "Show your face." Adoni was silent for a time, and then decided against a response. This pushed the envelope on Dante's patience.
"I want to see the face of the man I have to kill," he affirmed.
Adoni scoffed mightily. "You will see my face as a last request, believe me."
"Take it off, or I'll take it off for you." Dante's warning again drove Adoni to silence, but his facial armour hid his rage.
"What?!"
Dante, off to Adoni's left, rushed in quickly and swiped the helmet clean from his head as promised, catching it in his free hand before it finished its descent. The action was so swift, there was barely time for Adoni to anticipate and defend himself. Aghast, Adoni turned to face him, anger swelling up in his eyes. "Have at you, Dante!" He growled, drawing his sword.
With his jaw slightly loosed, Dante took in the full frontal view of Adoni. Despite having untamed, black hair and thin, creeping sideburns that extended down to his jaw and a tuft of hair under his bottom lip, Dante was looking at himself. A younger perhaps a little more handsome man than himself. But there was more to him than just what he saw, for his left eye was a pale green, and his right was jet black. And in it he saw Trinity. Dante could not move. Adoni picked up on his astonishment and smiled grimly at his father, returning the sword to his side.
"Do I resemble someone you know?" Adoni questioned, sensing the rise of his army approaching. He turned to face them and held out his hand. "Stand down!" He commanded, then turned to face Dante again.
"Or rather, knew?" He corrected. He circled Dante, silently hoping he would strike first to begin the competition.
"Could you strike me, your son, knowing whom I fully resemble?"
"So then you know who I am?" Dante asked calmly.
"Know you? I am you!.but you wish you were me." He paused momentarily to reach into the side pocket on his horse and pull out a mercury ball, a little larger than palm size and held it up to him.
"I own this. I own the army. The same will be for you-when you pry it from my cold dead fingers."
Dante now, never a friend of many words, rushed into the side of Adoni's horse again with such devilish ferocity, it sent him toppling off the other side. Unharmed but frightened, the horse thrashed its massive head from side to side and trotted away from Adoni's body. Dante removed Sparda and drove it downward into his sternum, but it clicked off his breastplate. Infuriated, Dante tried again, each time stabbing with more intention of breaking the shell. He managed to force a hole into the armour by the third strike, but Adoni drove his foot into him and pushed him back. He leapt to his feet quickly and fingered out his sword, thrusting forward enough to unhook a button on Dante's shirt when he pulled back to avoid the swing.
Adoni was just as an aggressive a fighter as Dante but with less patience. He kept pursuing forward, swinging his sword from right to left in hopes of dismembering him. Dante kept leaping back, every now and again blocking with Sparda. Adoni was a raging bull with a pendulum for arms, hell bent on making Dante pay for dishonouring him.
But his defence was better than his offence, and when Dante finally retaliated with a low strike that dropped him to his knees, it was only his graceful defence that stopped Dante from decapitating him. Adoni rolled to his feet and backed up to pace himself with Dante, but just as he did so Dante thrust forward with Sparda and it extended, missing him by just seconds. Sparda retracted again and Dante threw it at Adoni so violently, it bounded off his chest and retreated into Dante's awaiting arms.
Bitter, Adoni rushed in and gripped Dante's arm in hopes of dragging him down, but his arm only met with the surgical edge of Sparda. Blood ran from the open wound. Adoni retreated screaming in panic, ripping off the wrist guard with his teeth to view the damage. Dante waited patiently. Enraged, Adoni threw his weapon to the ground and flicked his tongue across the wound to lap up the blood.
"Only a fool trusts his life to a weapon!" He challenged, beckoning Dante to throw down Sparda. It came as a simple request to Dante as he dropped Sparda at his feet and kicked it away, inviting him to strike first.
And Adoni struck like lightning. He darted forward with his palms facing him; gripping hold of his white hair he forced his chin down upon his knee and released him only when the weight of Dante's body fell back. He staggered but never lost his footing completely. His attacks were relentless and unmerciful, a trait he obviously acquired from Dante. Both stubborn and refusing defeat, the blows delivered and received brought them nearer and nearer to death.
Adoni's fists burned like fire ripping into Dante's skin. With each blow landed successfully, Dante was forced to keep from his knees. His surpassing strength was almost discouraging. It was as though Dante was fighting himself. It was useless returning attacks for the unfair advantage were the armour that encrusted his body. But Adoni's impatience failed him. He rushed in quickly again and Dante ducked, driving his Inferit fist into the hole he'd already started and a large crack split across the front of the breastplate.
Stunned, Adoni backed up quickly and gripped his chest, fingering the crack. He forced his fingers into it to widen the split until he was able to completely separate the casing and pull it apart. At the last possible moment, Dante tackled Adoni around the knees and swept him up over his shoulder. He drove downward with his palm pressed into his chest and slammed him into the sand. But Adoni held fast around his neck and the two tumbled together in the sand, kicking up a small storm in the struggle. Winded, Adoni's last resort was to tangle Dante in his own excess clothing, which he accomplished easily by twisting his cloak down over his head.
Blinded and aggravated, Dante struggled to rip free of his entrapment, tearing the already loose buttons in his shirt until his bare flesh was exposed. With a deep grunt, he pried apart the vest and lunged for Adoni's neck. He scrambled atop him and seized his throat, pressing his fingers together until he could no long see the neck he held in his hands. Choking on the tongue that popped from between his teeth, Adoni grasped Dante around the wrists and begun to pull his arms apart. But Dante had no intentions of stopping until there was no struggle. Adoni thrashed his head violently, the green eye staring into his father's merciless face. His arms dropped to his sides and again his head turned, exposing the coal black eye that belonged to Trinity.
At once Dante's grip slacked, belligerence fleeing from him altogether. How could he look into his face and not see her? Adoni's hands roamed at his waist as if he intended to push him off but did no such action.
Dante felt cold fire bursting through his abdomen. It was an explosion from the nozzle of Ebony burning through his skin. He hollered and fell back, loosing his grip and leaping at once to his feet. There was another explosion, then another as each bullet tore through his body as though he were made of glass. He never imagined a blast from his own gun could hurt him so. The fourth shot dropped him to his knees, the surrounding sand plastered in his blood. He gripped the assaulted area, gritting his teeth to suppress the spreading pain. It raced through his system like injected nitrogen, freezing his veins so badly it burned.
"Argh!" His body twitched violently as his hands swept across his body, digging his fingers into the holes. The fifth shot went through his left breast, knocking him back into the sand. It drove him to immediate silence. It didn't even hurt anymore.