Character(s): Credo, Sanctus (Slight Nero, Dante and Trish)
Genre(s): Tragedy
Warnings: Character Death, Gore
Credo dug his fingertips into Sanctus' bony arm, struggling desperately to keep the crazy old man from impaling him further. The pain was excruciating, and imagining his entrails sliding along the blade like raw meat on a slicer effectively made it worse. Blood pooled in his throat, and he was forced to cough it up or drown. Sanguine, hot and nauseatingly sweet, made him retch as it dribbled from between his grit teeth. He spat it out in a red cloud quickly fading. Thin rivulets dripped down his chin, matting the hair of his beard and soiling the perfectly pristine white of his uniform. He could feel the horror in Nero's eyes as if the young knight's pupils projected the strong emotion onto him, but he only felt so because Nero's emotion mimicked his own.
A part of him was shocked that Sanctus would betray him. Credo had always loyally served The Order and His Holiness' wishes. Foolishly, he had assumed that loyalty was mutual. However, Sanctus was selfish and greedy; everything the old priest had done, all the promises he made were no more than beautiful lies to hide that he only wanted to help himself. Unfortunately, Credo had learned this far too late. It took an event so severe as his sister being utilized to bait Nero in for him to realize it. When Sanctus ordered that Nero be "apprehended"—which was a sterile, careless sugarcoating of "murdered"—Credo had hesitated, but, in the end, he agreed to betray his adopted brother for the greater good. After all, Nero was a heretic and a demon. What place did he have in Sanctus' grand vision of an angelic utopia?
Oh, how blind he had been! Nero had been right all along about the corruption of the church and The Order of Holy Knights, and Credo had dared to attempt to murder his beloved sibling. He had let himself be convinced that Nero was a demon that needed to be exterminated when, in truth, he himself had become the demon. How pitiful and laughably pathetic it was to believe that he had ascended to the level of an angel. Even Nero with his brash, foul mouth and reckless attitude was more deserving of the title of angel than himself or anyone else in The Order. What a grand delusion that Sanctus had created!
Credo's amber eyes rolled over to Nero gasping and scrabbling futilely to free himself from the giant clutches of the Savior. It was an enormous, animated statue sculpted in the supposed visage of Sparda, the demon who had heroically sacrificed his own power and betrayed his brethren to save mankind ages ago. To Fortuna's church, he was an angel, but his power could never be used for good in the diabolical hands of Sanctus. How ironic it was that the statue of a supposed angel crushed his innocent brother in its clutches. Credo knew that Sanctus planned to absorb Nero, a distant descendant of Sparda, into the Savior to unleash its true power. As he stared into the distressed and pained and furious blue eyes of his brother, Credo felt the strangest mixture of emotions. Worse than the pain in his gut was his guilt and the bitter sting of regret in his chest.
However, above all, he felt fear and uncertainty, not knowing if his brother would escape or die because of his own stupid mistake. Credo knew he hadn't much time left; if Nero did survive, he wouldn't be alive to witness it. How, then, could he ensure the safety of his brother and sister? For, if Nero were to die, Kyrie certainly would, too, without Nero's protection. If he had only realized the truth of Sanctus' intentions sooner, he could have prevented so many terrible happenings.
"You have betrayed us... Why?" asked Sanctus, voice robotic and void of emotion. Credo snarled as he turned his eyes back to the priest. Somehow, God found it in his graces to give him the strength to say what he wanted. The former captain of the Holy Knights mustered all the power left within him and expelled it at Sanctus, the man he had once admired, in a weak upheaval of utter hatred.
"I served the dream of a world you spoke of," he rasped weakly, "the Savior you preached of..."
The man had to pause to take deep, labored breaths. He must have looked pathetic to Sanctus, who, at that moment, was clothed in immense power the likes of which the world had rarely seen. However, Credo managed to harden himself and force his remaining words through painfully gritted teeth.
"But you used my sister, Kyrie, who has nothing to do with this... and that is beyond forgiveness."
Sanctus took sick satisfaction in thrusting the katana, Yamato, to the hilt in his body. He watched Credo suffer with a deranged lust in his eyes before mocking the captain one last time.
"Love...? For a sibling?" he questioned as if the notion was impossible to believe. "How foolish..."
Credo grimaced when the blade was so suddenly jerked free from his abdomen. Too weak to stop himself, the captain stumbled backwards and slipped from the massive cranium of the statue. He watched in macabre fascination as his own blood became airborne when the wind against him helped the sanguine droplets take flight. His mind steeled itself against the agonized scream of Nero, whose demonic claws reached hopelessly for him as he fell. It was only when the captain's eyes met those of Nero barely peeking over the edge of the Savior's fist that tears stung his eyes. He forced them to an end as the few that leaked out floated into the air above him; he would die with what little dignity he had left.
When a strong body slammed into him, Credo winced, thinking he had collided with the rigid marble of the statue. Instead, he was scooped into the arms of an unknown stranger and brought to safety on a nearby platform. It was only when Credo's clenched eyes finally opened that he realized, strangely, the halfbreed responsible for the whole mess had mercifully saved him despite trying to kill him earlier. Dante was mysterious; Credo seldom knew very much about the man, but his gut urged him to believe that Dante was fighting the good fight.
Dante gently placed Credo off to the side before turning back around to join his partner in listening to Sanctus' maniacal harping about how successful his plans were. Credo was deaf to the world around him. He was sick of listening to Sanctus. For the most part, he was forcefully numbing himself to the immense regret rotting him from the inside. He wanted to die without feeling such an abhorrent emotion, though he knew he didn't deserve such mercy. However, he seized the false comfort selfishly. He was already going to Hell anyway—that much he knew. What was one last sin before he faced eternal punishment?
However, Nero's battle cry forced his attention back to his adopted brother. He had looked in time to behold an incredible feat. An enormous phantom projection of Nero's demonic arm grabbed Sanctus and attempted to crush his body against the statue. However, the priest freed himself at the last moment and leapt to the hand grasping the young knight in its clutches. Brandishing Yamato, Sanctus stabbed Nero's glowing, blue hand straight through. Credo had previously thought the appendage invincible, yet Nero's strength began to fade as Sanctus, laughing maniacally, sunk into the Savior's hand and disappeared. Nero began to sink into the hand of the statue, the blue glow of his demonic hand snuffed out like simple candle fire. Then, the statue was floating away, off to wreak certain havoc on the world. It was agonizing to watch, and Credo averted his eyes like a coward. It was for the best, however. He didn't deserve to feel anything for Nero—not worry, not love, not pain. And, yet, those were among the emotions welling inside him at that moment.
In some final hopeless attempt to survive, the captain crawled backward, seeking the support of a collapsed pillar laying near the back end of the platform. He coughed and wheezed, flecking his lips with blood, as he attempted to push himself to his feet. It was almost inconceivable that he was dying. Suddenly, Credo refused to accept it, though, deep down, he still knew his efforts were futile, pathetic. Still, he pushed himself toward the pillar until it met his back. Then, he suffered another violent fit of coughing. As he stained the stone floor with his blood, Dante approached him, asking a question casually as if he wasn't speaking to a man on the verge of death.
"Hey," he exclaimed, "where's that thing goin'? It's not complete yet is it?"
Credo hesitated to speak; he wasn't sure if he could without exhausting himself completely. His mind took longer than usual to think, but, when the words finally came to him, Credo let them flow forth, hoping he wouldn't die in the middle of his speech.
"It is in his heart to save the world from chaos," Credo panted. His ears were disbelieving, but he knew, deep inside, that his words were true. No matter how despicable Sanctus had become, his ultimate goal was to save humanity from what he deemed its downfall. All he required was that he claim all the glory and power in the end. He wanted to be Sparda reincarnated. However, his idea of a utopia was a place where all evil and sin—and, of course, sinners—were exterminated. He didn't care for the good of all men but only the good of "good" men.
"He will begin by driving it out," continued the captain.
"Now he has what he needed... Yamato," replied the blond woman he had believed to be a member of The Order, Gloria. In reality, she had been Dante's partner all along, infiltrating The Order's headquarters to collect information for the son of Sparda.
"Sparda used it to seal the Hell Gate from the demon world," Credo responded, "the sword is the key to opening the Hell Gate. The real Hell Gate... that lies dormant beneath this city."
It was well-known that an enormous Hell Gate stood in Fortuna just behind the church. It wasn't as if anyone had ever tried to hide it. In fact, it was a bit of a tourist attraction. However, it was only an extension of the real Hell Gate hidden beneath the city in the deepest bowels of the church.
"The sword that separates the human world from the demon world," mused Dante. Credo wasn't sure what exactly he was thinking, but he didn't have time to ponder it. With every second, he could feel his life fading, his body becoming colder. There were things he needed to say before he died.
"I believe you, the son of the Dark Knight Sparda, are the only one who can stop the Savior now... Dante..."
Somehow, Credo had managed to crouch, and he slowly pushed himself to his feet, though he wasn't sure why. He was operating mechanically, his body out of touch with his brain. He leaned against the fallen pillar, grunting in pain before he forced himself to speak his final words.
"Please... honor one last request," he begged. If he could have fell to his knees to beg without dying, he would have if only to convince Dante to honor his final wish. Perhaps, he looked pitiful enough that the halfbreed would have sympathy for him.
"Save them," he breathed as he stepped forward, bracing himself with a gloved hand on Dante's sturdy shoulder. "Kyrie... and... Nero..."
With what he had needed to say said, Credo felt the life drain from his veins. His eyes stared miles into the distance, but they could no longer see anything other than darkness. He could faintly hear his own words as if they were whispered to him from the opposite end of a tunnel. Death coaxed him into eternal slumber, and its comforting embrace lulled him into a sleep so deep he could never again be reached.
