Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Devil May Cry.
So if you can't get a word in
It's because I don't care what you think
Don't be alone inside
A world that's filled with make-believe
- Erase my scars, Evans Blue
Search. The desperate hunt had begun.
The trio might have to slay through more demons than they had ever done before. There was no other alternative. According to the map Lady had drawn out for him, the location of the lair should be within his vicinity. Staring as far as the eye could see, Dante only saw trees, trees and more of it.
"You sure we're not lost?"
"The coordinates are correct."
"She didn't set us up, did she?"
"Calm down Dante. I doubt she would since this concerns Nero. I wouldn't be that sure if there was only you in the picture though."
Trish observed her surroundings. The trees were still and the grass was dry. Neither were there any other sight of living things. It was broad daylight but the environment was plain ghostly. Even Hell's more bustling than this...The stillness worried her.
"We should split up and look around. I have a feeling we're right where we wanted. Just gotta find a gate, door, something like that."
The blonde snapped her fingers and pointed in the opposite direction from her position, signaling her partner to scout around the area. The old man didn't need to be told twice.
It had been over twelve hours since he last drew a cigarette but his mind was sharper than it had been in months. It would be no mean feat to rescue the kid from the new enemies. He recalled the first encounter with the vixen in the cabin—the one that he almost had his ass kicked if the kid didn't show up in time. They were surprisingly strong. So in order to fix that, he needed to level his head to fight out of the coup he was about to set foot in.
Looking at his gears, his good old pal Rebellion and babies Ebony and Ivory seemed ready for a helluva party installed for them. However Dante wasn't, or he felt as if he wasn't quite ready to put an end to this. It was uncanny of him to hesitate a good fight but he had his insecurities. He should just ring in and take the prize home but he wasn't too sure if the prize wanted to leave with him.
If the kid says no, why the hell bother?
That obviously didn't validate as a reason not to save Nero but truthfully, the demon hunter had his own doubts. Doubts about himself, about his own devil, about Nero and this whole goddamn fiasco. Why did his devil lose control back then? What did it see that his human eye didn't? What did it taste that his lips couldn't pick up? There had to be a reason behind this whole demon-gone-wild shit. Dante wanted to find out so badly.
On the other hand, there was Nero; who would never forgive him as far as he could tell. Resigning to fate seemed like the only option available. Besides, he was still in the midst of his own self-discovery. A discovery leading to his unspoken awareness (or concern) arising from an unknown corner in his mind.
Awareness of what? That was an answer Dante wanted to find out as well.
Rustling sounds of the dried leaves gathered on his feet. How long had he been walking down the same path? He could no longer hear nor sense Trish within his proximity. He was alone. The silence reminded him.
The days he spent in Fortuna slowly began rewinding in his head. He couldn't remember much of the killing other than his flying acrobats around the Savior. Man, that was fun… Of the stronger memories he recanted, he remembered vividly when he had his first battle with the kid in the chapel, then subsequently their encounter in the room. Especially... the room. The first time he watched the kid as the clamor of his devil bellowed. A tinge of pain swam its way into his heart, unraveling wounds forgotten long ago, as well as the desire to call out the name he yearned for so much.
But no.
He couldn't.
It wasn't… his brother.
Gripping the fabric on his chest, the devil hunter tightened his chest within his palm. The pain continued to feel so familiar with the make-believe comfort ever so wincing. It was the feeling of losing, the hollowness that grew with time. A hole that could never be filled. No matter the amount of whatever you might throw in, it could never fill up. Like a drought, emotions were so dried they would shed. Piecing the fragments up, more and more flashbacks wriggled their way through into his sockets.
He saw Nero. The crying face muffled by his hand, tears streaming down red puffy eyes drying off all over his cheeks. He felt Nero's legs. They were trembling in the rugged grasp from his other arm, toes curling up tensely, and veins almost surfacing. He tasted Nero's blood. He sniffed the metallic scent parading in the air, sinking into his demonic nature. He heard the voice. It had been yelling and screaming for mercy, helplessly pleading for forgiveness. Yes, beg for it Verg—
Shit.
What the hell was that?
Navy blue colored the canvas in his thoughts. Crimson red splashed like droplets before they sank into the royalty, and then faded to satin sapphire. Wait... This isn't what I saw! I saw Nero! I saw the damn punk! The realm closed into Dante, surroundings painted in a shade that he would never forget. It was a tone that belonged to his beloved brother, a gradient that no one else had beneath their arms. He searched for the crimson remnants amidst the sapphire, but they had vanished before he could reach out to them.
Nero!
The old man desperately whispered under his breath. Reality and hallucination were playing tricks with his eyes. How could he have the duo mixed up? Vergil, his beloved twin connected by birth, by love, by commitment. What he shared with his twin was more than just telepathy—they were two entities that made each other complete. Whereas Nero, he was… a stranger. A stranger who happened to be part-demon. A stranger who might have shared the bloodline. A stranger who somehow possessed the soul of Nelo-Angelo as he weaved Yamato in hand. A stranger who had an attitude tough as steel, but a smile that of a glowing sun…
Wait.
Did he just commented on Nero's smile? Since when did he started taking notice of the kid's smile?
Stop thinking about the halfling, he does not concern you.A hollow echo demanded inside.
Dante was gradually losing his mind.
"TELL ME ALREADY!"
He hollered at the top of his voice, enough to drive birds away if there were any resting on branches. He wanted an answer from himself. No one else was present then other than him and Nero. But he wasn't alone. It was about time the other one overseeing everything made his statement or there would be no ending to it. Dante tapped his foot against the hard ground, ripples of his shadow moving slightly.
A rusty scent of wind meandered through the woods, along came mild gray clouds covering the sun up. The brightness toned down in the surroundings as the wind died down with the saturation. His shadow dithered as it crawled onto his back, retreating from the ground completely. Soon it reached his thighs, waist, and nape before finally the hilt of his silvery hair. The onyx mesh continued to extend to the tip of his fingers before they filled his entire silhouette. In an instance, the shadow pulled away, strands of its ink stretched and lingering away from Dante's back, until they were fully detached from one another.
Gradually, the blackness washed away from its body, leaving a duplicate of the devil hunter in plain sight, but discolored in contrast.
"Long time no see, Dante."
It waved without animosity, grinning in the casual way Dante would always do so.
"Ah yes. It has been long. So now, wouldn't you tell me what you know, fellow demon?" He demanded with a smirk across his face, using his form of endearment on the mirage of himself. Then the old man turned around and watched his replica trotting forward. This replica infused by his shadow had always watched his back, since it was already a part of him.
"I may be a part of you but I would still prefer to be called by my own name." It snickered lightly before addressing back to the old man's need, "So, what can I do you for?"
"Tell me what you saw."
"I've seen plenty, just not too sure what is it you're referring to."
"Don't get cocky with me. You know what I am referring to."
"Oh do I? Let me see… do you mean that time with Lyla from Love Planet when you banged her so hard she could be heard two streets away or-wait, or the brunette you picked up from the bar who gave you a blow job that was to die for? Oh wait! I have more—"
A silver bullet shot through its forehead while it was still in the midst of its sentence. It watched the devil hunter pointing Ebony at him, smoke emitting from the barrel's tip. But the hole on its head quickly healed though, since it wasn't meant to be a kill shot right from the beginning.
"You know I can put you back in Hell in this image of mine. I am quite the celebrity back there."
A small sigh escaped from its lips, before conforming into a tiny smile. It knew what Dante wanted. Besides, it wasn't his usual cool to lose it with a couple of sarcasm. Although it might not be able to see through Dante's eyes despite being a part of him, it could still watch the hunter. What Dante wanted to find out was what did it see him doing. Truthfully speaking, it wasn't like it did not see it, but rather there was nothing it could have done. What the hunter did was beyond anybody's control, and completely irrational.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Just tell me."
Taking a deep breath, it sneaked its finger beneath its chin and brushed lightly. "You were out of control Dante. You were completely out of it."
His confession met with silence.
"Even if you tried to resist it, you know that your human side has no control over your demon side. No matter how strong you have become, your demon side remained obedient not because he was afraid of you. He just didn't feel the need to go against you. That day, what snapped inside wasn't you, it was him. And you were powerless to stop him."
"Did he… see somethi-someone…?"
It hesitated. An ominous feeling warning him that should the truth be made known, it might devastate the hunter further. Other than watching Dante did what he did, it heard his devil's thoughts. They were wild, angry and impetuous at that point. It became so from what it saw. It saw a figment of Dante's pain, longings and hope. Then the trio exploded within altogether, which involuntarily triggered his actions in return. All this happened because of the lament rotting inside Dante. He caused it because of his unwillingness to let go of the past.
Or perhaps, that was what Dante was led to believe as well.
Day by day, it had watched the hunter hiding his feelings, pretending they never existed, pretending that the pain was just an illusion. He would look for an output to sooth the angst he felt inside but he never once tried to rectify the hurt. He would exhaust his human body until he could barely hold it anymore and drift into slumber, but to only be continually haunted in his dreams by the same turmoil. He would always dream of the same scene—the boiling pits of hell where his brother suffered and as he reached out, his brother would only sink deeper into the darkness. He would wait by the pit with his hand still out, even though only pain-inflicted screams came from the pit. Every time he yelled to his brother, he would call his name and tell him to grab his hand until he eventually woke up. When he had woken up, the fear never left. Those bad days dominated most of his sleeping hours. However, sometimes he was lucky. When he was, he would be spared from the cruelty. A couple of times when he was really in luck, he would have beautiful moments like having picnics or waking up in bed with his beloved brother together, so much so that he wouldn't wake for over a day. Then he would wake up looking vague and pale, refusing to eat or drink, depriving his body of the supplement he needed.
Some dreams felt too real that they hurt, while others felt too good to be true.
Then tears would dribble.
Because even if he fell back into sleep, it was no longer the same dream he had hoped.
He didn't let go. He just couldn't.
"Well then… are you prepared for the truth?" It sighed remorsefully.
"Just… say it."
"He saw Vergil. In Nero, inside of Nero."
Crack.
"What do you mean inside of Nero?" Dante questioned doubtfully.
Crack.
"Ask your demon side. Only he can see it. I can only hear his thoughts. I can only do so much."
Crack. Split.
"Then his thoughts, what did it say?"
Crack.
"You should learn to face yourself Dante. Getting answer from me won't cure you."
Split.
"Doppelgang—"
Just then, Dante disappeared before its sight. A blink of an eye and he was gone. It ran towards the spot the elder stood earlier and stopped just a little before it, noticing a piece of rubble dropping into a patch of blackness traveling deep beneath the ground. The passage looked endless without a bottom from the lack of light. As it planned to chase after the hunter, it heard distant rapid gunshots echoing from the hole, followed by some hilarious yapping that sounded like Tarzan mimics.
"Nothing to worry, I guess." Doppelganger jested, decided to search for the help of two lovely ladies instead.
It felt like the worst headache he had in ages. Nero opened his eyes and waited for the grogginess to dissipate. As his vision stabilized, he saw metallic bars before him. Checking his environment, it reeked of mold over structures built from stone. He also noticed there were no lights other than the lit lamps along the corridor, seemingly not even a window for a breath of fresh air. No doubt, this was true imprisonment.
Locked up in a cell was a first time for Nero.
The closest scenario he had was being grounded in the headquarters' disciplinary room. That was inclusive of starving him from dinner too.
The next thing Nero inspected was his physical damage. Loose bandages he remembered before he passed out were still draping all over, and his outerwears were only thrown over his torso. The gash he remembered sustaining had disappeared from his chest, as though it never happened. How the… The ex-Order knight couldn't fathom it for the pain felt as real as it had been inflicted. He quickly removed the messy rolls from his body and slipped his clothes back on, all three layers of it. Aches still reverberated from other sores, apparent that the pack wasn't kind enough to have him nursed. Still, the missing wound intrigued him the most. It made no sense.
Then he noticed his gears were gone. That certainly felt like the worst news of the day. Looking down and staring at what seemed like infinity, his bringer still did not respond to him. It had been like that since… since the moment he returned the blade to Dante. When he tried to trigger in the last battle, it was no longer heeding his commands. Had he only been able to achieve demonic power through the blade then? If so, what did it imply? Was he nothing like Dante, a true half blood, with true powers inherited from Sparda? Was he actually just a mere human who possessed a special arm that could synchronize with demonic power therefore now without it, thus reduced to a helpless being?
What is he, demon or human?
They had him captured, locked up and empty handed. Despite that, Nero would never allow he to feel weak because of the circumstances presented. He just needed time to gather the bits and pieces together to figure out what they were planning. First, clearly he still had some value that they wanted to make use out of him. With the floor covered in dirt and from the lack of windows, it was highly possible that he had been locked up in a dungeon, or somewhere not visible in plain sight. Then slowly walking towards the bars, he squinted through the corner and noticed there were no guards watching him at all. How quaint, the ex-Order knight thought, supposedly he being a prisoner of some importance, ironically.
"Psst! Hey you!" A soft whisper rang in his ears. Nero hastily scanned around the area and saw a young captive in the cell opposite to his.
"Yes?" The young hunter questioned back, hopeful that the conversation could lead him to some answers.
"Your hair… they don't look very human. Are you a demon?" The small voice cried, shaky and hesitant with his speech.
The abrupt question took Nero back into the shades, where the light from the corridor could not reach the place he stood. It was the same thing he questioned himself earlier, which he apparently had no clue either. He took a seat back on the floor, mind still thinking of an answer. Not knowing what to reply in the end, he wavered slightly telling the boy, "I… I don't know."
"Oh…" The young voice hung with disappointment audibly, further explaining, "I have heard stories about a demon in silver hair, capable of fighting against demons and saving people. For a moment, I thought you were him… and I thought he really existed."
Nero had the clearest idea of the demon mentioned.
"I know who you're talking about. He does exists… Dante exists."
Scampering to the bars where the light could reach, Nero saw a young boy, a few years younger than him, with bony-like structure and sunken cheekbones. He had brown hair, a shade that reminded him of Kyrie, and golden glistening eyes. His lips were torn, slightly bruised as well, but they were smiling, in awe and glee actually. Taking a good look at the boy now, Nero noticed the boy glowing in radiance, grinning with anticipation.
"He does? Have you seen him? Do you know him! Dante, is that his real name or some stylish alias he uses! Man I—"
"Woah-woah hold your horses kid! Take it easy." Nero managed to stop the questions about to overflow from the boy's mouth. He didn't know Dante was a popular bedtime story character and the thought of it made him chuckled slightly.
The boy stopped instantly, holding back from overwhelming his newfound friend or hero's friend. Nero noticed that the voice had died out and when he decided to look, those glowing eyes welcomed him again. But those eyes, they brimmed with hope that Nero had never seen before in his entire life, and they breathed of life, in this rotting pit of death.
"I'm sorry… it's just that I haven't met anyone like you before… And your hair reminded me so much of the dem-I mean, Dante. I don't care if he's a demon, he saves lives and that's all that matters."
"How long have you been here?" Nero was certain that the boy did not arrive just a couple of days ago. Still, there was something about those eyes…
The boy smiled a little as Nero began to register his face in his head. "Since forever."
Nero hummed in a low pitch, baffled by the returned response. He waited for the boy to continue, but figured he should help keep the conversation going. "They don't eat you?"
"Wow you seem to already know how things work here." The boy stared at Nero, looking amazed. "They don't feed on the same species."
"You're… one of them." The ex-Order knight spoke deeply, a low sigh forming. "If you are, why are you kept here?"
"Because I'm not a true Vientos. I'm a halfling."
Halfling. Hybrid. Part-demon. Dante.
All these words were unanimously related to Dante. Staring back into the golden orbs once more, he was reminded of the female vixen he had encountered on the train. They shared the same appalling eyes, shinning like topaz.
"My mom was human." The halfling continued, "But she died a long time ago."
"I'm sorry for your lost." Nero expressed his condolences, understanding the pain of losing someone dear. "How did she died?"
"She died because she couldn't accept me. She couldn't accept the fact she had a part-demon son, or a demon husband."
"She didn't know what your father was?"
The boy shook his head. "Father couldn't bring himself to tell her. One day she found dad eating-you know, eating another human. Fear struck her and she went hysteric. She cursed and swore at Father for lying to her, conning her into their marriage and making her give birth to a monster."
Nero felt an unknown anger gathering inside him. So much for humanity and their benevolence.
"She began distancing herself from us, hiding in the bedroom while refusing to eat or drink. Father realized that his concerns could no longer comfort her so he stayed away from her. It was what mother wanted and the least he could do. But then suddenly one night while we're asleep, she hung herself."
The boy paused for a moment, bringing himself together before he continued. "After mom's death, Father sealed all his faith up. He became hateful towards humans and believed all humans were liars, that they deserved a fate worse than death. He then purged me underground where he won't ever see me again. I guess I reminded him too much of mother… That is why I've been here since forever."
"How do you know so much? You're merely a child."
"My aunt told me all these stories when I was slightly younger than now. She tried to explain why my Father did what he did. She had hoped for my understanding to forgive her brother, my Father. I guess I could somewhat understand it."
The ex-Order knight almost felt sympathetic for the boy in the opposite cell. Banished in the depths of this dungeon alone and abandoned by his very own father. He didn't need to experience it to know how bad it tasted. Besides, Nero wasn't very good with feelings and neither was he good with his words. He could only offer his company in return—at least the boy wasn't alone now that he was around.
"Then how did you come to know of Dante if you have been in this cell the whole time?"
"Aunt Amelié told me all about him! You know, the aunt I've mentioned earlier. She was the only one who willingly ever came down to spend time with me. She told me lotsa stories about the dark knight Sparda and his son. I admire them, especially Dante."
Nero smiled a little upon hearing how big of a hero Dante meant to this boy. "He isn't always superhero quality, kid."
What'cha say, kid?
The young hunter snapped as he heard the cocky yet calm voice talking in his head. No doubt, it was Dante's voice. Any connection to Dante could stir his longings even though he fought against it. Subconsciously, he had remembered his voice and right now, he missed it. Then again, he did not want to miss it. He did not want to see Dante ever again, not after what he had done. However, as much as he tried to fight it, he only ended up thinking of him as much as his resistance put up. He wanted that warmth, he needed that warmth to make him feel alive again.
But only the stillness of the cold room embraced him.
And he didn't like it.
"Hey, can I see your face again…?" The boy pleaded softly, worried that Nero would decline.
Shifting his legs towards the bars, the young hunter dragged his body and settled close to where the light could hit him. Dim rays chased the darkness away as visibility returned to his face. The boy watched in awe at every detail sketched over Nero's face. He gleamed with enthusiasm as he scrutinized his features, as though bewildered by an enchanting creature.
"White hair… blue eyes… and flawless skin. You share the traits that aunt spoke of about Dante! You must be a demon! One as strong as Dante is! Are you related to him?"
Related? This boy astounded Nero in more ways than he could think of.
"Don't relate us together. We're never related."
Somehow, a simple word like that took back all the attention Nero spared for the boy. His voice was low and slightly angered, but distinctive that he tried to mask the fury. The knight retreated into the darkness for the second time, this time picking himself up and walking all the way back to the walls. He slid his back against it as he slumped onto the floor, folding his legs. He glued his eyes to the ground while his mind spun in chaos.
Relate. Relation. Relationship.
Nero had to admit—the number one thing he wanted in this world was to know that he wasn't alone in it. When he grew up with the people in Fortuna, he didn't feel the connection with them. He always felt like he was different. Not because of his arm or his white hair, but just a feeling. Being bad with feelings didn't help him either. He didn't know what to say most of the time and thus far, always ended up throwing cocky remarks that were less than receptive by the Order.
He recalled distinctively once when he had helped a young woman retrieved her purse from a thug on the streets and the woman had only told him to get away from her. He could never forget the fright she wore on her face. It was a simple look of fear.
Another time was while he had been patrolling the streets on night shift. He had overheard his own comrades gossiping about his weird appearance and even went as far as to label him a 'freak'. He remembered the look of disgust they had on their faces, it was detestable.
As he entered into his late teens, he was further ostracized evidently due to his excellent swordsmanship as well as combat skills. Jealousy clouded in the minds of those who envied his abilities, until eventually, he was left alone.
He was tired of the stares. He never doubted his existence but undeniably, there were times he thought it was best if he never came into this world. The people around him rejected all the differences he bore no matter how much he tried to ignore them. It became taxing. After he had decided to stop trying, he shut everyone out of his world. No matter how much Kyrie accepted him for who he was, he already knew she wasn't the one for him. No one was. They were different, in every way he could ever see or imagine. He didn't like people touching his stuff, but she would always tidy his room. He didn't like bright colors but she would always get him shades that were too loud for his taste. He didn't like attending prayers but she would always make him go. He never once said no to her, because he knew how much effort she had put to foster their ties, their,
Relationship.
To Nero, it all felt like pretense. It even felt like she was forcing herself to commit to all these things revolving around him. Nero supposed she still had the fear, but she was too afraid to tell him. He didn't need any of this—what he wanted wasn't sympathy, it was acceptance. Someone who could accept him for who he was and not trying to mend him into something that he was not. He needed someone who could accept something as simple as him eating the cream off his parfait first before eating the ice cream, instead of asking him to try eating both together at the same time.
"Hey… are you alright…?" The boy called aloud, but met with no response.
Fast-forward a couple of months and the montage of Dante entering the chapel hit him once more. It was the first time he felt an inclination towards someone else. After the first battle, Nero was even more certain that he had found someone as different as he was. That was when he was then informed that the intruder was Dante and he had been dispatched by the Order to locate him. After going through numerous demon encounters and discoveries about the Order in the process, he finally did again, in His Holiness' room. Even though he didn't come out victorious from the second battle, Dante still handed him the sword without any further questions asked after he simply told him he needed it. It was the first time he felt complete trust from another person. A person who needed no questions to give him what he needed. As he unraveled more secrets about the Order, they eventually resorted to using Kyrie as a pawn against him. That of course, didn't stop him from his pursuit for truth. Upon his near victory in the end, the girl's appearance had proven usefully fatal when he was captured inevitably. Just when faith was all lost in him, Dante appeared before him again. The sight of Dante eased the uncertainty in his heart as his confidence rebounded altogether.
And he didn't need words from the old man to be sure that he would come after him.
After Dante freed him from his captivity, he could feel the old man right by his side as he faced Sanctus. His faith stronger than ever, his mind clearer than it had ever been. He had finally found someone he could trust, someone who was just like him. It was a feeling—a feeling so strong that even if he was bad with it, he could not deny it existed. The hole in his heart had been sated by Dante's existence, even after all the time he had spent with Kyrie was incomparable to it.
Hey Dante! Will we meet again?
However, what Nero had never expected was meeting the elder hunter so soon again. The second time they met ended up with him wrapped in Dante's arms, shivering in fear as his body let up to him. As much as he had been brutalized, he knew deep down that he wanted a part of this. He didn't want to let go of the warmth that embraced him. He didn't want to become a forgotten memory. He wanted to brand a part of him into the elder's soul. He braced the pain and humiliation, a part of him regretful yet another elated in pure bliss.
Until, he heard it.
Vergil.
His voice never reached Dante. He was seeking solace through his body. It was brutal love. A form of love too strong that it hurt so bad losing it. Nero could see it in his eyes as he cried embracing him—a broken soul who yearned to rekindle that love once more. For whatever reason it might be, Dante was abandoned and the inverse rebounded equally hard. Although Nero didn't understand how he managed to trigger the fire in him, he only knew how to return the heat by holding onto him when he lost conscious of his actions. Of course he was afraid, so much so that he allowed the fear to seep into him. He was worried what would become of him if he couldn't help Dante out of his phase. Would he have been the biggest fool trading his body for his sanity? Nero felt as though he was making a deal with the devil, bitter as the sheer irony in full honesty. It was the only thing he could do then; he could do nothing else if he wanted to pick up the pieces that were crumbling inside him. It was his gamble.
But the devil never played fair.
After listening to what Trish had told him, he accepted the fact that he was just a substitute for Vergil. He gritted the anger brewing inside. He was no fool. It wasn't because of the fact that he allowed Dante to take him that angered him, but rather the devil inside him didn't give Nero a chance to reach out to him. And Nero was helpless to it. The angst brought pain the young knight never knew existed before. It hurt so much that all the hate turned into sadness and grief. No matter how much he yearned for Dante's acknowledgment, it was not going to happen. He saw the devil in Dante and it only recognized his twin brother. It wasn't about to let anyone else enter Dante's realm other than Vergil. To it, Nero was insignificant.
What is this?
He moved his fingers to his cheeks and felt a trail of tears overflowing from his eyes. Was he crying? His heart felt constricted as he struggled to breath. It was painful. The feeling of not being able to breathe was so much more miserable than he thought. The slightest thought of Dante's smile sent tears streaming down quicker than it flowed. He wanted to see that smile again. Nero wanted so much he knew he could never have. He regretted every single word he had said to Dante back in Fortuna. The hatred exploded at the sight of the old man, remembering all the things he had done-or what his devil had done. Words came out quicker than he could process them, and they turned vile with each passing remark. However, none of them was true. None of them was what he had truly wanted to say from the bottom of his heart. He was done with all the hate that he feigned having for Dante. It was tiring to keep it going.
Whatever you say, kid.
Dante's voice continued to ring in his ears. Nero tried to stop it but they wouldn't stop echoing. It felt like déjà vu—he was captured again, powerless and helpless. But this time, he was certain Dante wouldn't be showing up to save him. In fact, he wasn't even sure if the old man would ever want to show his face before him again. After all, he did cut all the ties clean back in Fortuna.
Did he regret it?
Hell, more than he ever did for stepping foot into this world.
Despite so, Nero still wanted him. He still wanted to fight for the recognition. Not from Dante's devil, but from the old man himself. He couldn't figure how he was going to achieve it but he wasn't about to settle being less than insignificant. He told himself he was done with the lies, done with the hiding and done with being scared. He wanted to come clean with his feelings for once, or whatever he figured he was feeling. So, if he ever made out of this place alive…
He was going to find him.
He was going to make him recognize his existence.
Don't replace him, overtake him. You may deny all you want, but you know the truth residing inside.
He was going to tell him.
"Scars." A weak voice from the opposite cell shook him from his space. It was the boy.
"I'm sorry?" He finally spoke after the long silence.
"Do you know that scars exist because they're a brand of a memory of something significant that has happened in your life? I have one beneath my eye. My Father lashed it."
Nero wasn't quite sure what the boy was getting at.
"I believe… Dante has many scars."
Then Nero's heart almost stopped. He finally understood what Trish was trying to tell him.
"HEY YOU. Time to go." Another voice entered into the chamber. This time it was the voice of a grown-up. A group of males came to Nero's cell and unlocked the gate. Two of them went in and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, exerting force onto his injuries to control his movements. Prone to the pain, Nero reluctantly walked with them as they pushed him hastily out of the cell before tightly tying his hands to the back.
The boy watched in the shadows as they escorted Nero out of the area. He placed a hand on the scar on his face as he closed his eyes, musing deep in thought.
Don't be afraid. He will come… Dante will save you.
After this chapter, you would have guessed that the finale is upon us. This showdown will be a test of everybody's faith and those who believe shall see to the end. All fears and worries must be discarded otherwise they will never succeed.
Only the highest stakes will reap the highest rewards.
Happy 2012!