Chapter 21

Nero raised his head and looked around the room. The macabre surroundings were repulsive and morbidly fascinating. The youth couldn't take his eyes from the murals and paintings that depicted unimaginable horrors with disturbing vividness. It was the type of decor one would expect from a den of vampires, vastly contradicting the normality of the former rooms. Every item in the sacrificial charmer was a homage to the only thing that carried importance to the occult that walk the world with hidden intentions; blood.

The young knight tried in vain not to stare at the scenes of gore. But they drew his eye like the flame a damned candle dancing on the pureness of an angel's wing. To say that Nero was entranced would not be an overstatement. But for him to admit it – even in the deepest recesses of his own thoughts – was an impossibility. He repelled the darkness within him that was intrigued by the chamber's aura. The youth loathed how much a part of him loved the masochistic pleasures that the paintings were emitting.

Nero refused to look at anyone else in the room, lest they somehow see the sadistic intrigue that hid beneath his stunned features. He needn't have worried. Vergil and Dante were as intent on the illustrations as the youth was, though neither was quite as private about their interest. Dante circled the room, gazing at the hangings. He stopped before one that showed three vampires enraptured in each others company with graphic detail. Nero hated that the hunter had chosen that picture out of all the others to turn his attention to. The young man struggled to make his eyes move anywhere else in the room, but failed. The fact that there were lifeless bodies of humans in the background of the painting was not what made it so incredibly disturbing. It was the woman that brought Nero so much discomfort. Her eyes were red and her fangs were extended, but the dark hair and all too familiar facial features of the vampiress made recognition unmistakable.

Nero felt Abigail standing next to him, but didn't dare look at her. He doubted he would ever be able to look at her again after seeing that horrendous painting. He was glad when Vergil broke the silence.

"It this Dastan?" the elder man asked.

Nero pointed his gaze at the other man, glad to have something to look at besides the intimate depiction. He stared at the painting Vergil stood before. It displayed a man – one of the same men from all the rest of the pictures, Nero noticed – standing atop a mound of corpses with perfect contentment at his heinous placement. The man was pale with dark hair and green eyes, his vampiric abilities dormant for a change. He looked almost normal, but for his surroundings.

"Yes," Abigail replied.

Dante glanced at the portrait of Dastan, then back to other one. "He don't look that scary," the hunter muttered with disinterest.

Vergil huffed. "The serenity with which he conquers humans doesn't bother you, Dante?"

The hunter shrugged. "It's just a paintin'."

"It's not just a painting," Vergil told him. "It's a representation of Dastan's desire. The artist captured his satisfaction accurately. As well as his goal. Were Dastan not happy with the outcome, I doubt he would have kept the painting."

"He wouldn't have," Abigail said. She pointed to the portrait. "That is his favorite. Humanity in their place; he in his."

Vergil turned to look at her. "Did he request it?" he asked. "Or was it a gift?"

"A bit of both," she replied. "He asked me to draw him as I truly saw him. So I did. It wasn't what he expected, but he was elated with the product."

The elder nodded. "A man honest enough with his intentions of domination wouldn't be dissatisfied with seeing them portrayed. That says something about his character."

Nero glanced at Abigail out of the corner of his eye. "Did you paint all of these?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Only that one."

"Who did this one?" Dante questioned, gesturing to the one he stood before.

"I don't know," Abigail said. "That was before my time."

Nero turned to gaze at her fully. A frown creased his brow. He assumed before her time meant before she was a vampire. Yet, he didn't see how that could be possible as the woman in the picture looked identical to her and was a vampire.

Abigail noticed his expression and smiled. "I told you I thought Dastan felt remorse for killing Kia."

Nero shot one more glance at the woman in the picture, then turned back to Abigail. "That's Kia?"

She nodded. The youth sighed internally at the admission.

Dante turned toward them. He studied Abigail. "I ain't buyin' it," he said.

Vergil looked at his brother. "As much time as you spent admiring that particular painting, did you not notice that it cannot possibly be less than three thousand years old?"

The hunter regarded his twin with ambiguity. "I ain't an expert on art."

Vergil smirked. "It's faded. The type of paint initially used for it's creation was not made to withstand generations. It's been restored. You can tell by the brush strokes."

Dante studied the portrait scrupulously for a few seconds, then looked at Abigail. "You two could be twins."

Abigail didn't respond other than to turn away from him. To Nero, she seemed a tad abashed at having her appearance related to Kia's. More than likely, that was due to the fact that the latter woman's body was displayed with complete, unobstructed vividness in the painting. Other than the scattered smears of blood, there was very little about Kia that wasn't visible.

Dante eventually turned away too, and Nero found himself exchanging a glance with Vergil. The man grinned at him. It wasn't a sly smile, but one of mutual discomfort.

"I suppose you understand the significance of the room," he said.

The youth nodded. It was made so blatantly clear what the chamber was designed for that the meaning could not be misinterpreted. He motioned to a stone chalice built into the far wall. It stood three feet high. The cup was shallow, but about a foot wide. The exterior was decorated with vines and delicate flowers, a contradiction to it's intended purpose.

"That's not for water," Nero stated.

Vergil inclined his head in consent. "It's the key to opening what lies ahead." He flicked his eyes to Abigail. "Right, Abigail?"

She met his eyes and nodded. "One of you will have to make a donation."

Dante scoffed and approached them. He crossed his arms and glared at her. "A donation?" he repeated, with a wry laugh. "What is this, a blood bank? I don't make donations. Besides, I'm pretty sure that thing don't accept demon blood. So it looks like we're gonna hafta find another way through."

"There is no other way," Abigail told him. "The chamber is sealed with an enchantment. There's only one way to break it." She smirked at him. "Besides," she mocked, "you're not a demon, halfbreed."

"Close enough," Dante sneered.

Vergil positioned himself between his brother and the vampire. He glanced at each of them. "You've been misguided," he said to Dante. "And, Abigail – being cunning as she is – has failed to correct you."

The devil hunter frowned at his twin. "Whaddya mean?"

"The blood of a pure demon is toxic to a vampire," Vergil explained. "However, when diluted with human blood, the potency of the poison is dulled. The effects for the vampire that would chance to drink that type of concoction are in no way fatal. It wouldn't even be strong enough to cause illness."

Dante watched Vergil skeptically. The elder twin betrayed only confidence with his admission. Nero guessed the demon hunter's expression matched his own. Though the youth was new to all this, he took comfort in the fact that the seasoned warrior was just as ignorant when it came to the blood suckers as himself.

After a long silence, Dante finally asked the question that the youth wondered, but did not want to voice. "How do you know, Vergil?"

The man smiled. "Abigail told me."

The hunter shook his head, and grinned in disbelief. "Hate to break it to ya, bro, but yer little leech is a liar."

The faintest glimmer of sneer showed on Vergil's face before he quickly composed himself. "Never refer to Abigail as my anything," he warned. "Furthermore, it doesn't surprise me that she'd lie to you. You don't have the patience to seek truth, nor would you believe it if it were made obvious. You are too entranced with your own version of reality for your mind to comprehend the shades of gray that are beyond your vision."

Dante accepted the assault with a hardened expression. When Vergil finished, the younger twin sighed. "Well, if yer so sure yer right," he held out his hand to the basin, "prove it."

Vergil let out a humph of annoyance. "No."

The twins eyed each other. Nero sighed in impatience. No matter how much difference there was between the two Sons of Sparda, they equaled each other in their stubbornness.

"I'll do it," the youth said.

All eyes turned to him. Nero shrugged in resolve. "It's not a big deal," he spoke, more to himself than the others. "That thing can't hold that much. It's not like it'll kill me. I'll heal."

Dante crossed his arms. "That ain't the point, kid. You-"

Nero cut the hunter off, mostly because he didn't want to hear another lecture. "I got the most human in me, remember? So, even if Vergil is wrong, my blood stands a better chance of unlocking the door than either of yours does."

Vergil nodded. "He makes a good point."

Dante scowled at his brother. "Figures you'd agree."

Vergil glared at him. "What are you implying, brother?"

"Just that the only person you care about is yourself."

Vergil's eyes flashed. His head tilted upward so that he looked down his nose at Dante. "Don't let yourself be blinded by feelings. This is not a personal issue. Have you so quickly forgotten your goal only because it presents a mild discomfort to someone you care about? Nero is old enough to make his own decisions and he should be allowed to do so without being chastened by you. Know your place before you open your mouth, Dante."

Reprimanded, Dante hesitantly nodded and backed away. "Okay." He glanced at Nero, who was still dazed by Vergil's rant. "It's yer call."

The youth adjusted his thoughts and looked at Abigail. She returned his gaze in silence. He guessed there were really no instructions for making a sacrifice. The youth knew that he had to be the one to do it. It just seemed fitting that it should be him. He was the one with the most at stake. It wasn't just the safety of the human world that drove Nero, it was that of his home, his girlfriend, even his family – as novel as that term was to him.

With a self-assured grin, Nero left the group and went to stand in front of the chalice. He had made the choice to "donate", but had not thought of how he would go about it. His right arm was out of the equation. The devil bringer carried blood, but wasn't as easy to penetrate as flesh. Red Queen was out as well. The controls were too delicate to risk damaging. Nero wasn't entirely certain he could control his grip while inflicting a wound upon himself. The youth muttered a curse as he realized that the slim, sharp blade of Yamato was ideal for this sort of thing.

Nero glanced over his shoulder at Vergil as he summoned the katana into his right hand. He didn't pause to gauge the man's reaction before making a quick horizontal slash across the soft skin of his left arm. The cut didn't hurt. It wasn't until after the blood began to gush that Nero let out a hiss of pain. The crimson liquid flowed freely and the basin began to fill. The youth hoped the seal would break before he began to heal. He didn't like the idea of having to repeat the the action a second time.

As the steady stream of blood slowed to a light trickle and finally to an receding drip, Nero heard the grinding of stone as the door was revealed. He stepped back, shaking the specks of blood from his arm and grinned at the newly opened passage. It was dark and endless.

Nero turned to needlessly announce his success, but all words died as he saw Abigail snarling at him with red eyes. There was no doubt that the vampire would have attacked if she wasn't being held back by Vergil. The sword Dante had pointed at her didn't seem to worry her in the slightest.

The youth wiped his arm on his jacket and looked down at the fading scar. Had he known his sacrifice would cause this much trouble, Nero might have had second thoughts about making it.