I want to break my baby

You know she loves to fake it

I want to break my baby, yeah

Hold her down,

Bring her down now

Oh, now

They'll take you in and spit you out

You're only worth how much you sell

You've come too far, we both agree

Just give the people what they need

-break my baby, Kaleo

Lauriel

The creature was pathetic, yet still resisted His gracious Gift. She studied the creature, it's cheats heaved as it panted from pain. Broken nail-less fingers scrambled to gain purchase on the blood slick ground. She watched as it crawled, scrambling with broken limbs, dragging itself away from her on its belly. She watched the creature with mild fascination as it made slow progress toward the proud ebony throne.

Finish her. Collect my Legacy. His words dropped in her mind, His Will giving her purpose. Easily, with three causal steps, reached the red haired whore. Her heel pinned its leg. The bruise mottled flesh erupted, bone piercing flesh, eliciting a howl of pain from the thing The Favored One lifted her foot, releasing her prey. Screaming in pain yet, the creature writhed, curling up in pain.

Uninterested in the suffering of the creature, she took in the room. She sniffed, scenting the room. This demon would hardly be the first to die bleeding out upon the dark floor here. She would hardly be the last, either. She could hear Him, Whispering, His Word was dropping into her mind like stones into a pond. He filled her being with Purpose. Her mouth spoke, but the words were His. Once more His Spirit had the need of her body. So it was, She was his Prophetess, the Speaker of His Words. That Divine attribute alone-just His mere Whim-would either Convert or convict this whore demoness to her fate unquestionably.

"You creatures. You were by blows created by My hand. It is only fitting that you end the same way. It was inevitable, one as old as you should know that. Why fight it?" Carefully, He circled the creature studying her body. Drinking in her pain through His Favored One's eyes. He paused, squatting down to look the demoness in the eye.

"You," the demoness hissed, "are not a god." She spat blue blood out defiantly, raising her chin. Even with the distance that separated them, His Prophetess shivered at his displeasure . Without warning he seized the demoness. She recognized her hand around the demoness' throat. Gagging the demoness scrabbled at her hand. He only tightened His hold all the more, rising to his feet. Her labored breath was barely more than a wheeze. Drawing the demoness close, until she was inches from His face, He stretched her mouth-almost breaking-into a grin that bore His semblance. The demoness' s eyes went wide now and a new horrible thought started to bloom in her eyes.

"I will take your Legacy, thieving whore, I no longer care if you give yourself unto me willingly or not," He breathed, speaking quietly. Abruptly, He retreated. His Intent-the continuation of His Great Work-was clear. She was awed at the faith He put in her. She was not worthy and yet he chose someone as lowly as herself to carry His Word and Will. Blinking, she studied the face of the whore.

Deep yellow-red eyes-highlighted by her naturally paler, purple hued skin were bright in her bruise mottled face. Left eye nearly swollen shut, blue ichor like blood trickled down her chin. Cuts at her crown and temple dyed her normally crimson hair a damp, dark purple. Right now the single mustard colored eye was studying her, a note of fear in them. At that she gave the whore a calming smile.

"He likes to hear them scream," she explained, "those that resist his Will." The whore redoubled her efforts, hands clawing at her arms, opening shallow wounds. She did not slacken her hold. "As his Prophetess and the Harbinger of his Reckoning, I do as well."

Mouth dropping open, Nevan made to scream, a faint pink spark dancing between her canines. Her throat blushed a bright coral as the last of her aura pooled at the base of her neck for one last attempt at life. Roughly The Favored One kissed the foul whore, sealing filthy her mouth with her own. Tongue lapping at the energy the demoness has gathered in her mouth. Easily she sipped away the energy, rolling her tongue against the whores, soaking up her life energy like a sponge. Sighing, contented and satiated with the life force of the other, she withdrew several inches. Close enough to be lovers, close enough to sip away at her soul, The Favored One gave the whore a loving smile before gently kissing the demoness's temple.

With the last of her energy reserves depleted, Nevan's struggles flagged. Panting she could only stare in wonder and horror at the thing that held her so close. That familiar face-the one her Lord had toyed with mere months ago-now held a deific clarity that was far, far from the human she had encountered. It was the type of divinity that hadn't walked the earth since man had huddled in caves by fires. Nevan stared at that face and understood, with certainty, there would be no slow regeneration of her soul over time. Not this time.

"Had you given of yourself freely, He would have Converted you. He would have given you His Seed. You could have become a part of His Great Will." Gently, The Favored One tucked a stray red strand of hair. Swallowing down, blood thickly, Nevan whispered. Tilting her head to the side, eyes watching her with fascination, the hold on the demonness's neck slackened. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I said," Nevan's voice was rough and wet as she coughed up blood, "That death is preferable."

The fascination melted away into blank hardness. A hand thrust through the demoness' innards-past broken ribs, ripping through soft, hot bags of flesh until her still beating heart rested against The Favored One's palm. Gagging, Nevan threw up blood, writhing. Yes. There it was. His Legacy. Given form and Life. Yanking the whore close onces again,tongue darting into Nevan's mouth, she lapped up the blood there, drinking in the exquisite drought of her suffering. Fingernails digging into the still beating love organ, she released the demoness' mouth so that her Lord could hear the screams.

"Don't be afraid," she reassured the demoness quietly, whispering softly. "As per your wishes, you will be denied His Gift of Life after Life. You will never know the Touch of His Grace." She frowned, a tinge of sorrow on her face.

"False God," Nevan hissed, spite and rage thick in her voice. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

"Rest Eternal," She cut the demoness off short, pulling her heart from her chest. "May you go with God and have His Blessing."

Spasms rocked the demoness' body for several minutes. Letting the unbaptized creature fall to the ground she stepped over the corpse. Mouth opening she bit into the Legacy, it's thick heady juices running down her chin. Oh. Like a ripened, sweet plum it exploded upon her tongue. Swallowing thickly, she bit at the exotic fruit again. Each bite was flavorful, filled with His Legacy and spiced with His Power. No fruit, not even the apple of Eden, could have tasted as sweet as the one she consumed. It was both holy and powerful. Sinking down into the obsidian throne, she licked at her fingers, tasting the remnants of sticky sweet. He trusted his Prophetess to collect His Legacies. She only felt full when satiated with Her Lord's work.

Stomach quiet, she leaned back, relaxing in the emporer's throne. Her smile glowed with pride at having completed Her Lord's Work. She would wait, Her Lord had use for her here. More Legacies were on their way.

Dante

"What the fuck happened here?" Dante demanded. The plain before them was littered with corpses. Some were still moving. Most were not. The smell of decay, disembowelment, blood and infection hung in the sulfur laden air like a toxic perfume. Overhead hell's vultures called to one another. They would feast well tonight. Vergil grit his jaw.

"They've all been infected." With a thumb he flicked his blade out an inch. The blade was a whisper as several slashes lashed out across the field. Any of the bodies that had been mostly intact were now in pieces. Dante snorted.

"We don't have time for that." Vergil spared him a glance. Dante nodded to the twisting black towers in the distance. "I'm no rocket scientist," Dante started. The trail of bodies, as far as the eye could see, trailed towards the towers. As if someone had laid out a dying, gruesome welcome mat. Five to ten long miles of bodies, so deliberately strewn across the horizon. Wordlessly, Yamato slid back into place.

"It's a trap?" Leon hazarded, studying the body strewn field.

"Obviously, they wanted to roll out the red carpet for us," Dante commented, a slight smirk on his face. He flourished a hand, half bowing to his brother. "After you your majesty."

"What in the-" Jill demanded, stopping short to cover her mouth.

"Never seen a battlefield before?" Dante asked.

"Not one like this," she replied, honestly.

"Right, well, let's not waste any time. You three," Dante nodded to Chris, Jill and Rayne, "hang back and secure the exit. Something tells me we're not going to be walking out of there easily." Dante nodded to the towers.

"It'd be nice if some part of this little field trip goes like the picnic it's supposed to be." Dante turned to Leon, sizing him up.

"You're with us." Without further comment, Dante followed his brother, leaving a surprised Leon in his wake. Leon glanced at Chris and Jill.

"Don't get bitten," Chris said, withdrawing his gun. JIll nodded to him, following suit with her own rifle.

"Watch your six," he retorted to Chris and Jill before taking off.

Leon

The path to the twisted, pitched towers-a castle-Leon slowly came to realize-was nothing less than a stroll through a killing field. Vergil seemed to know the way as he strode forward confidently, stepping over the twisted mangled corpses of things Leon only saw in his nightmares. Leon was no stranger to deformities caused by unchecked viral mutation, he was however new to the unchecked vial mutation of demons. It was an effort, but he made mental notes on what he saw as he focused on reaching the castle.

"How do you know where we are?" Leon asked after a few moments. Dante spared him a glance.

"Right, you're a tourist. Doesn't really matter where we are," Dante stepped over a body. "All roads lead to Rome." Leon held his silence, chewing on that.

"There's only one place worth being in hell," Dante added, nodding to the black spirals. Leon blinked. "Scenery has changed a bit under Vergil's rule, but,eh," Dante shrugged. "If you've seen one hell, you've seen most of it." Well. It was an answer...somewhat. Not that he really understood what the demon man was saying. They trekked up a ridge, before Vergil came of a halt. As did Dante. Warily, Leon joined them.

The smell alone was overwhelming. The tepid air carried a tang of sulfur and the overlying malodor of rot. Rotting corpses, blood and innards, bodily fluids all commingled and congealed upon the rocky ground. Stench of death, Leon thought, as he stepped came to a halt.

Overhead the sky was dizzying. A spiral of crimson and blood orange illuminated the rubescent haze that seemed to coat the land. Sticking up like a blackened knife into the sky, the twisted tower was visible. It shone with a polish that reflected the dull light, if barely. Jagged ridges coated the outside in a mosaic of planes. Ebony obsidian rock, Leon realized. The castle had been carved of obsidian.

"Nice digs, Verggie," Dante commented. Before them the vista of the castle stretched. Blackened, grey earth lay scorched by the several rivers of active lava and yellowed sulfur pools that served as a type of mote. Here bodies lay strewn as well, some half in and half out of the lava rivers and the sulfur pools. The smell of cooked flesh was acrid.

Leon tensed at the evident movement along the banks. More than a few of the bodies moved, despite their mangled outward appearance. In fact more than a few were moving. Eating, Leon realized grimly. For a minute he saw that face-that very first one he had encountered years ago-blood dribbling down what had once been a person. Leon pushed the thought away, his hand on his gun.

Dante glanced between the stirring demons and Leon. Before taking in his stoic brother.

"What caliber are you using?" Dante demanded, holding out his hand. Switching the safety back on, Leon handed over the gun. Dante turned the piece over in his hands. A reddish light traveled down Dante's hands, leaching into the metal of the weapon. Leon blinked, suddenly aware that his ETAP band was beeping as it plummeted to black. Well, if there was any precedence to Mike's theory, Leon now had proof that the mood bracelets definitely worked. The stupid thing hadn't gone deeper than a very light yellow for Leon in the time he'd been wearing. It was reacting to Dante and it wasn't even touching him. Quickly, Leon switched the bracelet to silent mode. Dante offered Leon a rakish smirk as he handed the gun back.

"You should be fine," he commented. Leon turned the gun over in his hands. It didn't look any different.

"Hey," Dante drew his attention as he pulled out two handguns of his own. That same reddish light traveled the length of the guns. Dante smirked as he called out to the horde. "You guys do know the meaning of going out for a bite to eat right?"

Before them, the feasting demons had halted, their attention trained on the trio. Every viable set of eyes watched them unblinkingly. Wordlessly they left their food sources and started to stalk towards the group. The way they moved was unnerving. They moved in unison, Leon stared hard, trying to understand what he saw. Normally viral infectees moved independently towards a food source. They wouldn't leave already viable food. Quickly, Leon switched the safety off. Vergil growled, his hands on his sword.

"No?" Dante asked, a gun spinning on his finger. Leon aimed for the head of the nearest monstrosity and pulled the trigger. The creature dropped, twitching, but the others did not waiver. Did not appear to be drawn by the sound. Nor by the free food Leon had just offered them.

"It's called take out?" Dante asked again, still continuing with the lame joke, "Maybe you all are the eat in type?" Leon was breaking out into a cold sweat. There was something very, very off here. He fired off three more bullets. Three bullets aimed at the forefront of the horde advancing on them. Same reaction, that was, no reaction. Still they lurked forward.

"Dante," Vergil growled, slowly drawing out his sword. They were less than 20 meters away now, still slowly advancing. "Shut. Up."

"Shit," Leon muttered softly, squeezing off several more bullets. They hit home and dropped several. Yet the mob of creatures continued the slow controlled advance. They were 10 meters away.

"Fuck," Dante muttered.