"Sparda," Lady echoed, staring first at Nero, then at Kyrie. "She said Sparda."

"The one and only." Nero dropped into the armchair to force himself to hold still, though he felt more like running down the street in search of something to punch. The evening had been just as hectic as the rest of the day, what with securing Gianna's release from the hospital, moving her to the orphanage, hastily installing a lock on the door of her room, rushing home to feed the children, and then trying to shuttle them off to bed early so the adults could talk through everything that had happened—but rather than wearing him out, the chaos had only set Nero's nerves more on edge. "No word on why Gramps is recruiting clueless teenage girls to do his dirty work for him."

"Definitely not his M.O.," Trish volunteered from where she was sprawled on the couch. "From everything I've heard, he was usually a bit more direct than that. More the stand-up-and-stab-you-in-the-face-himself type."

"It must be someone from the Order." Kyrie was pacing the living room, unusually restless. "It has to be. All that talk about wielding the true sword—that was a common phrase in Order doctrine. I heard it used over and over when I was in training to be cantor."

Nero nodded. "Makes sense. I didn't pay much attention to those sermons, but I remember Credo had some piece of regalia engraved with the words 'true sword.' It used to be mounted in a frame in his bedroom."

"It was a gold belt buckle. A gift from Lieutenant Lauda when Credo became Supreme General, I think." Kyrie paced another turn of the room. "But the Order is all but dissolved now, except for a few administrators who manage what's left of the Order's property. There isn't even much of a religious presence here anymore. All the members of the High Council are dead, aren't they?"

"As far as we know," Lady said. "Dante killed Agnus, didn't he?"

Nero nodded. "And I took out Sanctus myself. He seemed pretty dead when I was through with him, though considering Dante had already killed him once, I guess anything's possible. For all we know, the Order higher-ups had backup clones of themselves stashed in a lab somewhere. I wouldn't put anything past Agnus."

"None of the other Council members made it out of the building," Trish added. "I checked. The only one who did was Credo, and he…" She glanced at Kyrie and hesitated. "Dante and I were with him."

"But it doesn't have to be someone from the Council," Lady pointed out. "Nero's clone theory aside, there were a lot of fanatics involved at all levels of the Order. It could be anyone who bought into the Sparda legend a little too deeply. Maybe they just couldn't let it go after the Order's collapse."

"It is odd that they've waited this long to reveal themselves, though." Kyrie drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the back of the sofa. "It's been six years. Why haven't we seen any evidence of this person before? Why would they wait until the past year to find someone like Gianna? Surely there were other people on Fortuna who held a grudge against demons for killing their loved ones."

"I think that's one of several questions we're not going to get answered until we find this 'Lord Sparda' knockoff himself." Nero slumped back in the chair. "And considering all we have is an alias, that may take some doing."

Lady frowned. "Couldn't Gigi tell you where he lives, or anything?"

Nero shook his head. "He always contacted her to tell her where to meet him, or where there were demons to kill. Apparently he was the one monitoring our phone lines, not Gigi."

"That makes more sense. I was wondering how a seventeen-year-old girl with no Internet access and no public library figured out how to install a hard-line wiretap."

"Apparently he has a spread of other skills, too. He's a shoo-in for the demons at the orphanage: Gigi said he used to take her to empty warehouses and things and summon demons for her to fight." Nero's expression darkened. "He was at ground zero when Tonio was killed. When the Nilepoch showed up, probably attracted by the demons he'd summoned, our guy just left. Didn't even try to help Tonio."

"Sounds like a real winner," Lady muttered.

"Yeah. At least Gigi tried to shoot the Nilepoch, but when she realized her bullets weren't having any effect, she panicked and ran." Nero sighed. "Can't really blame the kid."

"I probably would have done the same, if none of my weapons put a dent in it," Lady admitted. "Did Gigi share anything else about this 'Sparda' that might help us find him?"

"He's apparently 'middle-aged' and has a bum leg." Nero rolled his eyes. "Coming from a teenager, that means he could be anywhere between thirty and sixty."

"The leg is something distinctive, though."

"But there were enough people severely injured six years ago that it's not unique," Kyrie pointed out. "And we can't exactly access the hospital's medical records to narrow down the list of suspects. There are privacy rules."

"Unless we broke into the hospital and stole the records," Trish offered. Everyone turned to stare at her, and she shrugged. "What? I've been there overnight. Security is a joke."

"We can't violate thousands' of people's privacy just to find one man," Kyrie chided. "Besides, it would take weeks to sort through all the patient records, and there's no way of knowing if the man we're looking for even has a medical record there. There has to be another way."

"Well, if he tries summoning something again, we can hope he leaves evidence behind," Lady sighed. "The Solomon's Noose is as basic as summoning gets. He has to be in contact with the circle to activate it, and with a bad leg, he can't escape from an enclosed area like the orphanage courtyard very quickly. If we're fast enough, maybe we can catch him in the act."

Nero rubbed his eyes, wavering between agitation and exhaustion. "I feel like I'm at a dead end on every single front. We're stuck waiting for the Nilepoch to show back up. We can't do anything about getting Dante and Vergil back to normal until it does—and that's assuming we can even kill the damn thing, and figure out some way to undo what it did to them, which may not even be possible, in which case we're stuck waiting for them to grow up and get their memories back on their own. And God help us all when Vergil hits his Urizen phase the second time around. Meanwhile, there's some random wacko posing as Sparda and summoning demons in the middle of town, and we don't even know where to start looking for him. All we can do is wait and see if he unleashes another pack of demons somewhere, and try to trace that back to him." He struck the arm of the chair with his fist. "I hate waiting. I'm almost tempted to tell Trish to steal the hospital records just to have something to do."

"There is plenty to do, Nero," Kyrie chided gently. "You have a normal life that needs living, a houseful of children who are depending on you, and doubtless a number of demons lurking around the island who will need hunted at some point. I'm worried about all of this, too—especially the possibility that an extremist is acting on some twisted version of the Order's doctrine, and could be putting people in danger—but ordinary life doesn't stop simply because a bigger crisis happens to arise."

Nero sighed. "I know that. I just want to get things back to normal, and I can't do that until we knock out all these other things hanging over our heads."

Lady's eyes flicked between Nero and Kyrie. "For now, let's do what we can to stay in top fighting condition—and for me, at least, that means a proper night's sleep. Given everything that's happened today, I think we could all do with some rest." She glanced at Trish. "Or whatever passes for it."

"You're absolutely right," Kyrie said. "We won't find any answers fretting over these things tonight, when we're stressed and exhausted. Let's all get some sleep and come at this with fresh eyes tomorrow, all right?"

Trish stood and stretched before making her way to the front door. "I'm going to wander the streets a bit and see if I sense anything interesting. Who knows? I might get lucky and run into this 'Sparda' myself." She flashed a predatory grin. "Maybe I'll demand alimony and see if he gets the joke."

Lady bid them good night and retired to the room she shared with Flavia, and Nero stared after her for a few seconds. "Do you think we should tell them?" he asked suddenly.

Kyrie blinked and glanced around the room. "What? Who?"

"Scipio and Flavia. About Gigi."

"Oh." Kyrie came closer and sank onto the arm of his chair. "I'm not sure. I think Flavia would be happy to see her sister again, but Scipio seems to have so much anger toward her for leaving them at the orphanage. And right now, we still don't know how things will play out, or where Gianna will end up. Even she doesn't seem to know if she wants to stay or not. I'm almost afraid to tell them about her until we know if she intends to be a part of their lives again. It might be worse to get their hopes up, don't you think?"

Nero nodded slowly. "Yeah, I get that. When I was a kid, there was a part of me that really wanted to find my parents, but another part of me was scared that if I did, I'd learn why they abandoned me, and… I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Maybe they had a good reason for giving me up, or maybe they just didn't want me. And I knew that if I found them, there was a chance that they still wouldn't want me." He shook his head. "That uncertainty is the worst thing."

Kyrie kissed the top of his head in wordless sympathy. "We'll spare them that. Let's let Gianna decide when she's ready to contact them."

"Sounds like a plan." Nero tried to summon the energy to stand, but now he felt utterly drained. "You know, it's funny—I finally found one of my parents, and I still don't have any of those answers."

"Your father didn't know about you, did he?"

"Apparently not." Nero shrugged. "So I still don't know why I was left on your doorstep."

"Does it really matter?" Kyrie bent to kiss him again. "I'm just so, so thankful that you were."

"Me, too." He leaned into her for a moment, feeling the day's stress and frustration began to melt away in the presence of her solid warmth. "Let's go to bed."


Nero snapped awake in the pre-dawn hours, unsure what had roused him. The house was silent, save for Kyrie's even breathing beside him. As he looked around the darkened bedroom, his night-sensitive eyes picked up the warm haze of one of the downstairs lamps brightening the wall outside their door. After slipping carefully out of bed, Nero pulled on a robe and crept down the stairs to investigate.

The light was emanating from the living room. At one end of the couch, highlighted by the lamp's glow, a tuft of tousled white hair was just visible. It was impossible to tell which of the twins it was until Nero moved further into the room and spotted the blue pajamas. Zaffiro's knees were pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around them so tightly that the flesh was white under the pressure. He was trembling visibly.

"Hey," Nero said quietly, crouching in front of him, keeping his movements slow and obvious to avoid startling the boy. "What's going on?"

Zaffiro lifted his gaze to Nero. His eyes were rimmed in red and hung with purple shadows. "I had a bad dream."

Nero's stomach clenched involuntarily at the memory of what horrors their previous dreams had contained, but he was grateful that this time, Zaffiro was at least still functional and speaking. Perhaps this nightmare hadn't been so bad, or perhaps all their efforts to draw him out—the gentle guidance, the games, the violin practice—were beginning to help him work through the trauma. Nero moved to sit beside the boy on the couch. "You wanna tell me about it?"

Zaffiro's chin settled back into the corral of his arms. "I… I dreamed I killed somebody." The words were scarcely audible.

Nero controlled his breathing to avoid any reaction that might seem frightening or judgmental. He knew how quickly Zaffiro could shut down if he felt threatened in any way. What had Lady said to draw Rosso out after his nightmares…? "That must have been really scary. What happened? Can you tell me?"

Zaffiro's eyes went distant and a little glassy. "I was in the city. The bad things were chasing me again, so I was hiding from them. A man saw me and asked if I was hungry. He said he would give me some food if I followed him."

Nero waited through a long pause, scarcely breathing, before prompting, "And you went with him?"

Zaffiro nodded. "He took me to an empty building, but there wasn't any food there. He tried to take my sword."

Another long silence. "What happened then?"

The boy's arms drew tighter about his knees, fingers digging into his sleeves as though seeking purchase."I told him it was my father's, and he couldn't have it. Then he said he could have anything he wanted, and he grabbed my hair and… and I think he was trying to take my clothes, too." Nero's teeth clenched as he realized what the man must have intended, but Zaffiro's brow was furrowed in a look of naive confusion. "He was hurting me, and he wouldn't let me go, and I—I was scared…" Tears welled in the pale blue eyes. "I didn't mean to kill him. I just wanted to get away."

"It wasn't your fault," Nero said automatically, still struggling to absorb the shocking tale. "You were just protecting yourself."

"There was blood everywhere. I didn't know what to do." Zaffiro buried his face in his arms. "Then I woke up, but I could still feel it, like the blood was sticking to me." He sniffed. "I know it's past lights-out, but I don't want to go back to sleep."

"That's okay. You can sit out here for a while. You want me to stay with you?"

The boy nodded. A tear escaped, leaving a dark circle where it fell on his sleeve.

Nero looked around for some kind of distraction to get the kid's mind off his nightmares. "Do you want to read, or anything? I can probably get one of Julio's books without waking him up…" Zaffiro didn't answer right away, and when Nero glanced at him it was to see deep furrows cut between his eyebrows. "Something else on your mind?"

"It… it doesn't make you a bad person, does it?" Zaffiro turned tearful, pleading eyes on Nero. "If I dream I hurt somebody? It doesn't mean I'm bad?"

Nero put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug, in part to prevent him from seeing the emotions he knew he couldn't keep from showing on his own face. "No. No, dreaming something doesn't make you bad. Sometimes dreams are just dreams."

But this one wasn't, Nero knew, and it was horrific to imagine a young child being preyed upon, being forced to kill. Hell, that kind of trauma put adults in therapy. For such a sensitive, introspective boy to face what he'd done alone, with no one to assuage his guilt, must have left scars so deep they could never heal. He must have felt so isolated, so afraid. How could he trust anyone, when any offer of help might conceal a lethal threat? What kindness could he hope for, if he'd thought himself guilty of a heinous act?

No wonder Vergil held human life so cheap, and had been willing to sacrifice so many innocent people to the Qliphoth. Nero's early life hadn't been half so traumatic, and there had still been days when he'd wanted to watch the world burn.

The small body leaning against him was growing heavier, and Nero knew that Zaffiro's exhaustion from the nights of interrupted sleep would catch up to him soon. He moved the boy's head to his shoulder, tugged one of Kyrie's afghans over them both, and waited for morning to come.


Nero found it difficult, in the following days, to do as Kyrie suggested and focus on living his normal life. He wasn't sure what "normal" entailed, anyhow; he doubted that much of his daily routine could be classified as the typical human experience, since it involved regular calls for demon extermination and periodic nights of interrupted sleep, calming one or the other of the twins as they struggled to come to terms with new and upsetting memories. He guessed the boys were approaching ten years old, now—still too young to be encumbered with the truth, but old enough to be suspicious of their own circumstances and any answers the adults in their lives gave them.

Rosso, unexpectedly, proved to be the more unmanageable of the twins. He had ceased answering to anything but Tony the week after their initial nightmares, and seemed to be approaching the double-digit mark with an attitude of cavalier independence. He now tested the household rules the way his brother had at a much younger age, though he exhibited more pure defiance than cool analysis, and constantly challenged Nero and Kyrie to enforce their punishments. So far Nero's superior speed, strength and ability to extend his arm's reach beyond that of any ordinary human had enabled him to keep Rosso from actually breaking out of the house or destroying anything valuable, but unlike his physical abilities, Nero's tolerance for pre-teen shenanigans was not superhuman.

"He's just stretching his wings," Kyrie sighed as Nero ranted to her one afternoon. Their bedroom was filled with slanting sunlight as they folded the laundry, sharing a rare moment of privacy. Nero missed the early days of their courtship, when every moment they'd spent together could afford to be sweet and romantic, and wasn't merely a respite from the blended chaos of foster parenting, devil hunting, or—in the case of Rosso and Zaffiro—a curious hybrid of both.

"The only thing he's stretching is my patience," Nero groused. "And if he keeps it up, I might have to stretch his miserable little neck."

"Nero," Kyrie chided. "You shouldn't say things like that, even in jest."

"Who's jesting? He'd survive it, and it might make me feel better."

She shot him a warning look, and he blew out a long breath. "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't make cracks about using violence on the kids, even if the kid in question is my obnoxious-as-hell pre-adolescent half-human uncle." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Ugh. It's been two months and it still feels weird to say that."

"All children go through a rebellious phase. It will pass, like everything else."

"I'm not so sure. This is the most I've ever seen Rosso—Tony—whatever the hell we're calling him this week—behave like Dante. Real Dante. Adult Dante, I mean." Nero pitched a balled pair of socks into the dresser drawer with excessive force. "What if he never grows out of it?"

Kyrie leaned over to look at the pocket agenda she'd left open on her nightstand. "Can you survive it for three more days?"

"Maybe. I'm not so sure Rosso will, if he keeps mouthing off the way he did at breakfast. What happens in three days?"

She picked up the calendar and showed him a date circled in red ink. "According to your predictions, that's when the Nilepoch is due to return."

"Crap. Already?"

Kyrie laughed. "And here I thought you were counting down the days."

"I must have lost count somewhere." Nero sank down on the edge of the bed. "It has been a little crazy around here."

"It always is." Kyrie nudged him to one side to retrieve a shirt he'd inadvertently sat on. "Have you made all your preparations?"

Nero nodded. "Lady and Nico have been working on that all week—clearing out the lab, setting up barricades for cover. Apparently Nico was able to get one of the old geothermal backup generators running, so there's electric light and everything. She said she was going to try to rig up some traps to slow it down, too."

Kyrie looked skeptical at that. "I know Nico's brilliant, but some of her inventions seem a bit…"

"Half-baked?"

"I was just going to say 'dangerous.'" She touched his arm. "You will be especially careful, won't you?"

"Believe me, I am not taking any chances with this thing. I have no desire to revisit my diaper days."

Kyrie forced a smile. "I'm sure you'd make an adorable toddler, but I'd rather not find out firsthand."

"I'll be careful." He tugged her closer and kissed her. "Don't worry."

"It comes with the territory, I'm afraid." She fidgeted with the nightgown in her hands. "Nero, if you do manage to kill the Nilepoch…"

He pulled back to give her a look. "Can we maybe phrase that with a little more confidence in my skills?"

Kyrie rolled her eyes. "All right, when you kill the Nilepoch."

"Better."

"How exactly is that going to help Zaffiro and Rosso?"

Nero shrugged. "I don't know for sure that it will. It's a stab in the dark, but some demons have abilities that fade after they're killed. Without knowing more about how this thing operates, that's all we can bank on. But even if it doesn't put them back to the age they should be, the Nilepoch's gotta be stopped. As long as it's alive, people will be in danger. Besides," he added, "I promised Joe Panni I'd take it out. For Tonio."

"I know. I know you have to fight it, and as worried as I am, I agree with you. I just wish we knew what to expect."

"Yeah, me too. In so many areas." Nero pushed to his feet and picked up another shirt to fold. "Even if everything goes the way we hope, if we kill the Nilepoch and Dante and Vergil are somehow restored, we still don't know what the real outcome will be. Will they remember what happened? Will they remember being kids? Will there be any lasting effects from having their power drained by the Nilepoch?"

Kyrie assumed a thoughtful expression. "It will be strange, not having Rosso and Zaffiro around. I've gotten to know them so well as children, but I've hardly ever spoken to Dante, and I've never even met Vergil. I honestly don't know what it will be like to meet them as adults now that I've spent the past two months watching them grow up from babies."

"It'll be weird no matter what. I mean, we're hoping we can put everything back the way it was, but…" He huffed a laugh. "On the other hand, I can actually have a conversation with Zaffiro, which is more than I can say about Vergil, so I guess there's something to be said for either outcome."

"Perhaps things will be different after, this." Kyrie smiled encouragement. "We should always hope for the best."

"Yeah, well, any meeting between me and my old man that doesn't end with somebody losing a body part is a step up from where we started, so…" Nero shrugged.

Kyrie reached over and squeezed his nearest hand, which happened to be the one he'd lost and regenerated. "How is Zaffiro doing now? I know you were downstairs with him again last night."

"He still has some bad dreams, and I don't think he ever sleeps through the night, but it's a little better now that he and Rosso are bunking in together again. Maybe he can sense subconsciously that he's not totally alone." Nero shook his head. "I wish I knew more about how any of this sixth sense stuff worked."

"I'm just glad that it does, even if we can't fully understand it. There doesn't seem to be anything else that makes him feel better." She reconsidered. "Well, except for music."

"Yeah, he's all about that. We're supposed to visit the shop again on Monday for another violin session."

"Enjoy it while you can." Kyrie's smile was wistful. "If everything goes as planned on Tuesday, it could be the last time you'll ever get to hear Zaffiro play."


Kyrie's words echoed in Nero's mind all the way to the antique shop, and he made an effort to pay attention rather than letting his mind wander as it usually did during the practice sessions. Zaffiro's playing had improved dramatically since he'd first begun practicing, and today he rendered a complex, bouncing melody that Nero didn't recognize.

The proprietor, apparently, did. "Ah, Paganini!"

Nero wasn't sure if that were a person, a title, or what the man was planning to eat for lunch. "Paganini?"

"The composer." He moved to a bin of record albums and flipping through them. "A famous virtuoso, and something of a scandalous figure. He was rumored to have sold his soul to the devil in exchange for musical prowess." He held up a battered LP sleeve featuring a painting of a man holding a violin. Across the portrait was printed the album's title: The Devil Violinist.

Nero laughed. "That's strangely appropriate."

"I must say, I'm impressed that your boy has mastered it already," the proprietor went on, replacing the album in the rack. "From what I understand, it's quite an advanced piece."

"Yeah, well, this kid's been full of surprises since the day we brought him home." Nero watched Zaffiro play, fingers flying over the strings, body swaying with the rhythm of the notes, brow furrowed in concentration. Nero knew that a few of those creases would one day become permanent, cutting severe grooves into the planes of Vergil's face, but at this age his youthful skin smoothed and stretched with each subtle change in expression. Would there be fewer lines on Vergil's face now, Nero wondered, if he hadn't been forced to endure such hardships in his youth?

All too soon, Zaffiro finished playing and placed the violin carefully back in its case. "Done already?" the shop owner asked in some surprise. They had barely been in the store for a quarter of an hour, and usually the boy played for at least twice that.

Zaffiro nodded, massaging his left hand. "That piece is… technically challenging."

Nero noted the careful choice of words. It was something Zaffiro had been doing more often of late, taking care not to admit to anything that could be construed as weakness. He would no longer express that he found something difficult, or that he was tired, or that he wasn't feeling well. Even saying his fingers were sore from playing a difficult violin piece was apparently too much of an admission. "It's up to you, kiddo. I'm probably going to be pretty busy with work the rest of this week, so we might not get a chance to come back for a while." Or at all, Nero reminded himself.

Zaffiro cast another longing glance at the instrument, but even from a short distance away Nero could see the grooves pressed into the tips of the boy's sensitive fingers. He wasn't playing often enough to develop proper calluses, and given that the violin was still a bit too big for him, it was little surprise that his hands hurt after such a workout. "I think I'm finished playing for today."

Nero quashed the little pang of disappointment that what might be their final visit had been cut short, but kept his tone bright as he thanked the proprietor and led Zaffiro back outside. Zaffiro automatically placed his hand in Nero's, following the rules established when the boys had looked half the age they did now. It was strange, walking with him like this; Zaffiro wasn't quite as tall as Julio yet, but in a couple of weeks, he would be.

In a couple of months, he would be taller than Nero.

So distracted was Nero by this revelation that he had lost track of their surroundings, his feet automatically following the path they always took home after visits to the shop. Only when Zaffiro tensed suddenly and clamped down on Nero's fingers did he realize they had reached the empty lot they usually cut through to trim half a block off their walk. Nero oriented first on the boy clutching his hand, but within seconds he felt the shift in air pressure and a supernatural prickle at the nape of his neck.

He swore under his breath. He wasn't carrying any weapons, and he could not let Zaffiro get involved. "Back to the shop," he ordered, swinging the boy around. "Run. I'm right behind you."

There was a flash of panic in Zaffiro's eyes as Nero released his hand, but he dutifully bolted back the way they'd come, and Nero stayed right at his heels. He didn't like breaking contact, either, but if they were ambushed, he needed his arm free.

They reached the shop without incident, and Nero slammed through the front door with such force that the bell overhead snapped loose and landed halfway across the room. The shopkeeper looked up in alarm. "What on earth—"

"Telephone," Nero panted. "Do you have a telephone? It's an emergency."

"Er, yes, right here." The man lifted an old rotary model from behind the counter. "Are you all right?"

Nero ignored the question as he swiped out each digit of his home number, cursing the seconds lost as the dial clicked back into place. Eventually he heard the line trill, and prayed for a fast answer.

He scarcely allowed Kyrie to utter the word "hello." "Kyrie! Is Lady there?"

Kyrie recognized the urgency in his voice and didn't bother asking what was going on. "No, she and Nico left just after you did."

"Damn it," Nero hissed. "I need backup."

"Trish just arrived; I'll send her. Where are you?"

Nero described the location of the empty lot where he'd sensed the demons. "Have her bring my weapons."

"Already on it," Kyrie assured him. "What about Zaffiro?"

"Don't worry; he's safe."

"All right. She'll meet you there."

Nero hung up and met the shop owner's anxious expression, but there was no time to explain. "Sorry about this. I'll be back as soon as I can." He turned and pointed at Zaffiro. "You, stay. You'll be safe here."

Zaffiro didn't look convinced, but Nero couldn't spend time reassuring him, either. He ducked out of the shop and raced back down the street at top speed, hurtling benches and fences rather than wasting steps going around them. In less than a minute he'd spotted his first target—one of the huge goat-headed demons they'd seen at the orphanage. Nero flexed the fingers of his right hand. "I really hope you're vulnerable to punching," he muttered, before launching his spectral arm toward the creature.

It turned out to be even heavier than it looked, and rather than reeling the demon in, Nero was hurled toward it when he tried to retract his arm. He tried to twist mid-air for a strike at its face, but he was accustomed to balancing the weight of Red Queen on his back, and overcompensated. The goat demon slashed at him as he flew by, and Nero narrowly avoided having his face and throat torn open by the thing's wicked claws—though he didn't manage to evade entirely. He felt a burning graze across the side of his neck, and the hood of his sweatshirt was dangling in tatters when his feet touched the pavement. "Okay, that didn't go quite the way I'd planned," he panted. "Let's try something else." His hand flashed out again and closed on a nearby lamp post, pulling him out of target range just as the goat demon lunged forward and gouged a deep furrow in the surface of the street.

Nero dropped to the ground and glanced around for something to use as a weapon, but apart from a wooden bench and a metal garbage can, there was nothing on this side of the street. There was no time to look farther afield; the goat creature had followed his escape and was already pumping its wings in preparation to charge.

"Here goes nothing," Nero muttered as he grabbed the metal lid of the trash can. "Hey, horn-head! Go long!" He flung it as hard as he could toward the charging goat. Like a super-powered Frisbee, the lid sailed in a devastating arc and crashed directly into the goat's face. The demon let out a gurgle of surprise as its head snapped back, and it tumbled backwards onto the pavement, wings tangled beneath it.

Nero couldn't afford to waste a single second of his advantage. He bolted forward, leaped over the prone body, seized the goat demon's head and slammed it as hard as he could into the road surface. It took a few strikes, but eventually the creature sagged and began to crumble into ash.

Just as he regained his feet, he caught a red blur in his peripheral vision. He flung himself into a forward roll an instant before the gleaming blade of a Fury slashed through the space he'd occupied. The demon seemed to wink out of space, moving too fast to see, and reappeared just above Nero's position. Nero swept his spectral arm in an upward arc and caught the creature just below the jaw, launching it higher into the air. He caught its leg as it reached the apex of its flight and used its momentum to pull himself up off the ground; then, just as it began to descend, he twisted and slammed it back to the street as hard as he could.

By the time Nero's boots touched solid earth again, the Fury had flipped itself upright and zipped to a new position off to Nero's left. He barely had time to roll out of the way as it charged again, and though he avoided the blade on its forearm, he couldn't quite dodge the barbed tail that it lashed at him. The armored spines ripped across his sleeve, drawing blood. "Shit!" Nero hissed. The cuts weren't deep, but they burned with an unnatural fire. He hoped the creature wasn't venomous.

The Fury spun with its arm extended for a backhand slash, and the glowing blade whizzed past Nero's ear as he threw himself prone. Once again the tail followed, but this time Nero grasped it with his devil hand. The demon's spines flared out defensively, and Nero scurried up hand-over-hand, using the barbs like the rungs of a ladder. As the Fury tried to claw at him, Nero brought his elbow down in a devastating blow to the back of its skull. It shrieked and vanished from beneath him, only to reappear a second later across the street. As Nero crashed to the ground, it fixed its luminous gaze on him and crouched for another attack.

This time, Nero waited for it to vanish again, then swept his arm in a broad arc around himself. His fist collided with the Fury just as it reappeared in space, knocking it far enough off balance that its aggressive swipe just missed him. He followed up with a flurry of punches, then leaped into the air, planted a boot solidly into the creature's upper chest, and kicked off to fly over its head. When the demon twisted to follow him, Nero grasped it by the neck and swung it as hard as he could toward the nearest building. The Fury plowed head-first into a brick wall, knocking a hole in the masonry. As it struggled to free itself, a wobbling portion of the wall collapsed on top of its body, and its limbs went limp before flaking away.

There was no time for Nero to catch his breath before another fight was upon him. Attracted by the sounds of combat, another half-dozen assorted demons were gliding or lumbering toward him—and one of them, Nero realized, was a Sap Wraith. "And me without my rocket launcher," he muttered. This was going to get ugly, fast.

The nearest demon was an Empusa, and Nero knew from experience that they were lightweight enough to throw around. He snatched the insect-like demon up by the back of its thorax and whirled it overhead, preparing to launch it into the next enemy, then hesitated. Why discard a perfectly good shield?

Nero began backing down the street, holding the squirming Empusa up before him and eying the row of approaching demons. He knew he'd have no problem defeating the Empusas barehanded, but the tough-skinned green Basilisks and the heat-absorbing Sap Wraith were another matter. One of the Basilisks leaped forward and took a swipe at him, but Nero swung the Empusa in between them. The Empusa shrieked as the Basilisk's claws raked across its underbelly.

Meanwhile the Sap Wraith had floated in a semicircle to approach Nero from behind, forcing him to change his path and back toward the sidewalk rather than continuing down the street. The second Basilisk angled across the road to cut him off. Nero glanced around for another means of escape, but there was a tall building behind him and demons on all sides. He'd have to fight through to get out.

The Basilisk swiped at the Empusa again, and the lesser demon crumbled into ash in Nero's hand. Before the surrounding demons could move in, Nero seized the energy at his core and released his full power. Ice-hued flame poured through his body, transforming his limbs and filling them with strength. He dove forward and struck the Basilisk with all his adrenaline-fueled fury, tearing into it with clawed fingers and wings. When it dissolved into flame and soot he moved on to the next, and before his energy was spent he had torn apart all but one of the demons surrounding him. He extended his wings, gathered himself for a powerful leap into the air while snapping his wings down for extra lift, and—

Searing cold stabbed through the left half of his body. Nero twisted to see the Sap Wraith floating beside him, one skeletal hand circling Nero's wrist. Nero's wings faltered as the numbness crept into his shoulder, and he plunged back to the street, pavement cracking beneath his uncushioned landing. He groaned and brought up his clawed hands, but his devil energy was all but drained, and his left arm felt sluggish and weak. Even as he tried to position himself for a strike, his inner flame guttered, and the glowing shell of his devil form faded back into trembling human limbs.

Nero staggered back to avoid the Sap Wraith's reach, shaking his left hand to restore feeling. If this thing grabbed him again, he didn't think he'd have the strength to break away. He needed heat. Lots of heat. But where was he going to find something with the combustive force of a hand grenade in the middle of a quiet street?

Before he could begin to answer his own question, the Sap Wraith lurched to one side as though it had been jerked by a cord—but rather than a rope, Nero recognized the distinctive scrollwork of Red Queen protruding from between the demon's skeletal ribs. Nero retraced the sword's trajectory to find Trish standing atop the tall building just behind him. "Having a bit of trouble?" she called.

"You took your sweet time. There's only one left!" Nero seized Red Queen's grip and yanked with all his strength. The sword slid free of the fleshless form more easily than he'd expected, and he stumbled back a few steps.

"I figured you could use the extra practice." Trish hopped off the building, landed effortlessly on the street, and in a smooth motion kicked the dented trash can lid into the air with one boot. "Hold this," she said to the Sap Wraith, before ramming the lid into its torso. The metal jammed between two ribs, sticking in place, and the skeletal head angled down to ogle it with eyeless sockets. Trish raised a hand that flickered with compressed lightning, then grasped the edge of the can. The Sap Wraith bucked and thrashed as demon-enhanced electricity flowed through it, and soon the metal can lid glowed red-hot from the influx of energy.

Trish released the lid and stepped away, dusting her hands. "All yours. I wouldn't dream of stealing your kill."

Nero's face split in a fierce grin, and he pressed Red Queen's fuel release as he raised his sword. When the blade slashed down, it was wreathed in flame.


NOTES:

The piece Zaffiro is playing is "Caprice 24" by Niccolò Paganini—the same piece played by V in his DMC5 air-violin taunt. (He had to learn it somewhere, right?) And the rumors about Paganini selling his soul to the devil were a real thing. Capcom really loves putting in those little character details...