[NERO]
The next day dawned bright and early, and Nero is running late for Kyrie's performance, which is held over at the Opera House.
And his lateness isn't his fault; rapid healing means that all sorts of things sometimes ends up fusing with newly healed flesh. Like bandages, stitches that is yet to dissolve, the likes. And removing them is a bitch to do.
So, it wasn't his fault for being late, and it's the reason why Nero's booking it to the Opera House like a bat out of hell. Leaving his own apartment in a dead sprint and keeping it up, sticking to back alleys and shortcuts to avoid the majority of the populace (he was never popular like the other Knights) and to save time.
"Good morn- wait, Nero?"
Oh no. Oooooh nooooo.
Nero winces, skidding to a stop as he turns to the other side of the road. And as the presence of her voice suggested, there she is. Novena.
Nero winces, skidding to a stop as he turns to the other side of the road. And as the presence of her voice suggested, there she is.
Novena.
Now, normally, Nero isn't the least bit scared of the slightly older woman – hard to, actually, the lady might be a fierce demon hunter, but she wouldn't hurt a fly – but there are times when… when booking it is much more tempting that talking to the dark haired, green-eyed Knight.
Like, right now.
Nero watches Novena cross the road, using the pedestrian lane like the good citizen that she is, and Nero swallows his nervousness, because the look on Novena's face clearly means he got some explaining and fast talking to do.
Novena's smile is as sharp as her short sword, as dangerous as her custom Caliburn. She's decked out in her full Holy Knight regalia, all long white coat, white hood and gold accents. What sets her apart from the other Knights is the lack of pants, and instead Novena is wearing a skirt, legs sheathed in dark grey tights that disappears into sturdy boots.
She's dressed for business, and it makes her all the more intimidating.
Not that Nero would let her know that he's scared of her. Wait, no, scratch that, he's not scared of her, nope, not at all.
"Good to see you this time of the day, Nero." Novena greets, all false cheer and sickly sweet smile. "You're not late, I hope? Kyrie would be dreadfully sad if you're not there, you know."
The thing about Novena, is that she's like a bloodhound on a scent. The moment she wants something, she'll work and work and fight to get what she wants, what she aims for. She's crazy determined, and with the passion of a thousand suns.
And Nero might be… might be more than human, better than a human in all aspects, but the moment Nero puts a toe out of line, he would have hell on his hands in the form of Novena.
I wouldn't be late if you stop talking to me, hag," Nero grouses, already itching to run towards the Opera House once more, itching to hear Kyrie's angelic voice, itching to show up to make her happy. "Can I go now? And you're on duty right?"
Novena laughs, and all sharp edges slough off, softens until it's the usual Novena, the kind older-sister figure Nero and Kyrie had grown up with. Nero sees the hand she's raising, no doubt to swat him on the head or ruffle his hair, and he swerves back, scowling fiercely, and the other Knight just laughs some more, wholly amused and unbothered.
"Well, you better pick up the pace Nero. The service is starting in five minutes," Novena turns towards the direction of the Opera House, and Nero does the same. "If you run now you might be not be that late. See hi to Kyrie for me, lover boy."
Nero wants to snap, shove Novena to the side for talking so loud, but as she said earlier, the service should be starting soon, and Nero still got quite a bit of ground to cover. So as much as he wants to bully back the older woman, he refrains. "Whatever, I'm off." He mutters, ignoring the warmth in his cheeks at the other girl waiting for her performance at the Opera House.
Novena nods, facing clearing up and making her smile much more amicable. "I'll see you later, Nero." She replies, waving as Nero takes up a light jog away. "Try not to sleep during the Homily!"
Nero scoffs as he picks up the pace, leaving Novena behind to her patrol in the business district. "No promises." He mutters with a grin, legs pumping faster as he outright runs towards his destination. But really, he can't help it if he falls asleep during all of the sermons.
Just because His Holiness is the head of the Order, not to mention the Vicar of Sparda, it doesn't mean his voice doesn't bore the bejeezus out of Nero. And when Nero is bored…
He sleeps. Or goes out to do some solo hunting. Or fiddle with his beloved girls Red Queen and Blue Rose.
Basically when he's bored he'll do anything that doesn't involve interaction with the other Order members. He can't avoid Credo or Novena (the former being his superior and Kyrie's brother, and the latter being, well, a friend of his) but anyone else? To hell with them.
Metaphorically, of course.
Soon enough, Nero enters the less inhabited area of the city, the buildings dilapidated and empty. Novena and Credo, probably even Kyrie, knows the story of why this section of the city is like this, but Nero couldn't really be interested in history. Or gossips running around Fortuna.
But what interests him is…
Nero slows down to a stop, squinting through the morning sun as laughter filled the otherwise empty street. Deformed figures drop from the rooftops, pouring forth from darkened alley mouths and filling the street. Nero count ten of them easy, and there's definitely more of them than that. They laugh that demon laugh of theirs, brandishing legs and arms made of rusted scythes.
Their presence, this deep within the city is concerning, Nero's not going to lie.
But it'll be a non-issue in a few moments, because as much as Nero enjoys pissing off Order members, as much as he couldn't care less about the Saviour and everything related to the 'Great Dark Knight Sparda'… He's still a demon hunter.
And there's prey before him.
So Nero smirks, which quickly morphs into a snarl as he charges forward, right into the crowd of demons. He jumps, twists around, and lands a solid kick on one of the Scarecrows, blasting it a few metres backward with the force of his blow. He lands, light on his feet, and he viciously elbows one of the demons trying to sneak up on him, and another catches his fist square on its 'head'.
Nero catches sight of a blade heading straight for his head, and he turns, his coat flirting with the sharp edge of the blade, and he grins as he grabs at the base of the Scarecrow's arm. The demon turns its head towards him, as if sensing Nero's intentions, and before it could do anything else, Nero wrenches hard, pulling it off of its stilts and using it to bash the others to hell.
The blade pops off, and Nero has to grimace at how unwieldy it is; balance is off, there's no proper grip (then again, not really a proper sword) and it's clunky as fuck. Any self-respecting swordsman would toss this thing to the nearest forge, to be melted down and never spoken of again, but Nero can't do anything about it right now.
He's got some slaying to do.
And since there's now a blade in Nero's hand (no matter how bad of a blade it is), it all went downhill from there. For the demons, of course.
Scarecrows are cut down left and right, not an inch of mercy given to them, and soon enough the street is run with demon bile, unmoving burlap sacks dissipating into the air as they die. Nero huffs in irritation, gladly tossing away the makeshift blade, and he picks up a dead sprint, running faster than before to get in time for Kyrie's performance.
Like a few cannon fodders would stop him from seeing Kyrie perform, screw that.
Nero slows his pace down as he nears the Opera House – it wouldn't do for anyone to see him running far too fast for human capabilities – and he slips in through one of the doors.
Just in time; Kyrie's entering the last verse of her song (has he mentioned how he could listen to Kyrie all day, no, all year? No? Well, yeah, he can do that and some), and so the lights are dimmed, a spotlight on her to accentuate her loveliness and focus the attention on her.
Nero can't help but stare for a moment, oh so taken with the girl that is the reason his heart still beats so strongly these days, and he ignores the mocking laughter in his head, sounding suspiciously like Novena's.
Nero knows for a fact that a majority of the populace loves Kyrie, and a percentage of those are also in love with her. Nero can't blame them - he's in the top 1% that would can and would die for Kyrie, after all – but unlike the others, it wasn't Kyrie's beauty and prestige that attracted him. No, far from it, in fact.
It was Kyrie's kindness. Her unconditional care and support. Her devotion.
Nero has never known what love is until it came in the form of Kyrie, and he's sure he'll never love anyone else like he loves the sweet girl. So fucking sappy of him, maybe, but it's the truth. The naked truth, the one truth that Nero utterly and irrevocably believes.
What the hell, he loves her so-
His right arm throbs, and all good emotions drain out of Nero so fucking fast it gives him a little lightheaded. He scowls viciously, staring down at his wrapped up hand, hidden within a sling and disguised as an 'injured' limb. How he hates this arm, this parasite.
This proof that Nero is not human.
His right arm, Devil Bringer, may be one of his greatest weapons, may have saved his life more times than he could count ever since getting it a few months back, but it's a curse, a mark of his…. His inhumanity.
He just had to have all the luck, huh?
No matter, at least, not right now. There are far more pressing stuff to be dealt with first. Like the presence of demons within Fortuna, and finally taking a damn seat so Kyrie could see him there for her.
Nero lets his right arm fall limp within its sling, and he approaches one of the Knights, another member of Credo's unit. Nero could see russet hair and plain brown eyes beneath the shadow of the hood, but he can't recognize the man. Can't recognize any of the others, really, if Nero's going to be honest about it. Nero might be 'tied' to the General's Squad, but Nero is exclusively a solo hunter; he's sent on missions just by himself, and no one else.
Red, because of the man's hair, nods cordially to Nero, which makes things a little bit easier. "Knight Nero." He acknowledges.
Nero tips his head back, before nodding towards the direction of the abandoned district. "Demon sighting in the abandoned district. Large group encountered, now decimated." Nero says, straight to the point and not bothering to waste time with pleasantries. "Ought to send a few guys there to investigate."
Red looks alarmed, as is Blonde beside him, and Red's eyebrows furrow. "We'll let the others know. Good work."
"Yeah, yeah, make sure none of those demons don't get anywhere near the residential district." And with his report done and delivered, Nero turns away, slinking through the shadows to easily slip into one of the few available spots left.
The man to his right gives Nero a dirty look from under his white hood as the white-haired Knight practically lounges on his seat, all loose limbs and uncaring demeanour. Nero ignores the man, couldn't find the motivation to care about him because Kyrie had looked over his way, managing to find him amongst the audience (not really hard, since Nero insists on not wearing the Order colours). Kyrie gives him a stunning smile, and Nero can't help but smile back, helpless at the fact that he's so gone for her.
Not that he regrets it.
With a few words, acknowledging Kyrie's performance and a cue for her to disappear backstage, the lights dim once more, the audience applauding modestly. Nero risks a glance to the side, towards the part nearest the stage, and sure enough, the General, Credo, is there. He's clapping a little more enthusiastically than usual, and Nero totally gets it.
After all, who wouldn't clap after hearing Kyrie sing? Assholes, that's who.
The lights come back on, all the lights in the Opera House, in fact, and Kyrie isn't on the stage anymore. Instead, the old leader of the Order, Sanctus – or more commonly referred to as His Holiness – is taking his place behind the podium, a heavy book being carried by his helpers then placed before him.
Nero sighs deeply, already feeling the boredom coming. How do the others (namely Credo, Kyrie and Novena) sit through these things? Sheer power of will? Stubbornness? Nero could honestly not get it; His Holiness voice is as stimulating as watching a plant bloom.
For Kyrie, probably, the girl is too nice, too respectful to do anything but listen to the sermon with rapt attention, pray, stand, kneel and repeat the words when cued.
While Credo and Novena… they're the quintessential Holy Knights, the perfect soldiers of the Holy Army. They probably listen to sermons because they actually manage to understand it and contemplate on it like the old people that they are.
Speaking of boring talks, Nero can remember Novena being part of the select group that is taught by the Order's head of research. Whoever that guy is, Nero doesn't know, but he knows that he was supposed to be amongst the hand-picked children to receive exclusive lessons. He's aware that whatever is being taught to those hand-picked kids, is that those aren't allowed to be shared with anyone else, not even with their superior.
Nero learnt that particular rule the hard way. He had asked (bothered, really) Novena several years ago, but all he got was a laugh, a whack on the head and then got sent back to training.
Bitch.
Nero shifts, and the soft poking at his side reminded him of something very important. He shifts once more, to get comfortable, and he reaches inside his coat to with draw a long, thin box. The box itself has a light blue colour, and tastefully tied around is a slim, gold ribbon.
His gift for Kyrie.
Nero can't help but smile down at it, remembers seeing it at a shop. The pendant had caught his attention, practically called to it. It's shaped like a four winged angel, the top most pair outstretched, as if readying to take flight, and the bottom most pair is snugly wrapped around the rose red gem at the centre, as if protecting it. The gem is a work of beauty, no doubt the really reason for its hefty price, but Nero can't bring himself to care much about money when he brought it.
After all, Kyrie's worth it.
So with one last smile towards the box, he sets it beside himself, so Kyrie could see it before she would sit beside him. Novena would probably heckle him for giving the gift like that, but what does she know? Unlike him, Novena has never fallen in love.
Nero knows, because Novena keeps mentioning it. And she never lies.
Nero sees Kyrie coming from the corner of his eyes, and he'll forever deny the sudden surge of panic that filled him for the briefest moment. He's faced down countless demons, has seen his own arm mutilated just a few months ago, has dared to talk back to Credo. It wouldn't do for people to see him flustered just because of a girl's presence.
(Well, that girl is Kyrie but the point still stands-)
Kyrie steps up beside him, smiling warmly, and Nero is almost struck dumb by how pretty she is.
Be cool Nero, be cool. The Knight tells himself, forcing down the blush that is trying to creep up to his face. Novena says it's better to play it suave. You can do it.
So Nero takes a casual glance at Kyrie, and then turns away, pulling up his headphones and covering one ear with it.
Nero, you dumbass.
Nero watches Kyrie from the corner of his eyes, and he can't deny (this time) that his heart soared when she picks up the blue box, reverent and ecstatic. Kyrie shoots him her warmest smile as she takes a seat, clutching the box to her chest and inching just a little closer to Nero.
Okay, okay, he can do this; it's just Kyrie. No need to panic.
It didn't work, Nero's slowly getting keyed up as His Holiness finally begins the sermon, and so to calm himself a bit, he places the headphones around his ears properly, turning it on and letting rock music fill his mind and level his heartbeat to reasonable levels. It drowns out His Holiness' droning voice, and Nero watches everyone absently, as they went through the motions as cued by His Holiness.
Near the end of the half-hour mark, when His Holiness had probably implored them all to bow their heads and pray, Nero is already bored to tears, and he's had too many jaw-breaking yawns already.
Time to blow this joint.
With a huff, Nero stands up, the only splash of vibrant colours in the sea of whites, browns and greys. Kyrie looks up, confusion in her eyes.
"Nero, what's wrong?" She whispers, worried and concerned for him.
Nero grimaces, looking down at her as he inches his way out of the pew. "All this preaching is putting me to sleep," He whispers back, minding his volume for Kyrie's sake. "I'm outta here."
He does just that, taking long strides towards the exit. He hears Kyrie scurry after him, making a confused noise in the back of her throat-
His right arm throb and glows, and Nero freezes on the spot as soft blue light escapes the confines of his bound arm. His left hand grips his right wrist, and ice slithers down his back. Like he can see a snake hidden in the grass by his feet, waiting to strike.
Danger, danger, danger-
Nero looks up at the skylight, and not a moment too late.
It shatters, light flooding in and glass shards raining down the stage of the Opera House. Someone jumps down, a man in red, and the interloper's coat flares out, like wings of blood as he falls from the skylight.
With the grace of a cat and the lightness of a bird, he lands on the podium, before His Holiness. And then, a split second of silence, a split second of absolute stillness-
BANG!
Nero's senses go haywire, and the scent of gunpowder and coppery blood fills his nose. He grabs Kyrie's arm and herds her behind him, where she's safe, and Nero can see the others, the citizens and the Knights lift their heads from their prayers, at the sound of gunfire.
The man in red rises to his feet, all languorous movement and unbothered countenance. He turns to face the people, and across his face…
Is blood.
Screams fill the air as the citizens panic and flee, and Nero pushes himself and Kyrie back, pushing them both back against the wall to avoid the wave of terrified people and avoid getting swept away by their panic.
"Your Holiness!" Credo yells, wretched and afraid, and he draws his Durandal as he charges forward to fight. The other Knights follow suit, drawing their own standard Caliburns, and they surround the man in red, swords at the ready. They attack-
Only to for the man in red to massacre them, running them through with that pitch black blade of his, as long as he was tall, singing through the air, cutting the Knights down one after the other, with contemptuous ease. Credo had broken away, going to the dead vicar's side, and he flees with the body, two helpers carrying His Holiness's corpse as Credo guards them in case the man in red goes after them.
But Nero… Nero can't move, frozen as he is as his eyes take in everything, takes in the chaos and the carnage. He can't look away, can't turn his eyes elsewhere, can't even move his feet to flee with Kyrie.
There's a brief lull in the battle at the stage, when the man in red has decimated the guards, and there's no one to obstruct his view of Nero. The man in red stares at him, unmoving like a stone gargoyle, and Nero can't breathe.
Not when the same snow white hair, and the same blue eyes stare at him from a stranger's face.