Title - Cry, Devil, Die 2/?
Author - misanthropic shade aka trowacko
Archive -
Rating - R
Warnings - death, action, violence, horror
Disclaimers - I do not own Devil May Cry in any way, nor do I make a claim
to. The same applies to the Crow enterprise. No profit, no harm done.
When the ground had first started to rumble, Damon had thought it to be from a number of vehicles until it grew in intensity. Soon the dust had begun to stir as well when the cause of the commotion drew closer. A low luminescence grew behind the closest hill and it was to this that Damon watched, half in fear and half in anger at being stirred from slumber.
"Damon? What is it, what's happened?"
Damon took a moment to glance back at his partner with a softer expression. Mara wiped the sleep from her light brown eyes and pulled herself upright at the same time. Her dark auburn hair was only slightly disheveled, unable to attain a true messy state due to the interrupted sleep.
"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "There's something coming this direction, I think. I thought it was something like a military convey," he continued, uneasiness building as rapidly as the light grew brighter, "except the road would've already taken them toward town, not this way."
"Are we worried?" she asked in mock fear - perhaps a fraction was real, Damon realized.
"I think we should be," he decided. He glanced about their campsite and analyzed the quickest method of breaking it down while trying to find a place to hide. The cliff's edge was a favorite spot for them to camp from time to time, but it was also devoid of most plant life outside the tall grasses where they enjoyed quiet evenings staring at the stars and simply being. Without another word, Mara had begun to gather their belongings and stuffing them into the ready packs they'd both carried. By the sound and distance of the approaching... something... Damon figured they probably had less than a minute to hide their presence completely. Taking a few moments he could ill afford, Damon stopped Mara long enough to give her a kiss on the side of her mouth. Her smile warmed him and he turned back to his own tasks.
The two had been together for less than a year, but it was enough that it felt like a lifetime - or, at times, not long enough. One a mechanic, one a student of the arts, theirs was all but a fairy tale on how they'd managed to find each other at all. A chance meeting when she'd left her broken down car at the closest garage without so much as a note. Damon, not particularly remarkable-looking despite his wavy black hair and cold blue eyes, had pondered its arrival and, on impulse, fixed the problem merely because he knew how. His subsequent refusal of payment had been the catalyst to their continued meetings until they were simply together.
"Got mine," Mara called tightly. She'd managed to slip her shoes and sweater on, although the sweater was inside out. She stood up and looked back toward the source of the noise.
"Leave the bag in the grasses away from our site. We're going to scoot down as far down the hill as we can and bury ourselves in the grass."
Mara followed him with a quiet laugh. "This better not be something dangerous or it better be blind, my dear. If anyone were to really look in our direction--"
"That's just it. If they don't already know we're here, no one will need to look for us at all. We just need to buy some time."
"This bag was brand new, too," Mara muttered before burying it as deep as she could in the lush grass. Unless anyone was close to it, it'd be nearly impossible to see. Satisfied that the same would hold for them, she ran lightly behind Damon down toward the lower pathway where they'd come up from. At least without their car visible from the higher point of the road, they might not be noticed at all.
"Now!" he called quietly and scooted himself under the grass. She followed suit, careful to make sure they weren't too close together, lest the monotony of the sea of grass be noticeable. At least they tried, she thought as she saw the first creature breast the top of the cliff.
The source of the rumble ended up being a gigantic demon that was almost liquid, yet solid at the same time. It moved like a large tank might, although it evidenced a good amount of speed when it shot forward and spun around several times, a thick blade curling around it before returning to the beast. Behind it, a crowd of devils walked purposefully behind it. From his vantage point, Damon counted at least a dozen of them, most of them different in appearance.
A streak of blue shot into the sky, flying high enough to make one strain just to see it before it turned in a wide arc and returned rapidly back toward the earth. It paused before it reached the entourage and flew in a low circle around the area the group had gathered. The sound of voices was broken on the winds and one by one, they started to vanish from sight. The largest of the group was almost the last to disappear and Damon heaved a sigh of relief. Whatever the devils were up to, they weren't going to be found at all. The plan, however rough, had worked.
"Damon," Mara whispered urgently. She parted some of the grasses between them to get a better look at her lover. "What happened to the one that was flying around?" Damon never had a chance to answer.
Blood splattered across Mara's back, cascading in a thin shower over the grasses and across Damon's face. He blinked in disbelief at the frozen look on Mara's face. A sickening crunch followed and Damon's eyes found the blade protruding from the light grey sweater she wore. She uttered a mild groan, punctuated by twin streaks of blood from her mouth before life departed from her body. Damon's eyes followed the line of the blade to its hilt where they stopped at the black flesh overshot with metallic blue streaks. Tears blurred his vision, yet he continued upward until he found the creature's gaze. The inky holes of pearly yellow grew brighter as it yanked the sword free. It stood tall and proud, taller than any man, covered with black rocky flesh that was broken only by the shimmers of blue over it. On its head, twin horns curved around the sides of its face, completing the beastly appearance. The wet crunch of ripped bone when the being yanked free its sword made it abundantly clear that Mara would never be revived, never be his again--
"Mara!" Damon shrieked. He stumbled upright, his hands and legs almost numb from lying for so long. The demon regarded him without expression - if the stony face was capable of expression, that was - and raised his sword once more. Damon fell backwards and the stroke that might have cleaved him in half glanced off his chest and thigh before the metal buried itself in the soft ground. In the few seconds it took for the devil to pull it free, Damon had his hands wrapped around its scabby throat. No matter what he tried, he couldn't feel any give beneath his fingertips. His rage gave him greater energy, yet it didn't matter to something that could not succumb to mortal strength. His voice howled with his rage, blind enough that he failed to notice the beast had taken them both to the skies.
"You son of a bitch!" he cried as he felt his hands slipping. "Die, just die!"
'You first,' Damon distinctly heard in his mind before a crushing blow sent him reeling away from his enemy. He watched with detached wonder as his body fell toward the earth while the demon remained in the air. With a sudden plunge, it followed him, burying the sword deep into his chest. He felt blood tear free of him, invade his lungs, and sputter from his mouth. He barely felt the burning heat rapidly moving outward from the wound as his body let free his life's essence. Water suddenly surrounded them both and the last thing Damon saw of the creature was a small smile ghosting over its lips. Why couldn't it just die?
Mara, Mara, of the white skin and burnt umber hair. Why, Mara? What happened?
Why-
'why...'
"Why?" he whispered, unable to pull himself from the ball that he'd curled himself into on the cold floor. Damon glanced around the small house they'd shared. If not for the multitude of webs and dust coating everything, it was still exactly as they'd left it. The stench of rotted food was fairly mild, indicating that enough time had lapsed for it to have completely decomposed.
"Like Mara?" he asked the crow. The crow squawked briefly and hopped from the top of the fridge to the back of one of the dining room chairs. "What did you bring me here for? What do you want me to do?" He might have felt stupid had it not been for the fact that the crow had guided him from the place he'd been killed to the house he shared with Mara. No animal should have been able to do such a thing. It didn't matter that he hadn't even recognized the house until he'd touched the doorknob and a savage stampede of memories had gone mercilessly through him until he'd fallen inside the house and merely let them birth themselves.
He'd remembered everything - Mara, her death, his own. The devil had been the one to take everything away from him, he suddenly understood. He couldn't fight the devil then, but he wasn't a mere mortal anymore either. He stood up and walked toward their bedroom, disturbing the dust into small eddies that seemed to guide his steps. Pushing the door to open it brought forth more strong memories and he stood reeling in place until they subsided. With everything he touched, specific memories bubbled to the surface, demanding attention before subsiding. Little by little, Damon suppressed the full effect of the memories while he concentrated on getting into clothes that hadn't been worn for a very long time.
The black jeans had always been his favorite were followed by a rich navy shirt that was thin in its feel, yet strong in its material. Over that, he slipped a black vest and buttoned it. The crow flew into the room, making a round before lighting on the headboard of the bed. On the pillows at its feet lay a small smattering of decorations that Mara had always taken the time to place no matter how late she might have been running. The centerpiece of the collection was the mask she'd bought to wear to a costume party, yet never got the chance to since it would have covered her entire face and Damon wanted to be able to steal kisses at will. She'd acquiesced with the same amusement and adoration she did anytime she was again reminded of how much she loved her man and how much he loved her in return.
The face was almost as white as his own in death. The eyes and lips had been accentuated with dark smears of black paint that gave the face a foreboding appearance. It was, Damon finally conceded, the way the expression of the mask appeared that had made him uneasy enough to ask Mara not to wear it. Except for seeing her eyes, she would be hidden and it would've been impossible to consider kissing her at any point during the ball. At least without substance behind it, it lacked the ability to create the same fear he had when she'd first worn it.
That, he suddenly decided, was what he had to forge himself into. Not a man, not even a mask, but the face, the very essence, of fear. In Mara's closet he found a few decorative blades that she'd collected. Part of him didn't want to use them at all; she'd been so in love with all kinds of art that it seemed sacrilegious to consider using her art pieces for weapons. He would recreate himself in such a way that failure would surely not be an option, he told himself firmly as he found their scabbards and slipped them wherever they'd fit within his clothes. Excited, afraid, and lost, Damon walked into the bathroom and began rummaging through the various bottles and tubes within it. He walked from the house, all but a devil himself with his painted face and savage expression. The crow flew from the doorway and landed on his shoulder. It blinked and Damon followed suit as their eyes scanned the horizon in identical paths.
"Show me," he commanded of the bird. "Show me where to find him."
The crow took flight, spiraling upwards until it struck off toward the city. Damon followed the crow and what was left of his heart into the city. The sun hadn't set for very long before he found the crow sitting on the wire rack holding the neon with the words, "Devil May Cry" in blinding red letters. His determination curled his lips into a sneer as he heard voices within the building as he started up the stairs.
*just because it comes from the mind of a wacko, doesn't necessarily mean it's insane*
to be continued...
When the ground had first started to rumble, Damon had thought it to be from a number of vehicles until it grew in intensity. Soon the dust had begun to stir as well when the cause of the commotion drew closer. A low luminescence grew behind the closest hill and it was to this that Damon watched, half in fear and half in anger at being stirred from slumber.
"Damon? What is it, what's happened?"
Damon took a moment to glance back at his partner with a softer expression. Mara wiped the sleep from her light brown eyes and pulled herself upright at the same time. Her dark auburn hair was only slightly disheveled, unable to attain a true messy state due to the interrupted sleep.
"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "There's something coming this direction, I think. I thought it was something like a military convey," he continued, uneasiness building as rapidly as the light grew brighter, "except the road would've already taken them toward town, not this way."
"Are we worried?" she asked in mock fear - perhaps a fraction was real, Damon realized.
"I think we should be," he decided. He glanced about their campsite and analyzed the quickest method of breaking it down while trying to find a place to hide. The cliff's edge was a favorite spot for them to camp from time to time, but it was also devoid of most plant life outside the tall grasses where they enjoyed quiet evenings staring at the stars and simply being. Without another word, Mara had begun to gather their belongings and stuffing them into the ready packs they'd both carried. By the sound and distance of the approaching... something... Damon figured they probably had less than a minute to hide their presence completely. Taking a few moments he could ill afford, Damon stopped Mara long enough to give her a kiss on the side of her mouth. Her smile warmed him and he turned back to his own tasks.
The two had been together for less than a year, but it was enough that it felt like a lifetime - or, at times, not long enough. One a mechanic, one a student of the arts, theirs was all but a fairy tale on how they'd managed to find each other at all. A chance meeting when she'd left her broken down car at the closest garage without so much as a note. Damon, not particularly remarkable-looking despite his wavy black hair and cold blue eyes, had pondered its arrival and, on impulse, fixed the problem merely because he knew how. His subsequent refusal of payment had been the catalyst to their continued meetings until they were simply together.
"Got mine," Mara called tightly. She'd managed to slip her shoes and sweater on, although the sweater was inside out. She stood up and looked back toward the source of the noise.
"Leave the bag in the grasses away from our site. We're going to scoot down as far down the hill as we can and bury ourselves in the grass."
Mara followed him with a quiet laugh. "This better not be something dangerous or it better be blind, my dear. If anyone were to really look in our direction--"
"That's just it. If they don't already know we're here, no one will need to look for us at all. We just need to buy some time."
"This bag was brand new, too," Mara muttered before burying it as deep as she could in the lush grass. Unless anyone was close to it, it'd be nearly impossible to see. Satisfied that the same would hold for them, she ran lightly behind Damon down toward the lower pathway where they'd come up from. At least without their car visible from the higher point of the road, they might not be noticed at all.
"Now!" he called quietly and scooted himself under the grass. She followed suit, careful to make sure they weren't too close together, lest the monotony of the sea of grass be noticeable. At least they tried, she thought as she saw the first creature breast the top of the cliff.
The source of the rumble ended up being a gigantic demon that was almost liquid, yet solid at the same time. It moved like a large tank might, although it evidenced a good amount of speed when it shot forward and spun around several times, a thick blade curling around it before returning to the beast. Behind it, a crowd of devils walked purposefully behind it. From his vantage point, Damon counted at least a dozen of them, most of them different in appearance.
A streak of blue shot into the sky, flying high enough to make one strain just to see it before it turned in a wide arc and returned rapidly back toward the earth. It paused before it reached the entourage and flew in a low circle around the area the group had gathered. The sound of voices was broken on the winds and one by one, they started to vanish from sight. The largest of the group was almost the last to disappear and Damon heaved a sigh of relief. Whatever the devils were up to, they weren't going to be found at all. The plan, however rough, had worked.
"Damon," Mara whispered urgently. She parted some of the grasses between them to get a better look at her lover. "What happened to the one that was flying around?" Damon never had a chance to answer.
Blood splattered across Mara's back, cascading in a thin shower over the grasses and across Damon's face. He blinked in disbelief at the frozen look on Mara's face. A sickening crunch followed and Damon's eyes found the blade protruding from the light grey sweater she wore. She uttered a mild groan, punctuated by twin streaks of blood from her mouth before life departed from her body. Damon's eyes followed the line of the blade to its hilt where they stopped at the black flesh overshot with metallic blue streaks. Tears blurred his vision, yet he continued upward until he found the creature's gaze. The inky holes of pearly yellow grew brighter as it yanked the sword free. It stood tall and proud, taller than any man, covered with black rocky flesh that was broken only by the shimmers of blue over it. On its head, twin horns curved around the sides of its face, completing the beastly appearance. The wet crunch of ripped bone when the being yanked free its sword made it abundantly clear that Mara would never be revived, never be his again--
"Mara!" Damon shrieked. He stumbled upright, his hands and legs almost numb from lying for so long. The demon regarded him without expression - if the stony face was capable of expression, that was - and raised his sword once more. Damon fell backwards and the stroke that might have cleaved him in half glanced off his chest and thigh before the metal buried itself in the soft ground. In the few seconds it took for the devil to pull it free, Damon had his hands wrapped around its scabby throat. No matter what he tried, he couldn't feel any give beneath his fingertips. His rage gave him greater energy, yet it didn't matter to something that could not succumb to mortal strength. His voice howled with his rage, blind enough that he failed to notice the beast had taken them both to the skies.
"You son of a bitch!" he cried as he felt his hands slipping. "Die, just die!"
'You first,' Damon distinctly heard in his mind before a crushing blow sent him reeling away from his enemy. He watched with detached wonder as his body fell toward the earth while the demon remained in the air. With a sudden plunge, it followed him, burying the sword deep into his chest. He felt blood tear free of him, invade his lungs, and sputter from his mouth. He barely felt the burning heat rapidly moving outward from the wound as his body let free his life's essence. Water suddenly surrounded them both and the last thing Damon saw of the creature was a small smile ghosting over its lips. Why couldn't it just die?
Mara, Mara, of the white skin and burnt umber hair. Why, Mara? What happened?
Why-
'why...'
"Why?" he whispered, unable to pull himself from the ball that he'd curled himself into on the cold floor. Damon glanced around the small house they'd shared. If not for the multitude of webs and dust coating everything, it was still exactly as they'd left it. The stench of rotted food was fairly mild, indicating that enough time had lapsed for it to have completely decomposed.
"Like Mara?" he asked the crow. The crow squawked briefly and hopped from the top of the fridge to the back of one of the dining room chairs. "What did you bring me here for? What do you want me to do?" He might have felt stupid had it not been for the fact that the crow had guided him from the place he'd been killed to the house he shared with Mara. No animal should have been able to do such a thing. It didn't matter that he hadn't even recognized the house until he'd touched the doorknob and a savage stampede of memories had gone mercilessly through him until he'd fallen inside the house and merely let them birth themselves.
He'd remembered everything - Mara, her death, his own. The devil had been the one to take everything away from him, he suddenly understood. He couldn't fight the devil then, but he wasn't a mere mortal anymore either. He stood up and walked toward their bedroom, disturbing the dust into small eddies that seemed to guide his steps. Pushing the door to open it brought forth more strong memories and he stood reeling in place until they subsided. With everything he touched, specific memories bubbled to the surface, demanding attention before subsiding. Little by little, Damon suppressed the full effect of the memories while he concentrated on getting into clothes that hadn't been worn for a very long time.
The black jeans had always been his favorite were followed by a rich navy shirt that was thin in its feel, yet strong in its material. Over that, he slipped a black vest and buttoned it. The crow flew into the room, making a round before lighting on the headboard of the bed. On the pillows at its feet lay a small smattering of decorations that Mara had always taken the time to place no matter how late she might have been running. The centerpiece of the collection was the mask she'd bought to wear to a costume party, yet never got the chance to since it would have covered her entire face and Damon wanted to be able to steal kisses at will. She'd acquiesced with the same amusement and adoration she did anytime she was again reminded of how much she loved her man and how much he loved her in return.
The face was almost as white as his own in death. The eyes and lips had been accentuated with dark smears of black paint that gave the face a foreboding appearance. It was, Damon finally conceded, the way the expression of the mask appeared that had made him uneasy enough to ask Mara not to wear it. Except for seeing her eyes, she would be hidden and it would've been impossible to consider kissing her at any point during the ball. At least without substance behind it, it lacked the ability to create the same fear he had when she'd first worn it.
That, he suddenly decided, was what he had to forge himself into. Not a man, not even a mask, but the face, the very essence, of fear. In Mara's closet he found a few decorative blades that she'd collected. Part of him didn't want to use them at all; she'd been so in love with all kinds of art that it seemed sacrilegious to consider using her art pieces for weapons. He would recreate himself in such a way that failure would surely not be an option, he told himself firmly as he found their scabbards and slipped them wherever they'd fit within his clothes. Excited, afraid, and lost, Damon walked into the bathroom and began rummaging through the various bottles and tubes within it. He walked from the house, all but a devil himself with his painted face and savage expression. The crow flew from the doorway and landed on his shoulder. It blinked and Damon followed suit as their eyes scanned the horizon in identical paths.
"Show me," he commanded of the bird. "Show me where to find him."
The crow took flight, spiraling upwards until it struck off toward the city. Damon followed the crow and what was left of his heart into the city. The sun hadn't set for very long before he found the crow sitting on the wire rack holding the neon with the words, "Devil May Cry" in blinding red letters. His determination curled his lips into a sneer as he heard voices within the building as he started up the stairs.
*just because it comes from the mind of a wacko, doesn't necessarily mean it's insane*
to be continued...
