Disclaimer: DMC and its characters aren't mine, but Alastor's a**hole personality is. Hmmm, I think I'll rate this chapter PG-13. You'll see....
Orin Drake: Nice to know you're still around and enjoying the fic.
Rusty: Viko4ever: Hahaha! How can I turn down such enthusiasm. Tell you what, an explanation here would be too unsightly, so it'll be in the next chapter.
They were torch-like lantern of twisted silver-blue metal. There were four of them, each spaced out equally to form a fifteen-by-fifteen foot square just above the water's surface. Silent azure flame danced within, not giving off heat, but reeking of death. Here the odor of sulfur and decay mingled to near eye-watering proportions. Their placement divided the waterway almost from left to right wall, affording only a foot and a half of space outside its perimeter. The only way for one to cross would be to walk through the boxed area, or skim close to either wall. Either way, it was trapped.
The red clad hunter sat on his haunches just outside the perimeter, calmly working out the possibilities in his head. It was a trap, of that he was sure, but what form would this less-than-subtle deception take? His blue gaze traveled up the slime-encrusted wall. A ram's skull - too large to have belonged to anything but the largest bull - was mounted halfway up the right-hand wall.
And the only way to properly inspect it was to stand within the lanterns' boundary.
Dante was sure he didn't want to do that. His keen eyes traced the skull's bone structure. The empty sockets seemed to glare down at him, the jagged "muzzle" appeared to grin, but the most noteworthy feature were the dead creature's horns. Curved, and ribbed, the desiccated bones ended in needle points. What's more, were their peculiar color, it was faded, but there could be no doubt: crimson.
Dante stood, ignoring the dripping state of his coattails, his mind's eye back in Devil May Cry. Of all the mounted trophy heads in his office, only two of which had been acquired without a fight. Various jobs had sent him to various parts of the world, and every now and then, he found the remains of an Underworld denizen. For whatever the cause of its ruin - be it infighting, or treachery - the devil hunter cared only that he hadn't dealt the deathblow.
He had collected the masks of two such spawn, the horned skull of what he later identified as a Death Scissor, and the twisted mask of a Nobody. The hunter had often sat in his favorite chair, gazed at his free prizes, and wondered how a fight against them would have turned out. Would he face off with the most deadly of Scissors, now? Only eight years into the business, and Dante was ever amazed that he had yet to encounter every hellkin form.
In the vague hope of springing the trap prematurely, the half-devil stretched his massive sword into the danger zone. Nothing. With his half-hearted plan foiled, Dante tapped one of the lanterns with the tip of his boot, and grunted vaguely. Looking across the trapped area, he knew he could make the leap with zero sweat.
But that was too easy.
He could quickly scuttle around the obstacle in question.
But he knew it was pointless.
"Hell with this," he sighed, simultaneously anticipating a confrontation, and praying the trap's actual nature was not instant death.
Ah, the hazards of the work place.
Dante stepped forward, Alastor at the ready....and sprung the trap.
No sooner did he clear the perimeter did the four "lanterns" reveal their true function. They shot up as if fired from a cannon, only to stop abruptly six feet above the waterline. The "lanterns" had become pole-like staffs, wholly grotesque and foul in nature, for they were composed entirely of dried muscle, sinew, and the long, yellowed bones of both human and animal, alike.
Repulsed, the hunter twitched away from the sordid constructs. That same instant, like a shiver in the air, a barrier shimmered to life, spanning between staffs, extending to the walls, the ceiling, and all but invisible. Bolts as black as pitch, yet radiating an unholy blue, split into many fingers, coiling around the corpse staffs, and attaching themselves onto floor and ceiling, wall to wall. If not for those bands of energy, Dante had no other way to detect the barrier except by touch. He sensed hellish taint dangerously close by, and his intense green stare fell upon the mounted skull.
He thought about coaxing the evil entity out with a well placed insult, but it needed no urging.
In the once-vacant sockets blinked eyes that were little more than burning emerald pinpoints. Reeking of death, the apparition emerged from the mounted skull, rearing as a snake would, brandishing enormous, shear-like scissors. The giant blades - gently curved inward like pincers - forced Dante to backpedal away, for they were as long as he was tall. Sharing some characteristics of a Sin devil - a tattered, ethereal cloak of darkness, and ghostly, skeletal hands - the resemblance ended with its predominant features: its weaponry, and its ghastly head.
As frightening as its arsenal was - darkened with old stains Dante didn't care to guess at - it could not compare to the murderous look in the creature's hellfire green eyes. Where a Sin's ornate mask might have been placed, there instead rode a ram's skull quite unlike its mounted counterpart. While the dead thing on the wall was worn, and flaking bone, its twin seemed unnaturally alive - even slick - despite the lack of flesh. While the horns of one were faded of its red hue, the other verily pulsed with malignant, blood red vitality.
Is this what I think it is? Dante thought to Alastor.
When the obstinate spirit didn't answer, and the scissor devil's baritone growl began vibrating the air, the hunter purred in an ominous tone, "Better answer. Remember what I said about the next devil I saw?"
The devil creature's growl abruptly cut off with a confused turn of the head.
Was the man-thing speaking to it?
Alastor's irritated reply came with a crackle of blue electricity. "No, you said demon, not devil, and this one does not appear to possess the required nether region. Besides," the spirit sniffed, "you said I was an asset."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Dante shot back. "I meant to say asshole!"
Insulted, or perhaps tired of the one sided conversation - Alastor could not be heard by any but its wielder - the horned devil roared. It tried to snip off the hunter's head, but a quick duck-and-parry foiled the attempt.
Is it a Death Scissor? Dante mentally asked; this time, he would brook no argument from his unruly partner. Fiery eyes left green tracers of light in their wake as the creature shot up into the ceiling.
"Caedere Mortis, yes," Alastor said solemnly. "Cutting Death, the ancient scholars had dubbed them." The lightning spirit laughed, "Or Death Scissors, as the scholars had been so corrected, to their ultimate regret."
Alastor's cackling was drowned out the next instant by a guttural howl. Dante turned, eyes fixing upon the section of ceiling from which the howl had emanated. He blinked and missed the devil's high speed materialization, but heard it all too clearly. He spun away with Alastor raised to parry, felt his weapon briefly make contact, the air at his left flank shrieking as the Death Scissor tore past, disappearing into the floor. Dante was more than a little perturbed when he saw Alastor splash down a few feet away. Heart pounding with the implications of being disarmed he rushed over to the submerged blade.
Reaching fingers barely broke the waterline when another roar sounded from behind, and to the right. Left with little choice Dante pulled Force Edge free from its scabbard while twisting around. He saw the Scissor come out of the haze just outside the barrier - pass through the barrier as if it were air! - and knew he did not want to meet the charge head on. What he realized then was the devil's mode of attack: a terrible corkscrew spin with its fearsome weapon leading! It would literally drill through his defenses, tear him apart, and that's if he had any defense left to guard with.
He held Force Edge in his hands, not Alastor, after all.
The skull-headed devil growled savagely, bearing in horribly fast. Dante jerked to the side, Force Edge snapping in with a backhand meant to deflect, and took a nasty hit on its flat. Even prepared for the disarmament, the blade nearly flew from the hunter's tingling fingers. Force Edge - a blade difficult to mar - now flaunted numerous, fine scratches in a swirling pattern on one side. Dante's attention snapped from Force Edge to the sound of yet another animalistic bellow, this time from the ground....at his feet!
Huge scissors thrashed the dark waters into a rabid froth the closer it ascended. Curved blades blasted from the water's surface, but its target had hopped away scant seconds before. Still, the whirring scissors glanced off Dante's belt buckle, rose up to nick the side of his jaw. He cursed loudly at the close call, cursed again when the Scissors slowed dramatically to a stop, and faced him directly, its weapon held low.
Hunter and hunted stared each other down.
Dante didn't look away, never considered it. His mind worked furiously to fully understand this devil's capabilities. Where did its strengths lie, its weaknesses? He figured he was right to assume the wraith-like devil relied heavily on shear ferocity. It was power, more than speed, that it favored, and Dante was fairly confident he could exploit that. But, were those the weaknesses that would doom the evil entity?
Diabolic eyes flashed emerald.
Gurgling laughter erupted from the devil's empty maw as it brought its weapon about with a great whoosh! twirling it around and around in a lethal ring. Despite the attack's suddenness, the red clad hunter was rapidly adapting. With growing ease he anticipated the trajectory of each swing.
Thrice, a high slice sped in, but found no neck to sever. Twice, a low arc audibly cut the air, but slashed no limbs. The Death Scissor's eyes flared with the knowledge it was losing the initiative. Deadly scissors spun about with renewed vigor as the non-spirit hovered forward, hoping to herd the agile half-devil further away from Alastor, and finish him in a corner. Dante had watched the devil's mounting frustration, and was ready. When the orbiting scissors passed impotently overhead, the hunter responded with a powerful swing of his own blade. Force Edge interrupted the Scissor's return strike with a sharp peal of metal on metal. Dante wore a cocky grin.
"You're not so tough!"
So he had been right, its real strength lay in its rush attack. The Death Scissor gave a feral growl, and with a deft twist of the wrists, the monstrous scissor blades had clamped onto Force Edge. The devil ground its fleshless jaws in what could have been a smile, then heaved upward. Force Edge flew end over end past the creature's shoulder, but the hunter was already moving. In sacrificing the lesser sword, he had given himself precious few seconds for a lunge at Alastor.
Barely able to discern Alastor's outline in the inky water, Dante lurched for the dragon hilt -
- and came up empty!
The Death Scissor looked away from Force Edge's flight - gurgling in satisfaction - and didn't see the hunter helpless before it. Beginning to understand the depth of its distraction, it frantically glanced around -
- as a black gloved hand found Alastor's hilt, scant inches from where it fell.
The non-spirit saw the devil arms freed of its watery shroud, and screeched in fury. Dante dove away as closed scissor blades speared torward him. Such was the fierceness of the Scissor's attacks that Dante didn't dare stand to counter. Each evasive roll earned him a hair's breadth of breathing space, a span that threatened to close with the slightest slip-up. Curved blades pierced the water - the stone underneath - and it was then that Alastor spoke.
"Some advise: Die quickly. It will hurt less," it said, eager to "help".
Dante didn't waste time in a reply. He fought dizziness as the Scissor mercilessly pursued him around the death trap. The unnaturally murky water soaked him thoroughly, weighing his clothes, though a distant part of him concerned more over wet shotgun shells. No, the water's pull didn't bother him as it would a normal human, instead, it affected him in a way he hadn't guessed.
It streamed from his hair into his eyes, stinging them like a wasp's sting. The tainted water invaded his mouth, ears, nose, burning with something vaguely chemical, and he suddenly couldn't dismiss the stench of sulfur. Dante felt scissors stab into the cloth of a trailing coattail, and knew he better stop eating shit if he wanted to keep breathing.
Anger-boosted reflexes powered Dante through one final roll. He was on his feet in a blink, taking sweet satisfaction in the Death Scissor's shocked reaction. It feebly shielded its face with its weapon as it began to float away -
- and the hunter's eyes narrowed as Alastor bashed away its defenses.
As with the Sins, the mask was the devils' corporeal form. Was the Scissor's death mask truly its vulnerability? The hunter didn't want to convince himself into attacking a perceived weakness.
One way to find out...
The Death Scissor was recovering its guard when Ebony and Ivory appeared, spitting punishment. At pointblank range, the force of high-speed lead drove the terrible devil back, its horrendous shrieks of fear and animal rage bordering the insane. Bone chips flew wildly wherever a bullet tore in, fracturing, splintering the fine lines of an eye socket, exploding into grinding teeth, the curves of screaming jaws. Dante pressed the attack, driving the doomed devilkin toward the energy barrier closest to the portcullis. The cowering devil seemed to wilt as it slowly sank to the ground.
It didn't think to scurry away, couldn't manage to shake the confusion that had hooked merciless claws into its psyche. How had the wretched man-thing slipped through its onslaught? It had fully believed in its superiority, believed the kill was imminent....only to have its ecstasy come to a chilling, ripping halt. The Death Scissor nearly crippled itself with the terror only a servant of Mundus could feel. It could not fail!
It wanted to please its cruel master -
- Bullets chewed into the ram skull -
To fulfill His dark decrees to the letter -
- dug into the thick bone of its forehead -
To gain status in His favor -
- bit into ridged, crimson horns -
And all it took -
- a curved horn disintegrated in the rain of lead -
Was one death!
Pain as cold as glacial ice lanced in with fiery barbs, rending into the Death Scissor's very core. Dante knew he had discovered the hellspawn's Achilles heel in its scream of anguish, but the longer he watched, the more he knew he was going to wish he hadn't. Ebony and Ivory grew still in their assault.
The Death Scissor furiously shook its grotesque head, the pitted and cracked visage suddenly erupting in ghostly fire. The red aura of flame enveloped the damaged skull, the non-spirit's deathly hands, but burning brightest of all were the eyes. Piercing eyes of emerald were the promise of unspeakable death, and any lesser being would have balked at the sight of such overwhelming evil.
Dante had faced worse, and he shrugged off the initial dread easily enough. Still, pitted against this unknown without any real knowledge of its capabilities, and with new surprises popping up every second, he began to question the wisdom of stepping into the trap.
The devil's transformation, even the hunter's musings, happened within the span of seconds.
The Death Scissor roared in, glowing red hot. Long scissor blades gapped wide like the eager jaws of a mammoth insect. Gone were the hunter's dual pistols, replaced by the gleaming length of Alastor's razor edge held out vertically before him. Too wide, were the scissor's cutting embrace, too fast was the lunging non-spirit, and the red clad hunter could do nothing more than brace himself. Guttural, maniacal laughter invaded his world as gaping scissor blades collided into Alastor with staggering force. Sparks sprayed the air between the combatants. Dante slid back on his heels, though he tried to resist, coming to an abrupt stop against the opposite energy wall. If he hadn't been so preoccupied at that moment, he would have felt some relief that the trap-barrier did not harm or hurt. Harmless though it was, it remained unyielding as the stone beneath his boots.
Solid for me, the hunter corrected. Not for him.
To either side of his straining shoulders a scissor blade extended about three feet beyond the shimmering barrier. The Death Scissor growled like a rabid beast as it pushed forward. Dante pushed back with all his strength.
The heat!
Infernal flames wrapped around the skull radiated stinging warmth and the smell of disease. The scorching air evaporated sweat as quickly as it was summoned, burned into oxygen-starved lungs, blurred vision in waves of heat.
"I was wondering, mongrel," mused Alastor, as if nothing particularly eventful was happening. "Will anyone mourn you when you die? Oh, by the way, you've enraged our friend here, that's why you are within inches of death." The lightning spirit sighed regrettably. "Should have taken its horns, then bashed its skull in...."
You knew how to kill this thing? Dante thought accusingly at the spirit.
The Death Scissor pressed in with frightening suddenness, simultaneously snapping its scissors shut with a dramatic burst of strength. Dante reacted instinctively, raising Alastor up and diagonally above his head, as he ducked down, and away. The one-horned devil's own powerful rush sent it into a helpless slid over the sentient sword's edge, momentum carrying it safely beyond the barrier before it could even consider clamping onto Alastor itself. Dante was instantly on his feet. He saw the Death Scissor retreat into a wall, laughing, and already beginning the dreaded corkscrew spin.
"You knew!" Dante growled angrily.
"Of course," came the matter-of-fact reply. "As I said, I am bound into service. Therefore, I am forced to assist you in my own...special...way."
The Death Scissor shot in faster than ever before, and it was all the hunter could do to dart away.
"You never said anything before now," the hunter argued back.
"Ha! You never asked!"
"Since when do I have to -"
Cloudy water frothed, and Dante dodged away from yet another near-fatal charge.
"Oooo! Close one!" taunted Alastor. "Truly, I have enjoyed watching you squirm, but I do not wish to be claimed by a brute like the Death Scissor. Worry not, its rage will subside soon enough. Then, and only then, may you strike."
"Thanks, coach," was the acidic reply.
Taint and the Scissor's roar told Dante it would emerge from the wall behind him.
Instead of evading - as the powered-up non-spirit expected - the hunter dashed into a dead run as he swung Alastor hard at the emerging devil. Shredding scissors were soon followed by the fiery skull -
- and blue lightning crackled with the screech of metal scraping off bone. A single, fat spark erupted on contact as the Death Scissor took the full force of Alastor's edge on its remaining horn. The devil arms ricochet harmlessly off the impervious bone, to bite deeply into the stonework wall. Stunned out of its spin by the shear audacity of the half-devil man-thing, the Death Scissor slowly turned around. The non-spirit let its weaponry dangle from one ghostly hand as it met the hunter's chill glare.
Curious....
The man-thing had not moved, even after he had trapped his blade in stone. What's more, the defiant mortal glared back with such indomitable defiance, the Death Scissor suspected the stare had never left its back. Why did he continue to fight? the burning devil wondered with frustration. Why did he insist on making a mockery of its existence by resisting it? When so many others had fallen?
Most curious.
Despite the savagery that ruled within the Death Scissor's very being, it paused a moment to consider the true nature of what it fought....
Only a moment.
With a terrific cry of what sounded very much like "die!", the false-wraith took up its formidable arms. Dante wrenched the massive broadsword from its stony grip as the devil dipped in, scissor blades ready to snip him in half. He dove between the closing blades with inches to spare, the sound they made like that of an oversized bear trap.
"What did I just tell you, mongrel?" hissed Alastor heatedly. "No killing until its aura of fury has dissipated."
Snapping scissors followed the hunter's every dodge, every roll, hounding him the length and width of the death trap.
His light's about to go out, thought Dante pointedly. Can't you sense it?
The sound of clapping razor blades deafened him in one ear, but the agile hunter didn't concern himself with the close call.
"What?" a perplexed Alastor blurted. "You can perceive taint that precisely? But - "
"You never asked! Now, shut up!"
As Alastor inserted the proverbial foot-in-mouth, Dante laughed as he walked the razor's edge of dodging for his life, and playing with the Death Scissor. By initially bashing the devil upside the head, most of the fight had left it, even though he had never physically hurt it. Dante figured he had wounded its pride. Lord knows that he didn't get his smug personality from his mother. And if there was one thing the hunting business had taught him, it was that all hellspawn possessed overdeveloped pride....and they didn't like it fucked with.
All he had to do was wear the Death Scissor down a little more....
Growling furiously, the manic non-spirit picked up the pace, realizing through its frenzy that its boosted form was fading fast. So frantic did the massive scissors open and close that they made a single ringing clangor, as opposed to a stuttering cacophony. The part of Dante's mind that wasn't preoccupied with saving his own skin, thought it was the funniest damn thing he'd seen in a long while. He tried, though couldn't immediately dispel images that came to mind of a gardener with pruning shears going postal, spitting and crazy-eyed.
Crazed by its inability to touch its prey in its transformed state, the sight of the grinning devil hunter pushed the Death Scissor beyond tolerance. The flaming aura fizzled with its scream of abject fury as it launched one final attack with the last of its fading power. Dante sensed, more than saw, the darkly stained blades converging around him horrifyingly fast. The jaws of curved razors closed in a blur of motion, and he defended the only way he could. To an observer, Ebony simply appeared in his left hand, but instead of firing the gun, the hunter caught an incoming blade with the side of the barrel, while Alastor thwarted the other.
The Death Scissor squeezed.
Though the strength behind the dual blades was immense, it was no longer unstoppable. The desperate false-wraith growled and mewled with effort, steadily gaining headway a millimeter at a time. Dante was impressed, in spite of himself.
It took guts to fight till the bitter end.
Burning emerald eyes glanced furtively at Ebony, and the hunter knew why. Blessed with infinite ammunition through arcane ritual, Ebony made a lethal pair with Ivory, but neither was made to withstand a swordfight. Sustained pressure against a razor's edge was gouging the black metal itself, and Dante thought now was a good time to end the duel.
Gonna take weeks to buff that out, dammit! he mentally winced.
The hunter lay steady eyes on his prey. "Don't you get it, friend?" he calmly began telling the false-wraith with a grin. The Death Scissor didn't want to hear this, didn't want to wait and listen to the man-thing finish. Fear predominated its defiance as it released its hold on Ebony with the hope of slicing into the hunter's forearm.
The Scissor nearly reeled with relief when the blade sank home.
It looked into the eyes of the hunter, and let out an involuntary moan.
Though pain seared him to the bone, Dante willed himself not to flinch, not even blink. He shook his head as his smile became a touch predatory.
"Just thought I needed to clarify," he said. "You are my bitch."
The Death Scissor gave a screech of stubborn refusal as it moved to saw off the hunter's injured limb -
- but it wasn't facing the hunter anymore.
Jagged snakes of blue electricity flicked constantly in, over, between, the obsidian armor of the devil knight. Wintry was the inhuman gaze that flashed from narrow eye-slits, glowing with the same intensity as the flickering aura that was like a cloak. The materialization of the black armor bit a neat semicircle into the blade still in the knight's arm, causing the Death Scissor to pull back abruptly with sudden dread.
It would not fail!
It snapped at the devil knight for a quick kill -
- but suddenly it was staggering under waves of agony.
It grasped the stump of its severed horn in horrified disbelief. Thinking of only one maneuver that might save it, the devil shot away, already beginning the spin.
Like a statue, the glowing knight stood motionless in a relaxed stance, Alastor held loosely in one gauntleted hand. He heard the roar approaching from behind, but made no move. A rear strike was too obvious, therefore, the Death Scissor would double-back, would come from a different direction.
Head on!
The non-spirit emerged with a triumphant howl, a howl that turned sour with the realization that the knight had called its bluff. Committed to its course, it charged headlong, and it all ended in a bright blur.
The devil knight spun away, taking up Alastor before the Scissor finished shooting by. The gleaming blade stabbed harmlessly up the ethereal black cloak of the fleeing devil, finding the empty cavity of its skull, and hooked on as the knight redirected its flight. Up and over and down went the screaming Death Scissor, to crack violently onto the flooded ground. Red blood orbs exploded from the pulverized bone and were absorbed by the knight that same instant.
Energy fizzled, and the trap-walls popped out of existence. Barrier-staffs self-destructed without the power of their master to sustain them, blasting bits of mummified human, and animal bone in all directions. Giant scissors blew apart in a cloud of shrapnel, the slivers of metal bouncing harmlessly off obsidian full-plate.
Empty sockets where emerald fires had once burned became dust and a bad memory in mere seconds. The last vestiges of a wraithlike cloak fluttered to nothing when the knight ceased to be, and the aura-shrouded hunter stood tall.
"You're never going to use the shotgun at this rate, mongrel," Alastor commented wryly.
Dante freed his hands of Alastor and Ebony to favor his left arm. "Maybe," confessed Dante. "But why should I if Ebony and Ivory have a kill list the length of a city block?"
The wound in his forearm resisted healing thanks to the severed edge of a scissor blade embedded therein, and he quickly tried to work it free. Infection didn't worry him - many ailments were beyond the power to affect him - but he loathed the thought of his flesh healing over the unnatural shard. It came loose after a minute, and the momentary flare of pain was soon replaced by Alastor's speedy regenerative power. The hunter willed the power away once the bleeding was under control.
"As you wish.....and were you trying to get yourself killed for my benefit, or are you simply that dense?"
"I did it 'cause I'm just that good," Dante drawled as he looked around for the fallen Force Edge. He couldn't help but grin when he found the smaller sword. Buried halfway into the mounted ram skull's forehead, Dante thought it was a wonderfully ironic sight.
"Bah! You're lucky you didn't lose the limb; you could have easily blocked with Ebony. Bad enough I must serve a mongrel half-breed, but I did not relish the thought of being wielded by a cripple."
Dante retrieved Force Edge with a flourish, then put it in its rightful place. He began walking as he drew Alastor.
"Oh please! I haven't survived up until now by overestimating my abilities, when are you going to see that?"
The lightning spirit was adamant. "It was a needless show of bravado, end-of-story."
"Maybe, but did you catch the look in that devil's eyes? Fear like that isn't easily faked....hel-lo....?"
Turning the corner led nowhere, but it was what lay in the dead end that was reason for pause. Pitch burned with orange flames in twin, bowl-shaped sconces. The wall-bound sconces flanked an arched alcove, alighting a carving of a sun within. The closed expression of a small child or baby composed the sun's "face", while a crown of triangular shapes gave the impression of waves of heat.
Most noteworthy of all, was an elegant stone pedestal standing before the child-sun's face, a small object resting conspicuously upon it. Slowly stepping into warm torchlight, Dante tapped Alastor gently against his shoulder in thought. "Shrine" was the hunter's first deduction, but a closer inspection said differently.
Not a shrine, he mused to himself. But something no less significant.
Receding were the memories of his most recent fight for life, to be replaced by an enigma of the present.
A key sat atop the pedestal, and did he get too much water in the eyes, or was the item....glowing, ever-so-slightly? The head of the key was an embellished imitation of the sun carving -
- and the words of an inscription scribed below the bronze grin of a merry sun came to mind.
"These images....wasn't there something like them in that bedchamber?"
" "The brightness of the Guiding Light will scorch you", " Alastor intoned. " "Only those that can bear the Light can open the new path." "
"That's the one," the hunter confirmed. Then, with less certainty, "But I don't remember seeing a keyhole near the sun figurine. Could this key be used for something else?"
"Possibly," admitted Alastor. "But there's only one way to find out, yes?"
Dante wiped his left hand through his wet hair, ignoring the dull ache in his mending muscles, and admitted, "Sure, why not? That kind of logic's been working for me so far."
Since Underworld taint did not cling here - like it had for the Death Scissor trap - he grabbed the key without a second thought -
- and nearly swooned with vertigo.
He quickly replaced the glowing key onto its pedestal, but the ill effects would not leave him be. Shaking his head, blinking rapidly....nothing helped. "Forget "scorch"," he said. "Damn key is -"
" - draining your life essence? I thought it might. Don't worry, it isn't fatal....in the short-term. Tell me, who are your next of kin?"
The hunter steadied himself with a hand to the wall, but he quickly realized any relief would be temporary. He retrieved the key once more, and pocketed it. "Your concern is touching," Dante told the spirit as he began a loping run for the exit. "Remind me to snap you in half when I'm done saving humanity."
. . .
From the shadowed tunnel beyond the portcullis, a figure watched. The figure observed with great interest as the red clad hunter intentionally sprung the trap, marveled at the Death Scissor's dramatic fall, and was amused at the obvious trade of dialogue between the devil arms, Alastor, and its master. Though the figure couldn't hear the spirit's words, it mattered little. The hunter had survived the tests laid before him...
And with flying colors, no less, the figure thought with measured admiration
The hunter had just acquired the Guiding Light, was weakened by it, and the leather clad figure concentrated her thoughts to form telepathic speech.
"He's yours Phantom," Trish relayed. She knew the hard-shelled demon would be gathering itself for an explosive entrance somewhere - be it walls or floor or ceiling - and it would be an impressive show of brute strength. She wished she could be there to witness it. Unfortunately, duty in the form of Mundus's rumbling command dictated she be elsewhere.
How will you fare, son of Sparda? she wondered with more than a little curiosity, especially since she knew his path would only become much more difficult. How many more tests will you pass?
Will your strength save you, or will my master take you, like he took your family?
It was unnervingly difficult for Trish to align herself with either possibility.
She turned away, undecided.
Chasm: *audibly cracks knuckles* I feel like going linear, so I'm going to do the next mission - just like in the game. Beware, I have angst in mind....