Disclaimer: DMC and its characters aren't mine. This version of Alastor's and Ifrit's persona are mine. Rated R.
A/N: My apologies for the slowness, but I REFUSE to post up rushed or half assed work. I owe it to myself and my readers to make that effort. Because this chapter grew too large, I've decided to cut it in half, so that the NEXT chapter will be the official last chapter of this mission.
Mip the Demon Fox: It's not Ifrit's I.Q. you should be worrying about, but his sanity!
A little something called "persistence" can go a long way. God knows, it helped in almost every hunt that mattered, and was a positively vital practice in other cases. Yeah, persistence allowed him to conquer many a difficult trial, in daily life, and on the job.
Unfortunately, it worked both ways, as it was turning out.
The Blade swiped diagonally at his neck and chest with one claw, the other swinging low to disembowel. Dante felt the tug of cloth - not flesh - rip from his shoulder as he twisted his body around and away. Between the slashing limbs the Blade's chest was defenseless, so the hunter made sure both his heels connected hard enough to force air from demon lungs. Tumbling end over end, the next thing the demon knew was the needlegun unloading rounds into its torso and left arm. Dark blood clouded the water like squid ink.
Injured, but alive, the Blade slid toward the back of the room.
Not thirty-seconds ago, the previous area had been warded against escape. With the spawn sustaining it dead, the seal had broken, allowing entry into the next room - a larder, or cargo hold, or something. Dante hadn't been overly surprised to find another reptilian pair waiting for him.
In fact, the only shocker - and it had been pleasant - came in the form of a jagged, roughly five-foot diameter gap in the ship's hull. Escape was so close! From it the hunter could see water-carved stone - the bottom of a wide slope leading up and beyond his line of sight.
At what point the ghost ship had hit rock bottom, why there hadn't been an increase in water pressure while sinking, and why the landing hadn't set off a single vibration or disturbance, was yet another anomaly attributed to Hell's slow emergence. Physics simply did not want to comply with Mundus so near! It was as if the reality of the mortal realm was warping in steps, molding in nonsensical ways to accommodate a world even more alien than its nascent stages.
One enigma at a time, please, the hunter thought to himself.
Never a fan of the headache-inducing mechanics of metaphysics or ontology, Dante willing gave up figuring out the mysteries of "should-have-been's". Personally, he favored the simplistic logic of "kill or be killed".
With that thought in mind, the red clad hunter turned to meet his next attacker.
Seeing its comrade limp off in a trail of its life's blood had mixed caution to its murder-lust. It juked from right to left, striking quickly like a snake. Other times it tried to distract with its tail, only to come around with a lash of sickle hind claws.
Opting to take the fight outside, Dante deliberately gave ground, trying his damnedest to fend the Blade off while making subtle his retreat. If the hope of dry land somewhere above proved empty, then at least he would have the benefit of choosing his battleground away from the ship's confines. Besides, he wasn't desperate for air, and wouldn't be for some time, still. The hunter descended from the mostly gone second floor, down below the breach, where collapsed beams, planks, and decaying crates lay.
The goddamn Blade was relentless!
Claws scraped almost continuously against his gauntlets, Ifrit having a ball inside his head, howling something about "fire" and "skull trophies", usually followed by maniacal tittering.
"Ware the other." Alastor seemed to whisper in his ear. "That one is wounded, but still able. It's on the move, toward your flank. It will strike soon."
Dante understood he was about to be cut off, but couldn't do anything about it. He could feel the leaden weight of taint behind and to his left. It was slowly revving up for some serious violence. Alastor was right, it would fall on him soon.
Tireless, the frenzied Blade plunged into another series of slashes and cuts; raking down with both fore-claws, then both hind-claws. Blocked each time - as it expected - the demon pushed off the hunter's defenses, its supple spine arching backward in a tight flip. In whipped its tail, catching its prey unaware, or so it thought. The red clad half-devil jerked his head back from the attack that would've taken one of his eyes. Quicker than a blink, he clapped both hands on the trailing tail. The Blade reacted lightning fast, its reflexes boosted by rage and imminent peril.
A mere dozen feet from escape, the hunter elected right then to make a daring comeback.
As the Blade coiled around to rip out his throat, its aim was spoiled when two gauntleted fist appeared before its face. Blistering, stinging heat exploded from Ifrit, forcing the Blade to cry out and retract its talons as it jolted back in pain.
That's when the second Blade pounced.
Dante met it hand-to-hand with fire and spurs.
A short distance away, the first demon lizard recovered well enough to open its half-singed eyes, and witness the life-or-death struggle of hunter and prey. With vengeance running hot in its veins, the Blade screamed piercingly in outrage, heedless of the air it was giving up to do so. It speared into the fray. Or tried to.
Before it even reached him, Dante loosed gouts of heat through Ifrit, vapor bubbles rising thick and concealing, as well as searing into his second demonic adversary. The veil of white air quickly grew large, obscuring the tussling combatants almost completely.
Swooping back a short ways from the obvious trap, the first demon leveled both arms at the cloud, hissing as it focused blood into each clawed digit. The pressure built until flesh ripped, and eight talons shot through water like air into the concealing screen. New talons sprouted from its destroyed fingertips, and it repeated the process. Again. And again!
Demon eyes flared red with its wide, savage grin.
Crimson mixed with white, thickening with the thrashing of unseen limbs and red coat tails. No doubt its fellow Blade had become a casualty of war, but what did it matter? It was exquisite how another's pain could so please the Blade. Better still, it had fulfilled its Emperor's wish, and there would surely be a reward for this...!
Demon eyes narrowed. Something was wrong.
Death throes became the stillness of the dead. The shadow of a body floated into view as the bubbles cloaking it danced to the ceiling, thinning into shreds of weaving air. The Blade's aim had been true, it could see. Claws had torn numerous, ghastly wounds into the body, laying open muscle and sinew as surely as a surgeon's knife.
Its comrade had died almost instantly, to be sure.
The body began to dissolve as shock turned into cold fear. The Blade turned around, its senses screaming in warning -
- and looked into the eyes of the hunter.
Gauntleted fists drove deep into the demon's muscled midriff, cruel spurs digging deep. Letting out an involuntary gasp, the lizard accidentally sucked water into its lungs as it folded into itself. It didn't drown right then and there for one, simple reason: strong fingers had curled around its windpipe. Weak from a truckload of misgivings, the Blade could do nothing but spasm as its lungs struggled to expel ocean water.
What turned out to be a temporary salvation, became the harshest irony imaginable.
Dante glared deadly hate into the helm's eye-slits. Worse, it was hate tinged with a mischievous glint. Abruptly, the hunter swung the helpless Blade around his shoulders once, the orbit gaining speed near its terminus. Anyone watching would assume he was about to launch the reptilian javelin and be done with it. Anyone that knew Dante personally, would've averted their eyes long ago.
Dante released the Blade long enough for its tail to fly within reach. Snagging it, he yanked back - hard - smiling grimly at the sharp pop-pop-pop! of dislocating vertebra. The demon only had time to wonder what the hell was going to happen next, when its backwards flight terminated, out of the blue, with a fist to the groin.
Something other than bone crunched beneath the spiked knuckles.
Ifrit groaned in sympathy. Alastor was quiet. Apparently, spirits could faint.
Effectively losing all sense of dignity, the Blade curled into a tight fetal position, then promptly forgot the world around it. Dante thought this pitiful ball of demon kind might implode if it sank any deeper into itself. He let the demon go, watching it sink gently to the deck below. Thoroughly convinced that Blades bore gender after all, the hunter pointed the needlegun in what would become an act of mercy.
On second thought....
. . .
Remarkably alert, despite its grievances, the Blade watched the red clad hunter as he turned to leave. The needlegun was discarded for some reason.
No! The demon refused to be left this way!
For all its pains, it would not leave the half-breed alive. Doing so meant humiliation it couldn't bear. Even the lowest ranking spawn would have good reason to ridicule it, even attempt to kill it if they were of a mind to. Despite the toothy ache between its legs, the Blade threw itself at the hunter's back.
All Dante had to do was lift Alastor from his back a little, and let the stupid beast impale itself.
Chasm: Next chapter will be up soon! Thanks all for everything.