Disclaimer: Capcom owns DMC and its characters. This version of Alastor's/Ifrit's personalities are mine.
A/N: Beware Trish haters, this's a Trish chapter.
The tri-branched candelabrum bore candlesticks that burned but didn't seem to melt. The light from this was meager, illuminating the wooden surface of the table on which it sat and barely five feet around beyond that. A lean figure scanning the interior of a thick book stood hidden in the dark, well away from the light's perimeter. The figure seemed to ignore the fact the library was too dark for human eyes to read by. But Trish wasn't human; she could see fine.
She was deep in thought.
. . .
Her orders had been to lure Sparda's progeny onto a secluded spawn-infested island. With that done, it was either continue playing the part of guide and ally, or openly betray him. Her master's plans were without flaw, so whatever she chose would neither help nor hinder, she was assured of that.
So she opted for a timely parting of ways.
The man, Dante, son of the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda, object of her Emperor's loathing and concern, was a buffoon. And obstinate. And a pig. And occasionally a snide bastard. Though gifted by the gods of good looks, the man was a far cry from the dignified figure his father once was, or so she'd been told. And the way he liked to call her "babe" it just...ugh! It never failed to make her hackles rise!
In fact, it wasn't until they approached the back door to Mallet castle that her desire to leave intensified. She had watched as he drew the sword from his back - Force Edge, was it? - then calmly, without a word, proceeded to slice the lock cleanly in half. Just...swell. She had to resist the urge to slap her forehead after that.
Never mind that his display of manly ingenuity completely negated her brilliant foresight to unlock the damn portal before they arrived...! So she decided to leave right then and there, happy and primed to ignore the questions that would inevitably form in his man-sized brain.
But then she was struck by the whim to test him.
"The castle is above this cliff," she had told him at the gates. "Let's go!"
A single effortless bound carried her well over the twenty foot cliff face and onto the rough path on its outcropping. A casual glance over the shoulder, and the discovery she was alone disappointed more than surprised her. She stood expectant for ten more heartbeats. He never showed.
So...did he pass your test? an inner voice had asked.
A good question, considering she hadn't fully understood the point of the test.
And then apprehension sent a shiver down her spine. By not following her lead, didn't that imply the half-breed's trust in her wasn't complete? It was paramount that trust be established quickly, then cemented to ensure the execution of her mission. Since her role was crucial for the continuance of her master's plans, failure was out of the question.
Trish had seen firsthand the price of Mundus's displeasure; taught to her the first day of her life. "Born" into a young adult body, and blessed with a mature mind, her Emperor wasted no time giving her over to her tutor, Harbinger Knight Bolverk.
Knight, bishop, and inquisitor, the one-eyed devil took great pride in ferreting out insurgents. He impressed upon her the images and sounds of those he "interrogated," meanwhile teaching her the glories of Satan, and the dogma of His Church of Vice.
The undead knight was making certain she never became a disappointment to his Emperor, and he was good at his job. Her second lesson reinforced her commitment for constant success. Only the most severely botched assignments - no matter their significance - always incited the Emperor's personal attention. In every case, Bolverk had her watch what happened to those that erred.
And so, she was understandably shaken when the hunter didn't follow.
Since then stretched her moment of sharpened dread. Logic insisted that these feelings were unfounded; she had done her job bringing Sparda's human son here, her part in this elaborate death trap was over! But this...this wasn't mere doubt or fear for her continued well-being, was it?
Premonition?
Trish didn't consider herself a superstitious devil. She believed in what she could see. She made her own luck. She relied on no one. She believed in her ability to combat any obstacles in her way, and she sure as Hell believed in her own strengths. Trish refused to accept a predetermined future - portents of disaster be damned!
Mundus kept her on a short enough leash as it was...she didn't need witchy Fate pulling her strings, too.
Think, Trish. You have nothing to worry about.
She successfully completed her mission. The big bad spawn hunter continued to trust her, as far as she knew, and there were no reasons to prove her otherwise. She could manipulate him whenever she wanted. She'd have to locate the fool, though, which wasn't hard if one only listened. Even now, somewhere beyond the layers of mason stone the scream of something paying with its life was unmistakable.
Finding him was easy, actually spying on him was a bit of a trick. She last saw him rooting around a small network of caves on a cliff side facing the reddening western sky. The pack of free-roaming Blades occupying the area at the time didn't even know what hit them. That was almost fifteen minutes ago. Trish knew him to be an efficient hunter, so she was willing to bet her left arm he had progressed far since then.
She remembered times when he would look over his shoulder, always under the weight of secret eyes but never knowing where they came from, or by whom. Trish was not so naive as to believe he didn't suspect her, but as long as his uncertainty shrouded her, that was all that mattered. With nothing more pressing to do than explore the island's ruined decor, this was the most constructive thing she thought she could do for her master...and herself. No doubt Emperor Mundus would look favorably upon her efforts and reward her? A girl can dream. And the best part about this whole business? Her hands were washed of any responsibility for the half-breed. So there, no reason to get all bent out of shape...
Then why do I feel like running as fast and as far away from here as possible?
Reality began seeping into her musings, focus returning to the thing in her hands. The massive book was heavy, but not so heavy she couldn't comfortably carry it. It was a tome consisting of a thousand and some hundred pages - by her estimate - the words within written in a human language she didn't know. The title on its dull, black leather spine was stamped in red, framed in gold, and similarly beyond her comprehension. The author's name had been left out apparently - probably written by a lowly scribe who's name wasn't worth remembering. Inside the book was a compilation of...dates? Events? Chosen at random, boredom led her hand to this book, curiosity insisted she delve into it. Dates, events....records? Labels followed by numerals followed by sentences.
Then it documented the bygone livelihood of those that inhabited Mallet Island? Well, whatever their meaning, they were nothing but scratches in faded ink to her.
Trish turned the page -
- realization made her take a sharp breath. Lost in reverie, she had gone through nearly half of the thousand-page book. Her movements must have been purely mechanical the entire time - she couldn't remember turning so many pages! This happenstance struck her something like a wet rag. The mere act of turning paper sheets didn't disturb her so much so as what it could mean. Trish didn't act this way. It was against her nature, losing herself in thought so deep. For awareness to dissolve so thoroughly was dangerous business -
- You're making a big deal out of this -
- One half of the book rested in her left hand, that last half in her right -
- What am I doing?
"Distractions have dethroned more kings, destroyed more nations than any other whim, malady, or revolution in mortal history," Bolverk had once told her. "An unfocused mind is..." He had set his hounds on her after that, just to see if she was paying attention.
Damn it! She was always in control, she didn't allow thoughts to cloud her senses in the way they had just now. So why now?
Charging through the still air was another muffled shriek of demonic pain.
Eyes narrowing slightly, Trish slammed the tome shut. This, the ancient volume couldn't take, and she watched as it disintegrated, escaping her grasp which wasn't too intent on holding the book anymore. Loose sheets spun away like little yellow kites as the tattered book made an undignified plompf! against the library floor. For a few prolonged seconds Trish stared at the sad state of the half-decayed text, not really seeing it, fists at her sides.
What are you doing, girl? Why are you doing it? You're fraying at the edges, for what? You're not integral to the mission anymore and the hunter is tightening his own noose. Safe on all bases. So you're spending your free time in reflection, that's fine! Even devils may daydream every now and then. So get a grip, you're better than this, always in control... No more trying to second guess the Fates. No more reading between the lines of everything you do. Ever since you brought Sparda's -
- Another scream -
"Dante..." she heard herself breathe -
- And chasing that, an explosion that shook everything.
Her knees trembled with the concussion but she remained on her feet. Dust fell like gauze-thin curtains from the ceiling, ancient books in their rickety shelves jumped in place or fell to ruin on the floor. The quake faded like a distant avalanche, leaving a silence so deep it hurt her ears. Adrenalin kept her reflexes on edge.
Trish was sure the library would've collapsed if the blast had been any closer. She ruffled the dust from her honey-blonde hair, then quickly glanced up at a peculiar sound: The low decibel of grinding stone. The narrow span joining the second floor's twin walkways was badly fractured down the middle - a very disconcerting development, considering she was standing right beneath the damn thing! Since "getting squished" was not on her to-do list, Trish wisely sidled out of harms way.
Broken bridge here, some fallen books there, and powdered stone coating all of the above. She listened, ears pricked. Nothing beyond the pounding of her own heart. She strained to hear...
There! Gunfire! Easily perceptible now.
What is he doing? Fighting the Emperor himself?
Trish was gone in a flash of sizzling yellow electricity before the string of reports died into echoes.