Disclaimer: Capcom owns DMC and its characters. This version of Alastor's/Ifrit's personalities are mine. R for violence and blood.
Bustahead: O.O Here you go! Another chapter!
Tragedy Ann: The fact that you read and liked the Trish chapter just shows I'm doing something right. Thanks!
Burryk: In answer to your Angelo/Nightmare question: Yes. Don't know when I'll get to it, though. As for the Frosts' intro, we shall see...
Tracking the hunter in the form of pure energy was akin to thought: Both were instantaneous. So was the shock of materializing on the highest level of the coliseum in the middle of the storm of the century!
Crimson lightning slashed the underbelly of slow-swirling, iron gray clouds. Sheets of icy, blinding rain riding wild winds seemed bent on drowning her where she stood. Trish flattened herself against the walkway floor before a howling gust could bull her pinwheeling over the edge. Her senses battled against the confusing maelstrom. Could this be it? Was her master's plan coming to fruition? She expected that opening the Gates of Hell would be tumultuous at least, but this....wait.... This couldn't be the telltale storm of enemy worlds colliding...and it was too soon.
Gunfire from the arena below!
In response there was a flurry of dark feathered wings - one a tattered stump at mid-wing - then a brilliant flare, and an elemental roar. It was General Griffon, alright. With the realization that it was Griffon, her next thought toddled to the fore with no small amount of annoyance.
Well, this explains the lousy weather. Note to self: Don't wear skin-tight leather in a downpour ever again. Cold as sin, and it chafes.
But why was the General so badly wounded? Other than the numerous broken feathers in the trampled mud, there was no sign of the dismembered wing. Trish had watched the previous two encounters of demon against hunter, and both times Griffon had avoided permanent injury. This development was a surprise. The loss of his wing officially made the demon bird ground bound for the rest of his life, however long that would be. How had Dante done this? Taking down Phantom was indeed a feat, but to do this to Griffon, Phantom's superior? The only explanation for the Death General's perplexing state was that he was distracted somehow. Even now, Trish recognized the frenzy of demon rage - not a typical mode of attack for Griffon.
Rule number one: Remain focused in all your endeavors, and never stray. A simple rule the hell-bird should not have forgotten considering his devotion to his Emperor. Ever since his second encounter with Sparda's whelp....
Trish's gaze concentrated on the two combating shapes five stories below her. Lit gas-flame blue from below by a softly pulsing runic circle in the amphitheatre's center, their silhouettes blurred by the gray rain, Trish thought it was like staring into an under-lit aquarium.
When did those runes get there? Weren't there before...strange...
Bathed in the arcane light, another major detail swam into focus: Large chunks of rubble littered the fighting pit. The overpass had collapsed - probably the cause of the "explosion" she had heard in the library. In its place, hung suspended was a block of stone - column-shaped, the bottom tapering to a point - some six stories above the eerie runes.
Lightning ripped, thunder tore, but it was the bright flash of steel that almost made Trish blink.
Alastor bit deep into the ruined stump of Griffon's left wing, and stuck. The demon snarled and tried to bite into his attacker. Before the powerful jaws could clamp down, the hunter violently twisted his sword with upper body strength alone, wrenched free, and barely escaped a cascade of demon life blood as he hit the ground running. Suddenly the smell of churned mud and rain mixed with a thick, coppery tang. Griffon roared horrendously, but to his credit, pressed the offensive, and released a flood of energy from the core in his chest.
Angling beams, spheres, curtains, and straight bars of electricity hurdled in every direction imaginable; there was no way the half-breed could dodge them all. Despite the sting of rain in her eyes, Trish watched in stunned disbelief as hunter became azure-shrouded knight.
Fast!
He blurred over-around-under every deadly attack as if they had no momentum of their own, and Trish was sure, had it not been for the afterglow of his aura, it would've appeared as if he teleported into Griffon's guard. In a blaze of erupting power the knight flung Alastor spinning into the General's wound before the demon even had time to react. The devil arms circled back, returning to its master's gloved hand completely drenching in red, and draped with torn sinew. Rain didn't immediately cleanse the fell blade. The whole round trip had taken less than two heartbeats, but by then the Death General was howling madly, bleeding profusely from a wing stump now shaved of thirty pounds of meat.
He's bleeding Griffon into submission! Incredible!
Trish watched mesmerized as hulking Griffon staggered away with a baritone groan, trembling from blood loss and pain. The hunter didn't press the attack as his adversary placed considerable distance between them. Griffon rounded before stumbling into the tiers, agony and fury burning in every eye. The monster charged. The hunter scowled in disgust, then charged in turn as the fleet-footed knight to compensate for Griffon's longer stride. They were two hundred feet apart at the start.
The storm was beginning to die - They covered ground startling fast!
The rain slowed slightly - Halfway! Neither meant to stop!
The rain fell like tears - This was it!
Trish held her breath -
- when the mother of all lightning bolts stole her vision the moment the foes collided. Clamping hands over ears, she couldn't hear her own colorful curses - let alone the deathblow - as the concussive force of superheated air boomed with enough energy to signal the End Times. The toll of thunder echoed outward toward the horizons like the departing hoof beats of the Four Horsemen.
Silent ruby lights flickered across the stilling dreary sky. The rain became a heavy sprinkle. The wind thrashed, but nothing like before. Trish uncurled from her defensive posture, a needling ringing in her ears telling her that her hearing would return in a few minutes...but what of Griffon and -
- Her gazed locked in place.
The Death General toppled to the ground, landing squarely on the runes. Dante replaced sword Alastor - now unblemished and glittering coldly - onto his back next to the Force Edge. Standing a short distance from the fallen demon's great head, he did not exhibit the air of a victor. Odd.
His back turned to her, shoulders not-quite-straight, Trish could only guess at his expression.