Disclaimer: DMC and its characters belong to Capcom. Alastor's/Ifrit's personalities are mine. The mystery demon is also mine, in a manner of speaking. You'll see what I mean...if I ever get to the next chapter that is. R for language.
Trish awoke without the memory of ever passing out. In memory's place throbbed a headache, lovingly tailored to her for maximum discomfort, it seemed, by the god of migraines. How sweet. The bastard really shouldn't have. Weak and sore, she made the bold attempt to rise from her prone position on the carpeted floor. Marginal success, plus vertigo. She propped herself up on one elbow after a slack jointed roll to one side, disorientation rocking the ground beneath her. She couldn't lift her head more than a couple inches.
Oh for the love of...!
Disobedient neck muscles only encouraged the illusion her hair had gained tonnage. Though a cobweb of rich yellow tickled across her face to prove her wrong, she knew better. With a dramatic yet woozy declaration to the floor, the she-devil vowed vengeance on the villain responsible for transmuting her cherished locks into concrete! Mm-hm and then she was going to beat the living tar out of him with every cinderblock follicle! Damn right Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn!
Trish would've laughed had the effort not been a literal pain. That, and she felt about as strong as a day old whelp. Pfeh! And here she was plotting to go Salem on an imaginary offender...!
Arcanic whiplash. More fun than a barrel of mrisras. I guess trying to flash fry infinity will do that.
And what a ride that had been...
It was then the blonde decided it was good to be alive. Oh to just lie there, to breathe... She felt like shit but even that was pure pleasure when compared to the alternative. Living felt so good, in fact, she made a promise to herself: No more stupid risks, no more hesitations. If she was going to die on the job, then let it be for a worthier cause than...than whatever happened in the old library. She had to report to His Darkness about this, a.s.a.p...
But now that her vision concluded its carousel spin, she aimed to get a decent look at her new surroundings. Several tries and many potent curses later, she managed to glare about the room.
Clear blue eyes adjusted quickly to the soft, indigoid light. It shone from everywhere, yet nowhere. Touching every surface, it cast gauze thin shadows where stone and rug and wood were not tinted with cave-like gloom. Tracing the high, barrel-vaulted ceiling, her gaze rested for a moment on the individual structural ribs. Each smooth shadowed arc slid down the lofty walls, soon splitting into twisted columns of which a few were possessed of undulating life.
They ran parallel, guiding her attention toward the double-doors at the end of the long room. She herself lay at one end of the broad, rippled nave. Mindful not to move too quickly, Trish peered with some effort over her shoulder. From this angle, the altar on which the Pride of Lion once rested rose from the ground like a monolith.
I'm in...the cathedral...? Un. Fucking. Believable. I survived a killer library, Limbo, the blot of a thousand screams...to wake up in a House of God. Just when did I land on someone's shit list?
To call this a house of anything but corruption would be untrue, just as it was wrong to call the dimensional void "Limbo." She was not on holy ground - like everything else, this place was a lie - and she had not faced actual Limbo, for no one returned from that place. Still, referring to their doubles as if they were the genuine article was something she couldn't help.
The air here was cool, motionless. Thick with the smell of dust and woven fibers, the long carpet beneath her provided the only detectable scent. Ears pricked at the distant growl of thunder -
- Her sixth sense jerked awake, screaming madly!
The taint of a stranger overcast her own.
Stung with alarm the blonde shot to her feet. A mistake. A sincere groan. Dizziness cascaded across her vision as pain sliced into her brain. Fatigue became a burdensome load. Nausea flip-flopped her stomach. Cold sweat misted her brow. No doubt about it, she was definitely going to ask for a raise.
Overbalanced, the stricken spy wobbled backwards, gritting out a whimper as the pull of gravity latched firmly onto her leather clad rear. Instinctively she threw both hands behind her and, with a huff of relief, caught the trunk of the altar. What happened next went down with rapid fire precision.
The thing she had assumed was the altar....flexed.
It was a thigh.
A huge thigh attached to a huge leg.
A huge thigh attached to a huge leg of rock hard muscle.
Covered with...
Fur?
A soft hiss followed the brush of cool scales against her naked shoulder. Aches and pains became a thing of the past in less than two seconds. With a choked squeal Trish hated herself for, she jumped - launched, actually - practically touching the dark ceiling arches. A gasp rattled from her throat as she drew level with the trio of oriel windows high above the altar. She could've sworn she floated there for at least a full minute. Yet again gravity couldn't keep its paws to itself, so insistent was it that she acquaint herself with the unyielding floor. Caught up in the moment, Trish scrunched her eyes shut, and wailed.
Like a screaming sack of flour she plunked right into the arms of her savior.
Said savior immediately set her down on her feet, one large hand enveloping her shoulder and upper arm just to keep her upright.
"And here I thought Phantom could jump," quipped a voice like dark sand. "Your landing needs work, though. That said, I suggest you take this opportunity to save face, agent. Stand."
The big grip vanished, but marked her arm with a lighter-than-air sensation she heroically ignored. Must...stay...vertical! Another reptilian hiss popped her eyes open, post haste, every muscle tense and ready for another go at the ceiling. She registered three major qualities about the demon before anything else.
Size. Ten feet never looked so huge. From white-fuzzed muzzle to claw-tipped toes, the demon loomed so imposingly over her meager five-foot-nine it was ridiculous. But this wasn't overly surprising, oh no; spawn his size were not an uncommon sight. What really threw her for a loop was the fact this wall of demonkind had come upon her without warning!
Bulk. Most of the beast's brawn seemed to congregate around the thick chest. And then hairy arms folded across said chest. Trish was ogling, but she couldn't find the heart to care. That simple gesture shifted weight from one reverse articulated leg to the other -
- and every muscle had rippled across the darkly tanned body, flashing her with immense physical power. Casual strength like that...Trish never saw outside the elite of Mundus's forces. The presence of mass was all the more augmented by the thick mane. Shaggy silver framed the angular, leonine face. Silver turned into basalt, glossy all the way down the neck, across the broad shoulders, tapering down chest and back.
The eyes. They gleamed with the color of freshly minted gold. Without understanding why Trish found herself praying she never angered those metal eyes. Too, she recognized the race of this demon, this Helnyne. With a longsuffering sigh, the giant threw his arms into the air, feigned frustration clear on his face. The smirk stretched across long canines.
"Do you gawk at every stranger that comes along, or am I just the lucky one....? Sins alive, blink, woman! I'm not part of the sideshow."
With a start, Trish spat a silent curse as the heat of embarrassment rose to her ears. Nowhere in the history tomes did it say agents of the Emperor should ogle on the job! On second thought, 'embarrassment' couldn't quite encompass the feelings she felt right then.
Damn it damn it damn it!
From practically the start of her mission, her conduct had taken an abysmal plunge into a well of internal conflict. Whatever idiotic, nonsensical thoughts she may have had then should not have lingered until now! Why was it so hard to get back on track? Why did she still suffer this relentless feeling that something was amiss, this gnawing of her conscience, eating away the bones of her principles like weak acid until all that she'd known skewed on a foundation of confusing mush.
It's his fault, ever since we met. It's all been him from the start!
Dante defended humanity, yet he owed them nothing, these fleshlings who lived petty existences. If he was truly devoted to the path of vengeance, as he claimed, then why try to save everyone and their mother along the way? They distracted, they burdened, and he would die for them one day. Why? For a memory of the murdered. Pointless. He allows their ghosts to haunt him, for what? Because he felt obligated to uphold his father's "righteous" ideals? Because they loved him and he love them? Bullshit. Sparda couldn't know love; he was a devil, an exile, and probably wanted to fuck that day he saw the fair-haired woman who's likeness Trish now bore.
Devils don't love, they use. Humans are no better.
If someone walked up to her right now and told her she would give birth to a human infant, she would have ripped the messenger's throat out, then tore out the thing growing inside her. Trish expected no less from Dante's mother, and yet...
And yet he still lived. Because of her sacrifice, he managed to survive up to this point. To love the abominations that mankind and his religion so naturally shunned... It was unthinkable this woman - Eva, Dante called her - could be so different from her kind.
He's so much like her in that respect.
So many so many more questions skimming through her brain that Trish just stopped asking altogether. That's it. Enough. Her mind didn't go blind to the questions - they still skittered across her mind's eye like quick little vermin - but now they were being collected, shelved, and painted over with her old way of thinking. She told herself she no longer cared why the hunter hadn't followed -
- rejected me -
- at her beckoning upon arriving on Mallet. She no longer questioned his actions against all that was Underworld - like me - or why the strength of his lineage could conquer Generals and Knights, but not his shattered past.
But now it was more important to calm down, and quickly. Reality was setting in - making the demon's presence more pronounced - bringing with it the realization that she had nodded off into her own little world again.
Didn't matter how...sociable the helnyne giant appeared to be; demons betrayed and used just as often as devils. Trish put on her best I-mean-business-so-don't-screw-with-me face. She was calm. She was professional. She was collect. She was ice -
- The helnyne wasn't smiling anymore. Her moment of weakness had not gone unnoticed.
She was screwed.
Chasm: If anyone can come up with a better species name for my OC I'd be grateful. And also I'll give you credit for the idea in the next chapter. Thanks.