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One.
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Dante Sparda let out an unhappy sigh as his tired blue eyes scanned his surroundings for what felt like the five hundredth time. He felt like he was on another wild goose chase, as he often was nowadays. There would always be an abandoned city with an urban legend behind it, and the common peasant would grow afraid of it and call the amazing Dante to come and explore it.
This wasn't exactly a city, though. Wooden houses covered about three square miles of land—a very small town indeed. The houses were all built together, one right beside another, as if it were a makeshift city. What was odd, though, was that the windows of every single building were boarded up, with pictures of windows painted on the boards over the real windows. Some doors were ripped from their hinges as well, and Satanic graffiti decorated the walls. Dante still could not understand why some teenagers thought it would be fun or cool to spray paint a pentagram or a swastika somewhere that only they would see it. Occasionally the Devil Hunter would stumble across a building that was entirely cleaned out, with the exception of piles of gutted animal carcasses, no doubt used in sacrifices. Still, some houses remained entirely untouched, and some tables were set as if a family was just about to sit down for dinner. It was as if the entire town had dropped dead all at once, without warning.
There was something definitely unsettling about this place, however. There was no wind here. There was no humidity here. For summer, it was a lot colder than it should have been. The light seemed to shun this place, refusing to shine down on it. The trees even gave a sense of foreboding. They actually seemed to bend and twist away from the buildings in the city, as if something horrible would befall them if they grew within four feet of a house.
It was after midnight now as well. Because Dante didn't believe in the use of flashlights, the only light to illuminate his path would have been from the stars and the moon, if they were not clouded over on what should have been warm summer night. The town was nearly pitch black, and to Dante, very, very boring. Whatever beast or demon may have been roaming about in this godforsaken place obviously was not in the mood to have guests or to party that night.
Looking over to his right, he could make out the outline of his blonde female partner. Trish was obviously bored and unhappy as well, finding a small rock on the ground to be very, very amusing. Dante stared at her for a few seconds, trying to analyze the situation that they were in to himself.
"If something doesn't happen soon, I'm going to have to break out into song," he said suddenly.
Trish's head snapped up to look at her colleague. She wrinkled her brow in confusion, which went unseen in the darkness. She knew that Dante was never one to randomly break out into song.
"Song?" she asked.
Dante smiled and turned his head away from her. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his long red trench coat swayed back and forth on his heels for a few seconds before turning to his left and walking up against a boarded up house. He placed his right hand on the side of the wooden building and looked up, surveying the black velvet sky. Taking a deep breath, he realized that the air here was not crisp like it should have been. Rather, it seemed a bit heavy. Scowling a little, he faced back to Trish and walked toward her again.
"Yes, song," he said. "Maybe it'll attract something's attention. I know I'd be amused if I saw a big guy in a red coat start dancing and singing to the Ghostbusters song."
Trish smiled and shook her head. "Yeah, I do feel like a Ghostbuster out here. Why don't we just check a few of the boarded up houses and then call it a night? I'm bored and tired."
"Is complaining all you can do?" Dante asked with a smile, walking out ahead of her. "Go check the house I just walked to before. I'll check down here."
"Got it!" Trish called after him as he seemed to be getting pretty far ahead of her. "And you complain more than I do, you big wuss!"
Dante chuckled to himself a bit at Trish's last comment. She was right; he did complain a lot on the boring missions. He thought he was behaving this time, though. And, speaking of behavior, Trish had changed noticeably since Dante had first met her. Well, of course, besides the whole trying to kill him thing. Trish had become a lot more open and random within the year the two had known each other. She had been trying to develop Dante's sense of humor, but they both knew that she had a long way to go before she could reach that level of cynicism and sarcasm.
She had become a lot more emotional, too. Whenever in a petty argument over something, Dante would always make a cheap comment such as, 'Well at least I never tried to send you to your death,' or 'Don't make me throw you in the ocean along with the rest of your little family there, which I disposed of single handedly, I might add.' Even though Trish would always force a laugh, Dante knew it killed her inside. He wouldn't let up on the jokes, though. He always figured that Trish needed to be able to take whatever anyone could throw at her.
After all, Trish was a demon. She knew that, and he knew that. Neither could understand why she had changed the way she did, and neither of them ever spoke a word about it. Dante hated that about her, though. He hated the fact that not only was she a demon, but that she was spawned to purposely look exactly like his mother. It was a sick joke of his enemy. Because of her origin and appearance, whenever Dante would look into her eyes for an extended period of time, he could see only himself staring back. Trish still couldn't understand why he never looked her in the eyes when he talked to her, or why she would always win the heated arguments that involved her staring right at him for a while.
Dante snapped back to reality as he realized that he was already at a good specimen of a house to explore. He reached up to grab the handle, but hesitated as he did. Just as he was about to squeeze the knob, the once dead and seemingly hiding wind picked up noticeably. It was as if a hurricane was about to hit. The moonlight peaked out from behind a cloud as if it wanted to shine directly on the Hunter. His hair, now silver in the light, blew up against his face, and he put his left hand in front of his eyes to shield them from the fierce wind. They seemed to burn inside of his skull to the point where he thought he was becoming blind. The howling wind was deafening, and the houses creaked and moaned like gunshots. The gale felt like pins and needles on his exposed flesh, and the only thing he could smell or taste was that of the air—nothing.
There was nothing around him now. He could not see, hear, feel, taste, or smell. All of his senses were completely blacked out, and he felt as if he were entirely at peace with the world. Of course, that sent a shiver of fear and panic down the Hunter's soul. He could not stand the idea of not being able to control his actions. The only thing he could use was his mind. Confused and frantic, he let his right hand drop back to his side, and the world around him was dead again, and the moon slipped back behind a giant, never ending cloud. He was back in the abandoned city again. And he was back in his body again.
Cold sweat poured down his face. His pupils were dilated. His breathing was sporadic. Paranoia gripped him tightly. His head whipped from side to side, and he turned around quickly a few times to look for something, someone to explain to him what had just happened. Dante had been to the bowels of hell and back, and the things he had seen had disturbed him greatly, but at least he had seen them. This was the first time in his life that he had no control over anything around him. This was the first time that he had no sense of direction or placement. This was the first time in a very long time that he had been truly frightened.
He swallowed hard, trying to catch his shallow breath. His head was spinning, but he was always a determined and stubborn man. He now had to go into this house, whether the wind would allow him to or not. He would try to rise above the elements until he succeeded or died trying. He took another deep breath and tried to calm himself, telling himself that he was acting like a child.
Satisfied with that, he took one last deep breath, straightened himself out, and cracked his knuckles. Bouncing slightly on his toes for a bit to get him ready as if he were a boxer preparing for a match, he tried to convince himself that he could take anything that the weather tried to dish out. Nodding once, he rushed forward to the door, putting his full weight on the fragile wood, knocking it down, and going down with it. Hard.
The weather remained the same. He was still in his body.
Pain stung at the Devil Hunter's left temple, and he realized that he had made a stupid move. Now that he was thinking about it, he realized that it was the entire left side of his body, seeing as how that was what he had landed on. He took a deep breath, now disgruntled, and rolled over onto his stomach. Using his right arm, he pushed himself up onto his knees, and carefully made his way onto his feet. He rubbed his eyes and cracked his neck, and at that moment, all he wanted was to go home.
Opening his eyes, he blinked for a few seconds, looking at his surroundings. It looked like nothing more than a bedroom, as a matter of fact. On the far right side, there was a bed up against the wall, which was made very neatly. Directly in front of Dante was a giant bookshelf, filled to its maximum. The books all seemed relatively new, along with the bed. No dust had befallen either of them, as if someone were here taking care of them. On the far left there was a small round wooden table with a vase in the center of it holding a bright red rose. Despite the fact that there was barely any light in the room, the crimson rose stood out. Over the table hung a painting of a landscape.
Looking harder, Dante could see something seated at the table. He took a few steps forward. It was a woman. It was a woman in a plain long black dress, reading a book, not even acknowledging the intruder's presence. Dante was amazed.
"Well, what do we have here?" he asked.
"I should be asking you that question," she said, not bothering to look up from her book. "You crash into my home uninvited, break my door, and then ask me what I'm doing here."
"Your home?" Dante asked, slightly taken aback. "You live here?"
"No, it's my home, but I don't live here," she commented, rolling her eyes and turning the page.
Dante chuckled. "I like sarcasm in a woman."
"I prefer intelligence in a man."
He scowled. She went on, "You couldn't even handle your own mind out there just now."
"You did that?" he asked, completely ignoring the blatant insult.
"Yes I did."
"How?"
The woman reached over onto the table and grabbed a small slip of paper. Placing it between the pages of her book, she closed it and softly placed it down onto the round table. Pushing her chair out from under the table, she gracefully lifted her body to her feet. Her hair covered her face as she looked down at the floor. Rather, the part closest to her face did. Her hairstyle was odd. It was grown down past her chin at the front, but cut up to the baseline of her skull in the back. Dante raised both of his eyebrows. She seemed a lot taller when she was seated. To his eyes, he guess that she wasn't any taller than five feet. She leaned over the small table and grabbed the rose out of the vase and let her hand drop back down to her side.
She then turned her head to look over at Dante. He squinted to try to get a good look at her face. It was hard to make out her features. With the rose still in her hand, she started towards the Hunter. Slowly but surely, he could begin to distinguish her face. It was very slim, but her cheekbones were not particularly high. Her dark brown hair framed her face perfectly. Her eyes seemed to be particularly outlined in black, but Dante had a gut feeling that she wasn't wearing any makeup. He was drawn in by her eyes, though. They were a deep and soulful brown, and seemed to go on forever…
He didn't even realize how close she was to him until she smiled timidly at him, which immediately broke him out of his trance. He felt his heart sink right then and there, and couldn't understand why. She lifted her right arm up and placed the rose into his belt, right next to one of his twin guns, Ebony. He swallowed hard.
Dante dared not to look back into her eyes, in fear that he would become lost in them again. His eyes fell onto the amulet that she was wearing around her neck. It was relatively large. A huge ruby was in the middle, with thick silver lining it. Instead of shock, Dante only felt a bit of confusion.
"Hey, that necklace," he said calmly, not exactly recognizing his own voice.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"I had one just like it," he said, his voice distant. "It was my mother's. I got one, and my brother Vergil got one just like it. Yeah… it was our sixth birthday…"
"Vergil?" she asked, surprised. "Well, if you're looking for Vergil, he isn't here. He's been dead for a year now."
"Yeah," Dante began getting dizzy with every word he spoke.
Her eyes narrowed. "Killed by his own brother."
Dante snapped back into attention, realizing what she had just said. He cleared his throat and stopped himself from saying something that might anger his new acquaintance. He shook his head to gather his thoughts.
"Forget it," he said. "Now, why don't you tell me how you were able to conjure up the spirit of the wind?"
She smiled again. "The mind is a very powerful thing, Dante. Use it."
Dante's expression became stone. He had no idea what this woman was trying to pull on him, or even what she was talking about.
"Think of this," she said. "If you take away all of your senses, like what just happened to you. If you make it so that you can no longer see, hear, feel, taste, or smell, what do you have? You just have you, as one being. The only thing that you can prove exists is yourself and God. You know you're there, and you know that something had to create you."
"Something had to create God as well," Dante scowled.
She shook her head, dismissing his comment. "Dante, for all you know, you may not really be here right now. Everything, everyone you know may not really exist. Everything you see and everyone you meet may just be a figment of your imagination. The world that you're living in could just be an illusion you've created within your own mind."
"And so you're saying that you're the only thing that's real here?"
"How can you prove what's real and what isn't?"
"Are you saying that every drop of blood I've shed, every strike of pain I've felt, everything I've ever touched, all that I hear around me, every tear I've cried, and everyone I know isn't real?"
"Are you saying it is?"
"It all seems pretty convincing to me."
"Senses and emotions are all created by the mind. Everything begins and ends there. To you, what is real? Am I real?"
"I'd say so."
The woman smiled once more, and Dante's heart sank again. He tried to stay skeptical about everything she had just said, but he knew that there was a very good possibility that she was right.
She looked up into his eyes. He gave in, but this time he felt like she was looking right through him, as if she could see right into the depths of his very soul. This time, he couldn't escape from her gaze. This time, it was the exact opposite of what had happened outside. Instead of him becoming nothing but his mind, he felt as if his mind had just stopped working entirely, and that everything he was experiencing right now was purely physical.
He then felt both of her hands on his chest, and the feeling rippled throughout his entire body. His breath became shallow. Out of all of the girls he had been with in his life, he had never felt this way before. The words, 'Am I real?' rang between his ears as she leaned up and he could feel her lips lock with his.
At that moment, he submitted to her, and felt as if he was falling into a deep abyss. He immediately closed his eyes and returned her kiss. Instead of his senses being shut off, all of them seemed to ignite. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pulled her as close as physically possible up against his chest. All of his basic instincts kicked in at that moment, and all he wanted was to throw her down and make love to her until the sun came up. His hands moved quickly up her body as he just wanted more. He had a hunger that needed to be satisfied, and she was the only thing on the menu.
Instead of letting him have what she knew he wanted, she then slipped out of his grasp and walked back a few steps. Dumbfounded, Dante opened his eyes and stared hard at her. He was furious at her at this point, and could not understand why or how she could be so cruel as to do something like that to him. All he could do was stare. He didn't move, he didn't speak. He only stared.
"Dante!" he heard from his left. He knew it was Trish, and he knew she was coming, but he still didn't move. "There you are!"
Trish wasn't able to walk into the room before she asked, "Dante, what are you staring at?"
Reflexively, Dante glanced at Trish and then back out in front of him.
The woman was gone. His fury was gone. The rose in his belt remained.
Dante collapsed on the ground.
"Am I real?"
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Author's notes: yup. How'd you like it? Give me ideas for chapter 2. I'm all out. hahah
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