Resurrection
Selene was silent as she walked home with her father to the "Devil Never Cry" club. Trish was waiting for them when they arrived.
"Oh good, you found her," she said, as though Selene wasn't there. "And where was she this time?"
"Hunting a shadow-demon," replied Dante.
"It is generally considered rude to refer to someone in the third person when they are present," commented Selene, polishing her dagger and not looking at her parents. They looked at her. Trish thought of chastising her, but decided against it. There was nothing she could do. No matter what, Selene would never be the sweet, innocent child she once was. Instead, Trish turned back to Dante.
"Have you thought of anything yet?" she asked.
"Nothing feasible," replied Dante tiredly. "It just doesn't make any sense. First she seems completely devoid of demonic powers, then she's raving out of control with them. I have no idea what's causing it. I've talked to her, but she doesn't know either, and questioning her when she's already said she can't answer any questions is pointless because it just agitates her."
"What happened to 'It's rude to refer to someone in the third person if they're present'?" teased Trish.
"She's no longer present," replied Dante. Trish looked over at where Selene had been standing in surprise and found that she indeed was not there.
"How does she do that?" she wondered aloud.
"Practice," came Selene's calm voice, causing Trish to start slightly. Dante smiled. "I'm going to see if I can get some sleep, so it's safe to talk about me. 'Night."
"Now, just hold on one second there, young lady," said Dante sternly. Selene turned and cocked an eyebrow questioningly. Dante continued to give her that stern stare, until he lifted his arms and his face broke into a smile. "Where's my hug?" Selene actually smiled a full smile as she went to him and hugged him, then Trish. Both kissed her and said good-night and watched her leave. As soon as she was out of earshot, they continued discussing her strange Awakening.
As usual, Selene had great difficulty falling asleep. In addition to all the other odd things about her, she was also something of an insomniac. And she rarely dreamt. But when she finally fell asleep, she did dream. But the dream was not pleasant.
Selene wandered down a cold stone corridor, curiously gazing at everything around her. The light from the full moon washed through the windows, bathing the hall in mysterious blue light. She wondered vaguely where she was. The thick red carpet on the floor muffled her steps, so she could easily hear shouts from ahead of her. Her father's shouts.
"Father?" she called curiously. No answer but more shouts and the song of a sword. She cautiously edged up the stairs, hugging the wall. She soon reached the top and saw Dante finishing off a few Bloody Puppets and Maris. Nothing he couldn't handle. Hell, it was nothing she couldn't handle. She relaxed and watched his graceful, dance-like movements. She had always liked to watch her father battle when she was little, and it was hardly different now that she had grown up a bit. The last Puppet collapsed to pieces on the ground, leaving behind a few Red Orbs that Dante gathered disinterestedly. Glancing up, he saw the stone carving of a woman in the wall ahead of him-Alastor. He smiled, remembering when he had first obtained the sword from the carving. Suddenly Alastor shivered on his back and flew over his head to the carving.
"Hey, what the-?!" said Dante in surprise. Frowning, he went to retrieve his sword. But the sword moved first, suddenly turning in the hand of the carving and shooting out at Dante, impaling him to the floor where he lay as though dead. Selene knew he was not, of course, but it was still unsettling to see her father lying lifeless with a sword in his chest. Disliking the sight, she moved to pull Alastor free, only to find that her hand went clean through the hilt! Startled, she drew back and looked at her hands, touching them, touching her face, arms, legs. Perfectly substantial. Confused, she reached to free the sword again. And again, her hand passed straight through the hilt. She stepped back, waiting for Dante to awaken by himself, as there was nothing she could do to help. Suddenly she heard dark laughter coming from the hidden cathedral door. She turned and saw a faceless humanoid form moving towards her father, reaching to seize him.
"Don't you touch him, you devil!" she shouted at him in fury, flying at the figure with her fists, forgetting that she was somehow insubstantial. The figure didn't even blink one of it's three hideous red eyes, but leaned down and picked up Dante in it's arms, just as a father would carry his child. Selene suppressed a shudder when she saw the blade of Alastor protruding from her father's back, dripping blood. The figure stalked towards her, washing over her like a shadow. Everything went black.
When the dream returned, they were no longer by the cathedral entrance. They were in a pulsating red place with glowing red runes everywhere. Selene looked about in morbid fascination, 'til at length her eyes settled on something in the very centre of the room. The evil shadow-figure stood with several of the lesser evil spirits around some sort of unholy altar fashioned from obsidian. Curious, Selene moved closer. Something lay chained to the altar, but she couldn't see exactly what. Whatever it was, it was half pale tan and half black. Her heart stopped when she drew close enough to see what it was: Dante. There he lay, stripped from the waist up, save for Alastor, his eyes squeezed shut, lips parted slightly, teeth gritted.
"Father?" she whispered. Out of all her favourite bedtime stories of her father's adventures came the name of the profane place she was in. "The Place of Sacrifice. Oh my god." She stepped back once, then walked right up to the altar. Though she couldn't touch anything, nor could she be seen or heard, she could smell old blood in this place, feel the coldness of death. The altar positively reeked of both. Her father was the only thing that held life, but that wouldn't be for long, Selene knew. She had to get him out of here, but how, when she couldn't even touch him? Biting her lip, uncharacteristically nervous, her eyes darted around, desperately seeking some way of getting them both out. Dante groaned, bringing her attention back to him, and opened his eyes slowly.
"What? What happened?" he mumbled, looking around as best he could.
"Impaled upon your own sword, Dante," commented the dark figure. "Literally." Faceless as he was, Selene could tell his was smiling in a way she very much disliked as he came towards the altar. Selene tried to move away before he reached her, but he still swept over her. She shuddered; it was like stepping into an icy mist. She moved quickly to the opposite side of the altar.
"Huh? You?" said Dante thickly. He shook his head, trying to reorientate himself. "You're not supposed to be here. What the hell!" he cried, realizing where he was and fully coming to. Immediately he struggled against the chains that held him. The dark figure sighed, as though it were watching the ridiculous antics of a small child, and pressed down hard on the hilt of Alastor. Dante screamed in pain.
"I suggest you do not do that again," advised the figure. Dante, panting, glared at it with hatred in his eyes.
"Bastard," he spat. "You'll gain nothing from this."
"Oh, but I will," replied the figure. "I'll have you out of my way, leaving a clear path to dear Trish. Oh yes, I haven't forgotten her. But be glad in the knowledge that I will give your regards to your son before I kill him."
"Son!" said Selene, rather affronted. Just because Sparda had had sons didn't mean that Dante would. Devil Hunters could be female. "Sexist pig," she grumbled, kicking at his leg and passing right through it. Smiling grimly, she kicked at somewhere much more sensitive just because he wouldn't know, all the while watching her father's reaction to the evil shadow's proclamation. Dante simply smiled mirthlessly.
"You don't know what you're dealing with," he said calmly.
"We'll see about that, boy," said the figure coldly. With that, he drew the sword Sparda from a sheath at his side and slit Dante's throat in one smooth movement.
"NO!" screamed Selene. "FATHER!" She reached out to him, but she was being pulled away by some unseen force. "Let me go! Let me go to him! Father!"
"Father!" she cried abruptly, her eyes snapping open. She would have shot up if someone had not already been holding her in a relatively upright position. Panting, sweating, she looked around almost fearfully. She made a shuddering sound and tried to pull away when she felt someone stroking her hair.
"Shh, Selene, it's me," said a gentle, familiar voice.
"Father?" she whispered, looking up.
"Yes, it's Father," said Dante, smiling at her lovingly. "You were dreaming."
"There's a first," she mumbled, putting her hand to her forehead, rubbing her temples. "By Cernnonous, what a headache." Dante held her close, like he had when she was a little girl. Like he had when she still had ten fingers. He had offered to get her a prosthetic, but she politely turned him down. She allowed herself to be coddled for once, not shoving her father away gently like she usually did when he tried to hold her. He placed one hand on the side of her head and laid her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair.
"What did you dream?" he asked. Selene hesitated, not wanting to reveal she had been frightened in and by the dream. At length, however, the whole dream poured out in full, gruesome detail. Dante was silent as he listened, even after she had finished.
"Father?" she asked, wondering why the dense silence. He didn't answer her. He didn't seem to have heard her. "Papa?" she tried. He blinked and looked down at her.
"Sorry, I was just thinking," he said distractedly.
"A dangerous pastime," commented Selene.
"I know," Dante said with a smile. It was an old game they used to play, deriving it from a line from a movie Selene had once enjoyed. Every time one of them said they were thinking, the other would say "A dangerous pastime" and the thinker would respond "I know". Selene hadn't played in years, so it was nice to hear it again.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing really," he said vaguely. "Why don't you try to get back to sleep? It's late." Kissing her cheek he laid her down again. "Good night, Little Dragon." Selene allowed herself to smile a little at the old nickname. She knew her father wanted her to. She also knew that he was withholding information again.
"Good night Father," she said placidly, closing her eyes. Dante smiled sadly at his daughter and left the room. As soon as his footfalls faded out, Selene jumped out of bed and followed him on light feet. He was talking with her mother, telling her about the dream. Both of them looked worried.
"But it doesn't necessarily mean that Mundus really has returned," said Trish.
"Trish, there was real fear in her voice when she cried out," said Dante somberly. "She tried to fight me when she woke. If Mundus doesn't frighten her, nothing will."
"But she's had dreams that relate to him before," countered Trish. "She's never been scared then."
"That's because this time Mundus is in our dimension," replied Dante. "His evil influence has seeped into her thoughts. I'm sure we'll be having nightmares tonight too. He's back, Trish."
Trish knew that he was right and sighed. "I know. I had a nightmare about him last night. He's looking for us. He'll be looking for Selene too, once he finds out about her, which he must have by now."
"I don't know about that," said Dante. "Remember, I told him to give my regards to my son before the gate sealed. He won't be expecting a daughter."
"Like you," said Trish dryly.
"What do you mean?" asked Dante.
"You know what I mean," replied Trish. "You expected a boy too. The son of the legendary Dark Knight Dante to carry on the legacy. Just like you are the son of the legendary Dark Knight Sparda, carrying on his legacy. I even dare to say that you wish that Selene was a boy, that she would be a better Hunter if she was!"
"That's ridiculous!" burst Dante, spluttering a little. "I'd never think that! I mean, granted, Devil Hunters are traditionally male, but…"
"But what?" demanded Trish. "You'd love her more if she was a boy!"
"Yes, but…" Dante began, but his voice trailed off as he realized what he had said. "Trish, I didn't mean…you know I didn't…"
"Have you so little faith in her?" asked Trish quietly. Selene had heard enough after her father's thoughtless retort. She slipped away to her room. A strange feeling filled her heart; a stabbing pain that brought stinging tears to her eyes. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and slowly, and opened them again when the tears were gone. Crying was a weakness to her.
"If that's the way you feel Father," she said to herself, "then I suppose I'll just have to open your eyes." Quickly she dressed again, tying her hair back in a braid and fixing a heavy metal dragon's head accessory to the end. Not only was it esthetically pleasing to Selene, it also worked as a weapon if it ever came that close. She could whip her hair around and crack an assailant right between the eyes with the solid metal dragon. She had never had to before, but she wasn't quite sure what she was dealing with. She would be prepared for anything. She also donned black leather, fingerless armbands with sharp metal spikes, perfect for hand-to-hand combat. She reached for her dagger, but let her hand fall back as she looked to the door. Silently she walked into her parents' bedroom to the metal closet where her father kept his treasures. Expertly she picked the heavy padlock and opened the doors to reveal Alastor, Ifrit, Ebony and Ivory, a nail gun, a grenade launcher, and the great sword Sparda. She took Ebony and Ivory, holstering them in the buckles on her pants. Alastor she slipped into place on her back. Ifrit she wasn't so fond of, but every little bit counted now. She slipped off her spiked armbands and replaced them with Ifrit, hanging her armbands in Ifrit's place in the closet. She completed her thievery with the taking of Dante's amulet. Her grandmother's amulet, given to her sons many years ago. This she fastened around her neck. Satisfied, she shut and locked the closet again and returned to her room. She wrote a brief note and left it on her pillow. That done, she went to the window, opened it as wide as she could, and hopped onto the frame. Glancing back, she whispered, "If I don't return, know that I love you, even if Father doesn't love me." Turning back, she hopped out the window and sped away into the night.