Whoa. Didn't realize how long it's been since I updated this. Sorry for the wait.

Here's the next chap

Enjoy

Guilty

Dante felt the hard concrete dig into his knees as he dropped heavily beside the body of his partner. He pulled shaking fingers through Trish's blood stained hair and cringed at its warmth, letting his hand fall back to his side. He couldn't look at her face, her vacant eyes. He wouldn't lift his head.

He cried wretchedly, unable to stop the tears from pouring down his face, or keep the shuddering moans from leaving his mouth. He slowly dragged Trish's body into his lap and carefully closed her eyes with his fingertips. He repeated her name through his uncontrolled sobbing, feeling a stab of pain every time.

"Dante"

The devil hunter choked, nearly jerking away from Trish's body out of shock. He'd heard his name. But that was impossible. Was he hearing things out of grief? Trish was dead. There was no way she could be speaking to him. He could feel that she was lifeless. She was no more than a soft weight in his lap. No. She couldn't have said his name.

But there it was again. 'Dante.'

The devil hunter stopped crying and he hesitantly raised his head, turning slowly to peer at Trish's face. He gasped at the sight of it. Her eyes were open and she stared blankly back at him.

"Dante." The name came again from the blond woman's mouth with an eerie softness. Dante's heart skipped a beat—or very nearly stopped altogether as she slowly smiled and slid her hands up his chest and clamped them down on his shoulders, like a vice. All her movements were so slow and mechanical that the act of them seemed completely inhuman. There was nothing behind her gaze as she stared into the white-haired man's eyes.

"You didn't save me," she said in a calm, almost distracted tone.

Dante was shocked by the casual utterance of her accusation and he found himself at a complete loss for words. He didn't want to answer Trish with the truth; not that the truth wasn't obvious: He'd failed to save her simply because he hadn't been there. But that wasn't a good enough excuse.

"No," the blond woman said, answering as if she'd read his thoughts. Her hands tightened on Dante's shoulders and he could feel the press of her nails through his jacket, though it didn't hurt him.

He stared at Trish in awe and growing alarm, trying to decide who he was talking to. Although the woman looked like Trish and sounded like Trish, her gaze was not her own and the tone of her voice was occasionally too deep or too distant to be hers—though it was. There was no mistaking that. This body was Trish's. And everything that went with it. But there was a disturbing atmosphere to it all that Dante was not comfortable with.

"But how could I have known?" he pleaded after a long silence, placing his hands over Trish's deathly cold grip. He nearly shrank back from her chill digits, but forced himself to keep his hands on hers. Fixing his eyes steadily on her dormant face, he searched for even the slightest visible change in her demeanour. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked desperately. "I didn't know. I just didn't know."

"You did know." Another flat statement.

Dante flinched as if he'd been struck in the face. "No! I didn't know!" he defended. "I didn't!"

Trish nodded. "You did. You wouldn't come. You didn't want to come."

Again Dante felt as though he'd been slapped in the face. Where was Trish getting this information? It wasn't the truth. It couldn't be the truth. It wasn't possible. There was no way Dante could have known what was going to happen, or not have rushed to her aid if he had.

"That's not true Trish," the devil hunter said in a wounded tone. "I would have come if I'd known. You know that." He pressed his hands tighter on hers and then pulled her forward into a hug. She felt like a dead weight against his chest—a stone statue. "Please. I didn't-"

"It wanted you but it couldn't have you." Dante heard her words in his ear and he drew back. Breaking the embrace with Trish, he stared perplexedly at her. She gazed back.

"It wanted you."

"What? What did?" Dante asked, feeling a sinking in his gut because he knew what she was talking about.

"IT wanted YOU." Trish repeated. "It couldn't have you. It settled for me. You were too strong. You saw it. You saw it come for me. You did nothing. You watched it go by."

Dante opened his mouth to defend himself but found he couldn't. There was nothing to argue. It was true. He'd seen the Stalker the night Trish had died and he'd done nothing, despite the menace he'd felt from it. He'd done nothing.

But he couldn't take all the blame. He hadn't known what it was, or what it could do and was going to do. He would never have pushed Trish into death. Never.

"It's your fault." Trish accused.

"No. Please Trish," Dante said in growing despair. "I would never have let you die. Please. Please don't tell me it's my fault. I would never-"

"The caller." Trish interrupted.

Dante waited, but she gave no explanation for her words, so he pushed on.

"What caller?" he asked.

"You know." Trish said simply.

"Goddamn it. No I don't!" Dante cried in frustration, wanting desperately to stand and pace but Trish was in his lap. He heaved a loud sigh and shook his head. "Stop telling me what I know because I don't know shit, Trish. I don't know why this happened so just fucking tell me already. Who was the caller? And don't you dare say 'you know.'"

Trish smiled, her dead eyes finally getting a glint of amusement—the only sign of life she'd given off so far. "You know," she stated smoothly.

The devil hunter's eyes flared and he looked away, trying to stunt his rage. He took a deep calming breath and turned back to Trish. "Who was it?" he inquired evenly, but even before her response came, Dante realized he did in fact know who had phoned in the job. He suddenly remembered with complete clarity the events that had preceded Trish's death—the caller and his heavy French accent—the conversation that Dante had had trouble understanding because of the intermingling of French and English words—the strange persistence of the man to get both hunters out in the open for such a simple mission; to wipe out demons that would have had difficulty scaring a two-year old—and the name; Louis Garou; the man who's shadow had become the Stalker.

"No," Dante clenched his fists, not understanding why he hadn't put it all together until now. Louis Garou—that smooth French bastard. He'd somehow managed to convince Dante to take the job even though he'd known it wasn't worth his while. He'd played to his feelings and it had worked. Dante could still remember how pathetic the man had sounded when he'd answered the phone.

"'Devil May Cry."

"'Bonsoir…Monsieur Dante?"

"Yeah. This is Dante."

"Ah bon. T'es bien le fils du diable Sparda?"

"Sparda? Uh…yeah…I'm his son."

"Bon. Tu me comprends, alor? Ou veux-tu que je te parle en anglais?"

"What? Look buddy, I can barely understand a damn word your saying. Speak English or I'm hanging up."

"Non! S'il vous plait. I will speak English to you. It is a little difficile for me. Alor I was hoping you would understand my French."

"Well I don't."

"Very well. I have a mission for de famous son of Sparda."

"Of course you do. Why else would you be calling here?"

"…ouais…I would like you to kill some démons for me. Il y en a pas beaucoup. Not many. And they do not seem very fort—euh…tough. I do not think it will be a trouble for you."

"Uh huh. So what's in it for me?"

"Mais, de l'argent. Of course."

"Money? How much?"

"Deux-cent milles? Two hundred tousand?

"Two hundred grand? Kind of a lot for a small number of demons that won't be any trouble for me, don't you think?"

"Peut-être. Maybe. But day may surprise you. I only judge that you are stronger."

"…maybe. But I'm not convinced this'll be worth my time."

"Please, monsieur Dante. If you are not happy with the job, I will double-non-triple votre fee, if you agree to do it."

"You're that desperate?"

"Oui. Les démons ont tuer mon meilleur ami, Tom…Dey killed him my friend…I want revenge."

"…Fine…forget about doubling or tripling the fee though buddy. I'll do it…maybe for free if I get enough of a challenge."

"Merci! Merci beaucoup. And if you ever need anything, my name is Garou; Louis Garou.'"

Louis Garou. Well now Dante had need of him for something. He needed him to die, very, very badly. And as he broke from his thoughts and looked at Trish he felt and overwhelming sadness. He'd fucked things up so royally that he didn't know what to do anymore and the harder he thought about Louis Garou and how the man had played him, he became even more depressed and more certain that the man had to die. It angered him that he was getting away with all this shit, and that he'd claimed Raven's brother had been killed by the demons and that they had been best friends—the bastard.

"You made this happen."

Dante stared at her blood covered body and shrank back into himself.

Trish glared. "You let me die. You let him kill me. You let him take my soul. You let it feed on me and grow stronger. You're going to let him get away with it too, because you're weak. You're pathetic. You've always been worthless. You're just finally beginning to realize it. Mundus saw it all along. You're brother knew it. I knew it. You just got lucky…or maybe we took pity on you; the gutless son of the legendary Sparda; the pitiable half breed unworthy of his father's demonic blood. You don't deserve the name."

Dante was stunned to silence by Trish's verbal attack. Where had that all come from?

"But you were always so strong," he whispered at last, looking directly into Trish's dark gaze. "Hell, you were created my Mundus, for shit's sake and we'd worked separately before and nothing ever happened. How was I supposed to know that this time would be different?" He sighed, knowing his words were having no effect. "I thought after Mundus, there wasn't anything strong enough to take us down," he continued, more quietly and sadly, "We survived the Darkness. I thought that was the worst it could get. What else could…" Dante trailed off, startled suddenly by his own thoughts and the realization that he was talking about Trish as if she were the past and not sitting in his lap and clinging to him at that very moment.

He watched her for a few moments in silence and then it dawned on him; understanding. He wondered why it took him so long to see it even though he'd known it all along. It had been at the surface of his mind the whole time but he hadn't actually noticed it.

"You're dead," he said matter-of-factly, blinking at how easily his lips had formed the words. His eyes dropped from Trish's face for a second while he shook his head sadly, then his eyes darted back to hers. She smiled and he suddenly felt sick and the overwhelming desire to be as far away from her as possible. He tried to push her off his lap and pull away, but she held fast, chuckling darkly; the sound grating in Dante's ears. He clawed at her hands but found he couldn't get free and her grasp only tightened with his struggle.

"Let go!" he screamed, squirming in her grip. He fell back and felt a sharp pain move up his spine to his shoulders and head. "GET OFF!" he yelled again, frantically. He had his eyes shut so tight that tears were leaking out the corners. He fought with all his might and thrashed around on the ground like he was trying to free himself from a net.

"Dante…Dante …Dante…" His name started up as a chant and he roared.

"SHUT UP!" He swung his head back, crying out. The hands suddenly left his shoulders and he could no longer feel the weight of Trish on him, but the repetition of his name continued.

"Dante…Dante…."

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!"

"Dante. WAKE UP!"

Dante awoke, gasping and disoriented. His body and face was sticky with sweat and his face burned. He saw that he was still in the room with the smashed in wall, only this time he wasn't alone. He stared up into a pair of cool green eyes and immediately recoiled.

"Zephyr."

"Yes," the man said, sighing softly with relief at seeing the silver-haired man conscious at last, "I am Zephyr's father. Carter. Do you remember?"

Dante grunted an affirmative.

"We must get out of here," Carter said hurriedly, catching hold of the devil hunter's upper arm, displaying his agitation. "The demons have taken over. It is not safe."

"Really?" Dante said sarcastically, wincing at the growing pressure on his arm. "I would never have guessed."

Carter gave a short frown and tried to pull Dante up. "Come along before the demons decide to have us both for dinner."

Dante wrenched his arm out of the man's grip and his eyes widened at the sudden burst of pain it caused him. He growled, holding his swore limb, and glared up at the restless figure standing above him. "If you're so afraid of the being eaten, what the fuck are you still doing here? Why didn't you run out with the others?"

"The others are dead. No one has made it out alive to my knowledge."

Dante gawked at him for a moment and then shook his head. "Raven got out. Your son told me. And I saw plenty of people rushing up the stairs. You're telling me none of them got out?"

Carter sighed and closed his eyes. "They were ambushed in the stairwell. I am only assuming none of them survived. I was not there. I only saw the destruction and I did not count the bodies, nor would I have known how many there should have been. I did not concern myself with who worked here."

"Of course you didn't," Dante said snidely.

Carter only looked at him sadly and lifted his hand as if he wanted to reach for him again but he stopped himself as he noticed the devil hunter's glare. "I did not expect that the demons would ever escape." He said quietly, trying to defend himself from Dante's accusing eyes.

"No. Why would you? And keeping strong demons penned up in this place was just a marvellous idea, wasn't it?"

"We had top security! All the latest technology, some of which we developed here that no human even knows about."

"A lot of damn good it did, eh? As soon as the power went out?"

"It was not all run on electricity. Most of it was magic spells. The demons cannot get out of Raven's Nest. They are stuck here by a magic barrier so that they remain of no threat to the rest of the mortal world. This is their prison."

"And ours."

"No. We are not stuck here."

"Oh?" Dante asked dryly. "And what are we going to do? Just walk right up those stairs and out the front door and nothing will stop us? You do realize that it's the Stalker controlling them, don't you? He herded all those people, the ones you don't concern yourself with, towards the stairs with those giant triceratops demon things so that they could be slaughtered. You think he's just gong to let the head of this place and the son of Sparda walk free?"

Carter frowned. "No."

"No," Dante snorted. "So what's the big plan then Carter? Why are you here if you don't think you can get out? You just wanted company? Or did you hope that if you were with me, the Stalker would completely ignore you and you could walk out of here alive, or a least in one piece."

The tall man swallowed but didn't answer and Dante knew he'd got it right. He laughed coldly. "So I'm bait huh? Wow. I'd love to say I didn't see that coming, but then again, you are Zephyr's daddy."

Carter frowned. "I am sorry-"

"No you're not."

"Fine," Carter sighed, "You're right. But I just don't wish to die. Not here. Not like this."

"Oh and you think anybody else does? You think I do?"

"But you are more prepared to deal with this than I am. I'm a businessman. I'm no hunter."

"Maybe not," said Dante, grimacing as he slowly sat up, "But neither were three quarters of the people that got wasted today, I'm sure. The guys you had training here were nothing. There's no way they could have handled an outbreak like this. Hell. I got more fucked up by the demons I ran into here than I have in a long time. It felt like Mallet Island all over again."

"But you're the son of the legendary Sparda," Carter said, "This should be nothing to you."

Dante snorted loudly and glared at the floor. "You'd think that, wouldn't you?" he said ruefully. "You guys are all the same. You all think that just because my dad defeated Mundus, I can do anything. Well guess what? I can't. I'm not fucking invincible. And once in a while I'm gonna find something that'll get the upper hand on me. I can get overwhelmed. I get off-days like everybody else. Today just happens to be one of them."

"But you also defeated Mundus."

"Yeah? And? It still didn't stop me from getting my ass thrashed along the way."

"So you can't save us?" Carter asked slowly, staring down at the devil hunter's head.

Dante sighed. "I didn't say that. I don't like to say I can't handle anything. And I sure as hell don't back away from a challenge. But I just wanted to point out to at least on person that I'm not the god everybody seems to think I am."

Carter nodded. "I understand. So will you get us out of here, now?" His tone was brighter but he was still incredibly agitated.

Dante lifted his eyes to Carter's, studying him for a moment. "Yeah," he said at last. "I'll get US out of here. I still got scores to settle and I suppose you aren't that bad. At least you're better than your son."

"You don't like my son." Carter said, reaching out a hand to help Dante up, which the hunter took without complaint this time.

Dante groaned loudly as he was hoisted to his feet. "He hasn't given me a reason to like him," he said, breathing out as a wave of dizziness passed over him. He wobbled on his feet for a minute before finally feeling steady enough to let go of Carter's arm.

"Yes. He is a little difficult to get along with," Carter agreed, "He doesn't interact with people well."

"I've noticed." Dante said icily, wanting to change the subject. His eyes moved around the room, scanning for his discarded sword and they locked on Alastor's softly gleaming hilt in a far corner, almost buried amongst a pile of debris. He growled and stalked off towards the back wall.

Carter furrowed his brow as he walked away. "Aren't we going?" he asked, wondering why Dante was heading away from the hallway.

"In a minute," the devil hunter grumbled, bending down and latching onto Alastor's handle. He gave it a tug and felt a sharp pain move up his arm. The sword didn't budge and he tried again, gripping the hilt with both hands; more pain spasms and the sword didn't move. "Dammit!" he yelled. "What the fuck?"

"What's wrong," Carter asked, stepping through the debris towards the white-haired mercenary.

"Your son. That's what's wrong," Dante growled, "He thought it would be fun to throw my damn sword away from me and now it's stuck." He pulled the handle angrily to show the taller man that it wouldn't give.

"I see," Carter observed. "Have you tried calling it?"

Dante scowled. Call it? He suddenly pictured himself whistling and saying 'Here sword. Come here sword' as if Alastor was a dog, but he didn't figure that's what Carter had in mind.

"It's not a verbal command." Carter prodded, when all he saw Dante doing was staring at his sword in confusion. "It is more of your mind willing it to come to you."

Dante turned his head. "Great. So how do I do that?"

"Clear your mind and tell it to 'Come'."

"That simple?"

Carter gave a short chuckle at the surprised look on the devil hunter's face. "It is potentially simple, but it all depends on how easily you can concentrate," he said and Dante nodded.

"But how do I know I can even do it?

"Try," Carter shrugged, "But I believe you have the power to summon it, otherwise Ombris would not have chosen you."

"…right," Dante said and turned his attention back to his sword. Breathing deeply, he attempted to wipe away his thoughts and focus his mind on the sword. In his head, he told the sword to come and he reached out his hand, ready to catch it if and when it came to him. Nothing happened and he made a face at Zephyr's father as if to say 'I told you so.'

Carter merely kept his gaze steady. "You did not clear your head."

"Hey," Dante shot back, "My head isn't getting any clearer."

"No. I suppose that would be a feat."

Dante scowled. "Look you arrogant pr-"

"Close your eyes," Carter interrupted, holding up a hand. "Close your eyes and stop thinking. Picture absolutely nothing."

The devil hunter glowered at him but did as he was told.

"Good." Carter continued, "Is your mind quiet?"

"It would be if I didn't have to think in order to answer you."

"Then just listen to me," said Carter a little forcefully. He could hear the approaching howl of the Stalker and a nervous sweat broke out on his forehead. "We don't have much time," he hurried, "Clear you head and slowly envision your sword. Once you've seen. Concentrate and will it towards you. See your sword in your hand and it will come."

Dante tried to follow the instructions but he couldn't clear his head. All of a sudden he kept seeing images of Trish's body and her accusing face from his dream, her words. And when the Stalker howled, the visions intensified.

"Your fault….Didn't want to come…"

The Stalker's howl was coming up the hall towards the men standing in the destroyed room. Carter's eyes shot to the hole in the wall in fright.

"Concentrate Dante!" he urged.

Dante's eyelids flickered as he tried desperately to do just that, but the sounds of the Stalker were making things incredibly difficult. Instead of pushing thoughts out of his head, they just kept flooding in.

"I can't do it!" Dante yelled in frustration. He swung around to face Carter but the man wasn't looking at him anymore. His eyes were wide as he stared at the demon shadow drifting in the doorway. A row of devils stood behind him.

"It's too late," Carter muttered.

The stalked howled and the demons lurched forward.

Yeah. I know. Another cliff. But at least it's a chapter. Let me know what you think.

Also didn't proof read so hopefully there aren't major mistakes.

In any case REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW.