So here's another chap finally. Sorry it's been a while but school's started again and it's my last semester at college so I'm really swamped with art projects and getting ready for our show at the end. I'm gonna try to update as regularly as I can but I don't know when I'll find the time.

Anyway. I just have to say that I am so floored by all the reviews I've been getting for this thing. You guys absolutely rule. I never thought I would get this many. And I am sooo not complaining. Keep it up!

And here's the next chap

Enjoy

One Will Fall

Chapter 9: Altered Memories

The phone held Dante's attention for a long time after the hang up from the second caller. He couldn't get the scream out of his head and despite how much he wanted to shrug it off, he couldn't. He'd woken up to too much freakiness to do that.

"What the hell is going on?" Dante asked himself aloud, twirling a pen absently in his hand. He looked around the room again and still nothing was coming back to him. All he knew was that he owned a business, and that the business was called Devil May Cry. The name made sense because the place he ran it in was adorned with lopped off demon heads run-through with random weaponry to keep them affixed to the walls. A woman was pissed that he didn't know who she was and she had mysteriously hung up on him, unless it had been on purpose, which the devil hunter was beginning to have his doubts about considering she'd been cut off. And the most recent caller was dead, or so he presumed.

He was surprised that when he'd woken up he'd even managed to remember his own name, but maybe he hadn't after all? Maybe it had just been the first caller that had pointed it out to him and he'd quickly accepted that name because it'd seemed somewhat familiar. Not that the matter was worth getting hung up on right now.

"Great….great great great…" He grumbled and tossed the pen on the desk, twisting his body around and dropping his feet to the floor to lean his elbows on the top. He rested his forehead in his palms and gripped his hair tightly in frustration and sighed. "Who the hell am I?" He breathed out. A name just wasn't good enough. And being the "son of Sparda" wasn't helping to clarify anything either.

Was he a hunter? Maybe. He demonstrated that he was capable of swinging a sword when he'd lifted Sparda off the wall, but that really didn't mean anything to him right now. All he wanted was to remember something further back than this morning. Even a day would be good—an hour before midnight. Anything, as long as it meant he could remember something on his own without having to hear bits and pieces of his life from chance callers.

"Okay." Dante stood up abruptly and walked towards the large wooden doors. It was time for fresh air. Maybe it would help him think. And if not, a little fresh air never killed anybody. As he was reaching for the brass handle, he paused and spun back on his heel, narrowing his eyes at the desk and skimming his gaze along the left wall. He patted his sides and hips as if searching for something. He frowned. What was it that he was missing?

"Keys?" Yes, keys were a good idea so he'd be able to lock up, but it was something else. Dante took a few slow steps back to the desk and looked around him again. "What is it? What is it?" He leaned back against the lip of the desk and crossed his ankles in front of him, holding onto the edge of the top as he stared ahead of him blankly, trying to remember something for the umpteenth time that day. And for the umpteenth time that day, his memory wasn't cooperating.

"This is ridiculous!" Dante suddenly shouted and pushed off of the desk, growling under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the vacant eyes of a nearby demon head and his scowl deepened at its gaping mouth. "What are you laughing at?" he muttered angrily. He kicked the side of his desk in a sort of tantrum and knocked out one of its legs, the wood breaking easily. Dante snorted at the fine craftsmanship and bent down to inspect the lopsided desk. His brow furrowed at the broken leg. The wood was rotted and still soggy.

"…strange…" Dante glanced around the bottom of his desk and noticed water damage that stopped about midway up on all the sides. He nudged the corner and heard the swollen wood groan. The desk was still damp. It was something he should have noticed before but he supposed that he had been too preoccupied with figuring out who he was to have taken note of it before now. He pushed at the desk again and another support snapped off, making the desk collapse on one side.

Dante stood up from his crouched position and stared at the unbalanced piece of furniture in confusion. Why is it wet? Moving his eyes from the base of the fallen desk, he looked along the floor and realized that the wood was buckled and had warped in places. More water damage, he alleged. It creaked and groaned beneath his heavy footsteps and he realized that, like the desk, the damage was recent. Was there a flood?

A moderately loud crash behind him caused Dante to turn his attention back to the desk and he saw that a drawer had fallen out of its slider. He walked around the piece of furniture and stopped short, seeing the contents of the compartment. The corners of his mouth rose into an unconscious smirk. He reached for the slick leather holsters and pulled out a silver and a glistening black handgun. The metal was cold but his hands felt quite comfortable clamped around the handles. He slid a finger along the curved triggers and thrust his arms out, pointing the guns around the room at invisible targets. He marveled at the polished surfaces of the guns and read out their names. "Ebony and Ivory." He nodded. "Nice." And very fitting considering their colours.

Momentarily placing the handguns on the floor since the desk was out of commission, Dante slipped off his jacket and strapped on the leather holsters. He realized immediately after he'd tucked Ebony and Ivory away, that he had been missing their weight on his sides. It had been the guns he was looking for before. He recognized them and knew their feel. They were his guns, passed down to him by his father—the devil Sparda.

Dante smiled at the memory the guns had brought back to him. He was the son of the devil Sparda; the legendary dark knight Sparda who had defeated Mundus…But who the hell is Mundus?

"Exactly," a voice said smoothly behind his turned back.

Dante blinked in surprise and spun around, reaching for his guns out of reflex. His movements were too sluggish and he was knocked back into what remained of the desk by a strong gust of wind. The rotted wood crumbled easily beneath him and as a thick splinter pierced his side, he was suddenly reminded of how familiar that pain was.

"Who?" Dante asked, wincing as he eased himself off the pike of wood. He completely forgot that he had just been attacked as he stared into the wide, glassy orbs of a woman with long auburn hair and he was nearly lost in the purple depths of her eyes. Again recognition struck him. "Do I…Do I know you?" He asked, tensing slightly as the woman glided towards him.

"Of course you do, my Darling." She smiled and Dante's jaw dropped. Darling? What is she on about? He felt her cold finger under his chin and his brow furrowed.

"You look shocked, my dear," the strange woman said, gently lifting up her finger to close the devil hunter's gaping mouth.

Shocked was an understatement and it was all Dante could do to keep his mouth from going slack again. The woman's finger remained under his chin and soon she slid her whole hand under to cup his jaw.

"My name is Maj. If that helps you at all," the woman said softly. "I can see that your memory has not entirely returned. And it is a shame that you do not know who I am, or what we once were…" Her tone was sad and Dante could see that the look in her eyes matched her pitch.

He studied her face for a long while, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was hearing her voice again in his head and the silkiness of it was so incredibly familiar. Surprisingly her name wasn't anything new to him either. He knew this woman—or at least did. Something deep down told him that he had seen her before but all he got was a hazy image. The only thing that was concrete was her voice. Yes. He definitely knew her voice.

"Maj," Dante said quietly, testing out the goddess' name. The woman smiled and drew her hand back after lightly brushing the backs of her fingers across his cheek.

"You're remembering."

Dante shrugged and looked down now that his chin was no longer being held up. "I'm remembering something," he said. "I don't really know what it is though. I think I know you. But…all I can remember is your voice." He looked up again and saw that Maj was still smiling at him. She reached out to his face again and cupped his cheek. She bent closer so they were nearly nose to nose.

"Don't worry my Darling. You will remember in time." She rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone and Dante felt, not tingles but actual sparks enter his skin. He flinched out of surprise more than pain. The word Darling got him thinking again.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" he asked, fixing his eyes to the goddess'. "What were we?"

Maj's grin widened and she turned Dante's head slightly to the side. She leaned into his ear, her cold breath making the devil hunter shiver as she spoke. "Why lovers, of course."

So I'm gonna leave it off here. It's not very long, but it's all I can manage right now. Part of Vergil's chap is written so I'll try to get it up ASAP, so just sit tight and keep those reviews coming!

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW