Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry this is a short lil chappie, but just another episode of tragedy; Trish is getting fed up with Dante, but she still loves him to death, Dante doesn't see he's losing a good friend, etc and so the story continues. Yeah, as you might have guessed, I need sleep!

VergilSparda666 and Seeker: Thank you so much, your support means a lot to me!

Inujak: Thanks for the review! –dies- Trust me, I know he needs Lady/Mary's blood as well, but that's one of the major twists in the story…Aw damn, I'm giving away too much! No more! My lips are sealed!

Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Trish twisted in bed restlessly, listening to the sounds of night breathing outside the house and inside her mind.

Dante was gone again.

Ever since he emerged from that dusky, cramped basement, his change took a dramatic turn for the worse. He had become more sullen, detached and sarcastic.

He suffered from terrible nightmares with increasing frequency. More than once she caught him staring hollowly into nothingness, smoking Vergil's cigarettes, afterwards crying himself to sleep.

Despite everything, he was still cooperative when it came to hunting demons. He worked with admirable efficiency with his partner, and even his friendly, playful attitude resurfaced every now and then.

Though it was lacking in warmth, sincerity; something was missing from the demon-hunter's spirit.

Then he began to just disappear, leaving Trish alone to her dark thoughts, sometimes he would be gone for days at a time.

Something else disturbed Trish.

Something that frightened her...

He hunted the demons with that same old, righteous, zealous fire of his, but that fire burned with a scorching ruthlessness, and a cold callousness, searing Trish with its intensity.

Sometimes, he didn't kill the demons outright; instead he delighted in their agonized wails, until it no longer amused him. Force Edge became a brutal instrument of torture in his deft hands.

A perfect, inhuman torture only high ranking, pure bred demon lords were capable of inflicting.

Trish kept reminding herself that Dante's condition was temporary, that this freak phase would eventually go away.

It tore her apart, watching him slowly degenerate into the fiend whose name she could not bring herself to utter, but it echoed through her thoughts anyway.

Like bitter venom was his name, she glimpsed his mark, the dark shade sorrow-borne, self destructive and triumphant, beneath the pale azure eyes.

She wanted to hold Dante tight, kiss those devil-tears away, and whisper words of comfort to his ear.

If only he'd let her.

Trish stilled, lying motionless, staring up at the ceiling when she heard the slamming of a heavy door echoing downstairs. She slid out of bed and tiptoed her way down.

Dante walked in, blood and rain dripping off his blue trench, his white hair was caked with russet-crimson streaks, blood running down his face which was twisted with rage and tears.

He panted like a wild animal; his eyes shining with a feral blue light that was slowly dimming as they fell on Trish.

He removed his gloves and tossed them onto the desk. The twin pistols followed, landing next to the beige leather gloves.

Trish saw that silencers had been screwed onto the guns.

Oh God…

"What happened? Where were you? I was worried sick, Dante!" Trish began, her eyes widening with confusion.

"Shut up!" Dante snarled suddenly through clenched teeth, tearing his gaze away from her.

Trish staggered backward, feeling the bluish electric violence pulse around him.

The awful, consuming silence enveloped the two.

Dante anticipated the bitter reprisal, he welcomed it. But, all Trish offered was a sad, reproachful look.

Regret constricted his heart, and he started towards her slowly, and unsurely, holding out his hand apologetically.

"Don't touch me!" Trish blanched, running upstairs. She paused on the landing, turning halfway round, tears frozen in her sea-blue eyes.

"I don't know who you are anymore, Dante." She whispered. He mouth opened again, but words died on her lips.

Dante watched her go.

His face; a deadly shade of pale, was devoid of emotion as he slammed his fist into the wall.

Then he slumped in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk, his head between his hands, his eyes closing.

I don't even know who I am anymore…