Carnal Spark
In these demon days
It's so cold inside
It's hard for a good soul to survive
You can't even trust the air you breathe
+First Spark: Self-destruction+
It'e been two years...
A broken man sat upon a scuffed-looking wooden floor, a shot of amber liquid withing arm's reach, a stick of cancer stuck between his sculpted lips. His eletric-blue eyes bore into the heavy, oak desk not five feet from him, looking glazed over and lost to reality. Subconsciously, his eyes watched as a slow trail of grey smoke rose seductively in the air, mingling in with his silver-white bangs that hung in his face. A well-muscled, creamy white arm drapped across his drawn-up, jean-covered knee, twitched involuntarily due to the fact that it had otherwise not moved whatsoever in ten minutes. The ashes of the half-smoked cigarette fell onto his other jean-covered thigh, ultimatley falling onto the floor into a small pile. His once beautiful, mischeivious eyes drifted over to the long piece of metal he had been twirling for the past fifteen minutes.
Alastor...
The winged demon-hilted sword thrummed with electrical current at its master's call. It had been quiet throughout the whole ordeal, not reacting, but waiting for the moment it would be reduced to some homely utensil. It waited in seething patience, when it would partake in its master's daily ritual. Of course, in some way, the sword enjoyed the attention. Work had been slow and it hadn't feasted on the blood of defeat in quite a while...
I don't want to feel this way anymore...
Dante Sparda, 25, sat now a broken shell of a the cocky, laid-back, fun-loving demon slayer he had once been. He lifted Alastor from the spot on the wooden floor it had been scarring, and took his other arm away from his knee. He observed the activity in front of him with no amount of interest. He had been doing this for weeks. There was no fasicination that it withheld in it. The ecstasy it once gave him, was slowly fading. Soon, he would have to find other means of self-destruction...
But for now, his wrist would suffice. He stared at the sliced open gap that now marred his smooth, otherwise perfect skin. It pooled blood onto the floor, but he didn't mind; didn't care. It didn't hold a candle to how bad his soul bled. He could already see the wound was stitching itself up anyway. He didn't curse his powers though, but it was his only link. His only living proof that he once had a brother; had a family.
It was his only reminder of his beloved, Vergil.
Dante didn't cry. Demons don't cry and the part of his that was human, was off floating around dead somewhere. The broken man held his cherised sword in front of him, and smiled, but not for himself, just for Alastor. He kissed the flat side of the blade, where a line a blood could be seen.
Thanks, buddy...
The sword flickered to life, small bolts of electricity licking at Dante's lips and skin. The ehcanted element was a calming thing, when it mingled in his body, made his blood boil. It was like some twisted drug. Dante knew he was addicted...
After he had cleaned up his mess, the demon slayer took a shower, basking the smoldering heat of the droplets that beat down on him. With Alastor away from his grip, his mind soon drifted back to Vergil and all the pains that came with the memories. He slumped against the bottom of the shower stall, pulling his knees to his chest and laying his head against them. His eyes went back to staring into space, memories of Vergil's death playing in front of his blue irises like a bad snuff film. He didn't cry. He had stopped crying a long time ago. He involuntarily cringed everytime he saw his sword plunge into the dark knight's glowing armor for the last ime. His eyes twitched when the sound of metal piercing flesh flew back into his ears. He could feel the warmth of the other's blood on his fingers, even though it was the ridiculously hot water playing around them.
Vergil...
Twenty minutes later, and skin scalded but not caring, Dante stepped from the shower, black towel barely slung around his waist. Walking towards the doorframe, he noticed himself in the mirror for a second. He was becoming a little thinner by the day. He had tried eating--he really had--but he just couldn't stomach anything lately. It had been nothing but alcohol and cigarettes for the past few days. The silver-haired demon barely noticed the dark rings under his eyes, which he had gotten from when he couldn't sleep for days on end in fear of being haunted.
Dante trudged out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, immediatley falling onto the bed below him. The old springs hardly groaned in protest since he had lost so much weight. He stared over into the corner where Alastor was currently proped. Dante off-handedly wondered why the damn thing hadn't killed him when it had a chance. Dante wondered a lot of things like that, but that soon made him drift to sleep, where more dreams of his own flesh blood were being torn asunder...
Dante expected Vergil's image to haunt his dreams when he had drifted off for a nap. He knew he would continually play that same scene over and over again until his mind forced him to be awake again. But, for some reason, none of that happened. All he could feel was the cool static that was Alastor surging through his body, crawling along every vein, tickling up his spine and registering as sparks of pleasure. It had been awhile since he had felt even half this alive. He cherished the feeling, sat completely still, letting the electricity dance in his blood, making him feel warm and alive again.
Dante smiled. This time, for himself.
And the electricity reacted to his happiness. It pulsated a little stronger, making him tingle all over.
Alastor...
A pleasant feeling coursed through his lips. He sighed in contentment. The fleeting feeling return, making his lips tingle. The touches of electricity lowered themselves to his neck, his collarbone, his chest... Dante moaned.
"Master..." Dante's eyes shot open.
Dante quickly sat up in his bed, panting a little from the experience. His eyes darted from thing to thing in his almost empty room, finally landing on his trusty sidekick, Alastor. He had so clearly felt the electricity in his veins, felt it dance. Then he had heard someone mutter 'Master' breathily. It was just a dream...just a dream... Dante looked the black towel that had somewhat fallen off of him and tinted red for a couple seconds.
For the first time in weeks, Vergil was nothing more to him than by-gones...
------------------
And now, a word from the author: OMGWTFLMAO!
And now, a sensible word from the author: Whoo-hoo! Dante slashiness. But with who! -gasp- You probably all guessed by now. Please don't flame me with how you don't like an angsty Dante. Those will throughly be ignored. Don't worry, he'll eventually bounce back. By the way, Devil May Cry is (c) Capcom.