Disclaimer: Devil May Cry, Devil May Cry 3, Dante, Vergil, and all relevant persons are the property of Capcom and this humble piece of fiction is only my own contribution to one of the greatest games ever made or played.
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HOLIDAY FANFICTION CONTEST:
DEVIL MAY CRY:
The Empty Corner
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The corner was far too empty. Dante refused to look.
He told himself because he was too busy, because he was too tired, body sunk fast on the battered old chair and chin on the even more battered table, bloodied fingers laced uncaringly before him. It wasn't because he could hear the carols of the children filtering through the cracked-open window (could have been more in tune, but points for enthusiasm), or the gentle flakes of snow that had greeted him as he had left that morning, stamping even harder than usual. Now they were just drying spots of wetness on his red coat, slung over a chair. Somewhere in the distance, muted red, blue and green lights glowed warmly.
It was Christmas, and he had nobody.
He didn't need anybody, or so he told himself. He told himself that every year, when the trees came out of the storerooms and too-jolly Santas magically materialized around every street corner, shaking that damnable bell of theirs in his face, when the lights blinked on and the distant aroma of blueberry pudding wafted in. Even the girls from Love Planet were bedecked in a charming red-and-white ensemble that exposed far too much skin. People were supposed to be happy on Christmas. On his way to work, he'd seen far too many smiles and exclamations of goodwill to last him a lifetime. He'd told himself that it was his job to ensure that it stayed that way.
The truth was, he wished he had someone to make sure that he was happy on Christmas.
He'd been happy once, long ago, before…
An annoyed snarl wrestled its way out of his throat, and his eyes flicked, involuntarily, to ithe empty corner.
Eva would have made cookies, corny ones, in the shape of Father Christmas. Hot apple pie, a cake, perhaps. Vergil would have helped; he was always the conscientious one. And they would get into an argument afterwards and then make up again. Bad enough to be brothers, but twins…
There would have been a tree too. Bright, glittering presents. Filling the corner, where the tree would have stood, in the ruins of the house his family had built their lives in. Bloody, tramped snow, melting into scarlet puddles as the flames rose, reflecting in frightened, horrified eyes. Broken glass, a headless angel with its arms raised beseechingly and helplessly to the skies that would never answer, strewn across the floor. Ready for the Christmas that had never come.
He blinked his eyes, and the images vaporized like smoke. There was no use wishing for things he could not have. Normal people could have their merry Christmases and Saint Nicks. But one shattered night years ago told him he could not even have the illusion of normalcy. There would always be demons, and as long as there were demons, there would always be the demon hunter. There would always be danger. No loving brother, or wife, or children, to share his curse.
The phone rang. He answered it. Somewhere north, a Christmas party had been rudely interrupted by uninvited guests—of the fanged, scaly variety. Put on his coat, stepped out the door. Demons didn't stop for Christmas, or for sentimental demon hunters' ruminations. As usual, it was up to him.
He got on his motorcycle, and sped off into the false evening.
Maybe, one day, when the fate of humankind didn't weigh so heavily on his shoulders…
End.
Hope you have liked it.
T. Axile