Chapter 8

The first thought which occurred to Vergil was that of immense pain; it seemed bound to him, coursing across his limbs, down his spine, flashing behind his closed lids. The impact had been a lot harder than even his demon body could take – but then again he had been significantly weakened in his fight with Dante and the fall… the fall had been endless… That was the thing about Hell; it didn't quite obey the laws of physics that the human world was bound to. If one stepped from the edge of a cliff… well there was no telling where they would end up, or if they would end up anywhere. When Vergil had plunged into the darkness he hadn't exactly considered it. For one thing this was his home, he knew the land, sensed it, felt hell itself bend its will to accommodate for the power of a son of Sparda. It would have been far more unforgiving to one of human blood.

It was not altogether alarming then for Vergil to feel the sliver of liquid running across his finger tips. It was icy and biting and inhuman, sliding across his extremities like mercury. There was something almost comforting about the touch however.

When he finally opened his eyes the movement came with the realization that he had passed out again. Staring upwards at a blackened sky he saw a vague chink of light which to any other would be mistaken for a star, but Vergil was almost certain that it was where he had fallen from. He was deep within the depths of hell now then, somewhere farther than he had ever been. But then that was counting on the relativity of height to depth – and considering that Hell even had a molten core rotting somewhere at its heart. Even as a demon and with years of training it was almost impossible to shake certain human ways of thinking. It would be a disadvantage to him if he lingered on them too long.

Yamato lay prone in his open palm and he felt glad of the weight all of a sudden as, with a wave of discomfort, he remembered why he was laying in a pool somewhere in the darkness of Hell. Dante. That fool had thwarted him in his attempts to regain Force Edge, his goal to finally unleash their father's power. And he had done so how? With some newfound enlightenment, some insipid human sentiment of choice and destiny over their demonic heritage? To make matters worse Dante had actually tried to save him, held out his hand in compassion – just to rub salt in the wound – as if Vergil would ever need saving by his mouth-breather of a brother who embraced his human emotions so easily. Pathetic. Had he not swatted that girl away like she was nothing? And yet Dante had kept her alive…

The memories of that night sent a wave of revulsion through him and gave him the strength to roll onto his side and rise to his knees, using Yamato as a support. Now he could see the ground he realized that it was not water, nor mercury, nor any other human form of element. The ground rippled with demonic blood and shone silvery, catching on an unfathomable light-source. He raised his head and made out the field – stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions – of gravestones that encircled him. They were decaying and broken, fragmented, some half submerged in the strange liquid. The irony was not lost on him.

As he gained an awareness of his surroundings, using Yamato as the crutch to finally find his feet, the ground rippling, mirror like at every touch, Vergil became aware of eyes on him. He was not alone in this seemingly endless graveyard of damned souls. His senses guided him skyward and the glimmer of a smile crossed his lips. As if it could have been set up any more perfectly. Above him three red orbs glittered eerily silent in the black sky, sparking with demonic energy. Mundus. The reason he had taken years, fought tooth and nail to claw his way into hell… This was where the demonic world, of all places, had chosen to spit him out – he might almost have said that it was fate. Force Edge or no he was not going to admit defeat; he never would have. His purpose for being here had always been the same; he would take back what belonged to a Son of Sparda and he would exact his vengeance.

"It should be fun to fight with the prince of darkness," Vergil sneered, his voice strong edged with the insanity of his defeat and a blazing rage which he thought that he had buried long ago – one which roared now from the pit of his stomach. In one swift movement he drew Yamato's blade from its sheath. The blade sung with a sibilant hiss and shone in the strange twilight, catching the light of its mirror image in the silvery surface below and glimmering the colour of blood. Whatever pain Vergil had felt – whatever injuries he had sustained in the fall – was now a mere memory in the back of his mind. All that mattered to him was completing his goal, taking back his own, and the bitter taste of revenge.

"If my father did it I should be able to do it too."


Except in the end for whatever reasons, by whatever misfortunes Vergil had failed. Perhaps if he had been able to defeat Dante, to claim Force Edge as his own – perhaps then he would have been able to unlock Sparda's power and vanquish Mundus and claim the ruling of the underworld. In his more lucid moments a voice at the back of his mind would mock him, tell him that it was poetic; that Mundus could never be defeated by one half-blood son of Sparda, that he had always needed Dante. He did his best to shut the voice out. But it wasn't the worst of his torments.

"You're strong," Mundus had commented towards the beginning – after he had literally (more or less) torn Vergil limb from limb. "I think your father might almost be impressed if he could see you." The burning sensation, prickling, like acid eating away at his skin, a whip breaking across his back and Vergil had finally broken and screamed. It took what felt like years (and very well could have been in Hell), but no matter how long it took, no matter how much torment he had endured it was still a moment of pure and utter humiliation.

Initially that had been all there was to any of it. Mundus had become bored the past twenty-something years since he had defeated Sparda and slaughtered his human bride. It was a nice change to have something to play with – someone to take his anger and hatred out on – after all Mundus had experienced uncounted years of his own agony in the pit. Vergil's screams therefore were music to his ears, the torment and anguish he put the eldest son of Sparda through was unrelenting. In Vergil's waking moments he would taunt him and bait him and when he slept he filled the whelp's mind with nightmares. It was only after he had had his fun that he began to formulate any kind of plan – put his newly acquired pet to any kind of use. After all what was more degrading, more disgraceful to a son of Sparda than to become a faithful servant of his father's enemy? Of the very cause of Eva's slow and bloody death.

So the physical torments eased and Vergil's very existence became a waking nightmare. An illusion in which he was built up and torn down again, where he died a thousand times and experienced much worse than that. All the while Mundus' power was intoxicating, plucking at the boy's very existence, contorting his thoughts, amputating memories… molding the son of Sparda to his unyielding will…


"You never told me how you got out you know," Dante commented idly as he finished binding his hand. The bandages were clumsy and the crimson stains were already soaking through the gauze, but Dante was too proud (or foolish) to ask his brother for help. The wound smarted awfully, but apparently Vergil hadn't actually cut him too deep. Dante had to be at least that little bit thankful for that – and pissed that his twin had withheld the need for his blood on purpose, just to pull that little stunt.

Had Dante been concentrating he would have seen his twin's back stiffen, seen the pallor of his cheeks drain. As it was he was none the wiser and Vergil recovered his composure before his brother noticed, hiding his distress by checking that Yamato was secure at his side then glancing up to stare intently into the swirling depths of the portal standing ominously in the center of the room.

"It wasn't exactly hard," Vergil replied dryly, "just a matter of finding a portal back out here, and believe me there are plenty."

"But what did you do?" Dante didn't let up, finishing the bindings with a harsh tug to secure a clumsy knot at his wrist. He let his palm flex, felt a twinge of discomfort, but the pain was abating and with the bandage finished there wasn't much else he could do about it. Maybe he really would have a scar now... "It's been years Vergil and if I recall you were quite happy to be there… why did you-?"

"Can we just drop it Dante?" Vergil snapped and Dante saw his eyes flash. He also noticed the way Vergil's jaw clenched; how his pulse jumped… perhaps Hell hadn't been as accommodating as his twin had thought it would be. Something in the look his brother gave him made him reconsider any further probing. Maybe they'd have time to talk about it later once this was all done, if Vergil stayed with him this time – Dante wasn't sure that was what he wanted any longer. He had healed after the destruction of Temin-Ni-Gru, buried his demons as Lady buried hers. It was strange to have them all falling out of Hell to greet him.

"We should get going the portal is unstable," Vergil stated matter-of-factly once again turning his gaze to the swirling pool of mist before them. It hung silently; scraping the ceiling with jostling sparks of electricity, thrumming with a strange energy which was building slowly in intensity. It wasn't stable, nothing about the incantations or the situation itself was stable. In fact if they didn't pass through into Hell soon Vergil was certain they would be engulfed in whatever force he had unleashed. Then again, he couldn't exactly be certain that it was safer for them to go through either; the make-shift entrance into the demonic realm was incredibly volatile… and it wasn't meant for them… for mortals…

Dante nodded his assent finally righting himself and automatically going to check his guns, first Ebony, then Ivory, the familiar weights balancing at his hips. Perhaps if he had been in a better mood he would have offered Vergil one of them, but he knew that any attempt at a truce would only be thrown back in his face anyway.

"Let's do this," Dante affirmed, finally shouldering Rebellion's weight having retrieved his sword earlier that morning. He half-wished that he could survive Hell without the cumbersome zweihander. His fighting style would have to adapt; there was no way he could swing Rebellion around in one hand anymore.

Just as he was about to step up towards the portal, Vergil placed an arm out to block his path. Then, oddly, he turned his wrist offering Dante his upturned palm. "Take my hand."

Dante raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Take my hand," Vergil repeated, deadly serious, his gaze didn't falter. When Dante merely smirked he twitched his fingers exasperatedly. "Trust me Dante I don't want your cooties anymore than you want mine, but going through separately and ending up in different places is not a risk I am willing to take right now."

Dante rolled his eyes, swallowed his pride and reluctantly took his brother's outstretched palm with his own injured one. "Lady never hears a word of this," He hissed as Vergil led him towards the portal's edge.

Staring into the depths of the deep purple, almost black, mist which swirled before him Dante had a moment to contemplate what Hell might be like for a mortal. He realized it was not quite something his mind could grasp, as though the ease with which he had traversed the demonic realm was a faded memory along with his lost abilities. Vergil seemed to hesitate as well, but Dante didn't draw attention to the fact. He assumed his brother was merely calculating their likelihood of ending up anywhere that could be considered mildly safe, but on closer inspection he realized that his assumption was incorrect. Vergil was tense; his ice-blue eyes were wide and staring with a look, Dante could only admit, was akin to fear. What had really happened to him the past year he had spent in hell?

The answer to that question was one Dante would not be allowed to contemplate in the next moments as Vergil shook off whatever demons were haunting him and strode through the swirling fog into Hell, dragging his twin with him.


The air was warm; it danced across his face, tugged lightly at his hair, like a caressing hand. Dante tried to lean into the touch. He felt a strange kind of peace and delirium, a waking dream that he couldn't quite pull himself back from. He almost didn't want to, his aching body needed the rest.

And then someone was yelling in his ear.

He groaned, swiped lazily at the source of the sound. "Shut up."

Vergil rolled his eyes and, losing his patience, kicked his brother in the ribs – perhaps a little harder than was required.

Dante yelped and his eyes fluttered, he just wanted to sleep and even the prospect of more pain wasn't quite enough to wake him.

"Dante right now is really not the time," Vergil hissed and rolled his brother onto his front with a harsh shove.

That was enough; Dante spat out a mouthful of grit and finally opened his eyes. "Vergil?" He craned his head, rested the palms of his hands against the ground pushing himself up gently. His whole body ached; he hadn't quite managed to take in his surroundings. The world seemed bright and blurred and he couldn't pull it into focus. He winced and closed his eyes. "Shit."

"We can't stay here, Dante," Vergil said from somewhere which sounded far away. "We've already stayed still too long, they will find us."

Vergil didn't have to say who they were. Dante knew the demons would sense a human presence in their world; that was the good scenario – the bad one would be that they would pick up on Sparda's blood and once that happened it would be over. Their father had made many enemies in Hell ones who would happily see his sons pay the price for his sins. The thought made Vergil wince, but he suppressed the emotions flooding towards the surface before his twin could see – Dante was in the process of hauling himself to his feet his movements clumsy and hampered.

"God I haven't felt this bad since…" Dante trailed off and smirked, it took a lot to get him pissed and even more to cause a hangover, but he was always up to a challenge. He shook his head and tried to clear his vision. It did a little, but not enough, the world felt foreign, the air was close and dry. There was something disorientating about standing on his own two feet, almost like a pressure headache from a longhaul flight. "Fuck this isn't permanent is it?" He wasn't used to discomfort.

"You'll get accustomed to it," Vergil replied. His twin did not to be affected on the same level as Dante. He either wasn't showing it or perhaps there was something to that – perhaps his extended time in Hell had given him some immunity which Dante was now lacking.

"Whatever," Dante brushed if off, stepping past his brother to stare at the landscape before them. It was bleak, a desert of pale sand and harsh, cracked stone, but somewhere not too far in the distance he could see a tree-line. Or at least that was what it equated to – the trees were pale and twisted, tortured limbs spreading across the horizon to entangle with one another until the blinding white of the landscape was suffocated by darkness. It was the only landmark in all directions, it seemed like the only way to go. He sighed and passed a hand across his brow, shut his eyes; they couldn't stay here – his red coat flared in the colourless wasteland as he forced one foot in front of the other, stumbling towards the shade of the trees.

Vergil followed his twin in silence; it was the only way to go, and hopefully would allow them to work their way deeper into Hell. He was certain that would be where the little bastard was hiding? Why would he stay here in this bleak landscape that was the cusp; the shimmering edge between the human and demonic realms. Vergil wished he could have forced the reach of the portal further, but it had been far too broken, they had barely made it across the border.

As the tree-line grew closer the prospect of entering the strange mockery of a forest was growing sourer in Dante's mind. The trees almost seemed crystalline in form, harsh and jagged they stretched eerily, clawing at one another with an unsettling force, spiked limbs puncturing whole trunks in places. It was dark too, at the edges the trees quickly bound together to create an impenetrable blackness. When they finally reached the edge he saw charms, faint strings and tokens bound to the bows above their heads, wards and warnings carved into the ivory trunks.

"The fuck?"

"We're not alone here Dante," Vergil responded wearily his palm resting on Yamato's hilt. Of course in Hell one was never alone, there was always some foul thing lurking in the shadows. "Apparently someone wants to keep something out."

"Vague as ever," Dante muttered peering into the impenetrable darkness beyond. The world filtered into strange shades of grey, he thought he saw a shadow slip between the shadows before him, but he couldn't be certain. The boughs above him creaked, a skull on one of the tokens rattled in the wind. "This is the only way…"

"Yes, if we want to find Lady again," Vergil responded – never mind get their powers back…

"Alright," Dante sighed and drew Ivory. It wasn't that he was afraid, he dealt with creepy shit like this for a living, but he had never felt so completely vulnerable. So much was riding on this, they didn't know what dwelt within the depths of this forest, they didn't know where going in would lead, and all the while he could only think of Lady. The thought both filled him with dread and drove him forward and with a final sigh he drew back the hammer on Ivory and descended into the darkness.


The viscid walls had given way to light, far too much light and cold marble like stone, endless hallways of it, filled with burning white light… Journeying through Hell was impossible, Lady could barely walk more than five steps before she staggered, had to stop and dropped to her knees. She hated it, the nausea rising in her gut, the swirling lights which refused to clear themselves from her vision. And what was worse was that bastard standing over her, laughing as she vomited onto the pale stone at her knees. His breath stank of death, she fought down another wave of nausea falling backwards and barely managing to keep her body stable. She couldn't get up; she was sure that the demon could carry her if he wanted to, but he was enjoying playing with her, dragging her to her feet again.

"Don't touch me," she hissed clawing limply at his hands.

The demon merely shook his head, his face was pale, corpse-like, Lady shuddered involuntarily and looked away. How had this happened to her? If the situation were less dire she might be pissed that she was relying on Dante to get her out of this mess.

"My dear Mary," the demon drawled and leaned in closer to look her in the face, she turned her head away.

Lady's breathing hitched as she inhaled another mouthful of the demon's breath. "Don't call me that." The words sounded pathetic even to her, like a child – why did she even bother talking?

"But it is your name isn't it?" A hand raised to grip her chin between thin fingers, sharp nails dug into the underside of her chin. She didn't look at him; if it was all she had control of she would not do him the favour of acknowledging his presence. "It's what your parents called you, and..." he twisted her head again as she attempted to wrench her chin free, "I think it's befitting for one so wide-eyed, so beautiful…" The demon's voice trailed to a whisper as he leaned in and licked the pale skin of Lady's neck. It sent alarm racing down her spine, panic flaring across her nerves. She hadn't been prepared, perhaps she should have been, of course it always entered her head when she fought, that demons weren't just gluttons for inflicting physical pain, but he had never shown any interest in hurting her until now. Perhaps that was the point. Ashamed of the involuntary shiver that ran through her she gritted her teeth and steeled her resolve. Show him it doesn't affect you and he'll leave you alone.

There was a low chuckle next to her exposed ear, "of course you're his whore aren't you? His Lady." He let her go abruptly, long nails scraping trails of crimson across her cheek. "The only use I have for you is to torment him." Lady felt her body weaken, fought to keep herself upright. She wanted to run, needed where? She didn't even know which way they had come, or how she could even leave hell. Not that she would last a second without a weapon. "You will make him suffer Lady mark my words."

With that he gripped her by the arm firmly and half marched, half dragged her forwards into the blinding light. "We'll be there soon."


The forest was a maze, the darkness was suffocating, the air growing close and damp and every step became more of a challenge. Despite this, the places where the ground fell away into blackness, where one minute Dante was walking beneath a bough and the next at the top of a tree, his senses were sharpening. Dante had been concerned that he wouldn't be able to find his focus in Hell, but it had taken maybe an hour (maybe more, how long had they been here?) and he felt in control of his faculties once again. He supposed that his body had remembered, that being half-demon meant that his human half had gained some bizarre immunity. He hoped Lady wasn't suffering unbearably…

Dante stopped, took a deep breath, the air was thick and heavy, he smelt a deep earthy scent mixed with something disturbing, something like blood. Perhaps it was the mist, or fog now. It had been closing in on them for a while, snatching at his ankles, sliding between the trees. He was sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but like every inanimate object in Hell Dante was wary of it.

The brothers had been walking in silence for some time when Vergil finally spoke. He had been following his twin for most of the journey letting Dante plough head first through the trees and he had genuinely thought they might make some headway what with Dante's unwavering persistence, but it seemed that actually leaving this forest by any conventional terms might have been a naïve notion.

"This isn't working Dante," Vergil commented, still following behind his twin. It seemed Dante refused to stop walking. "We should think about this-"

"Shut up, Vergil."

"Dante-"

"Ssh," Dante hissed. He finally stopped, raising an arm out and gesturing to Vergil at a gap in the trees where faint lights danced in the darkness. They slid eerily from green to white, then a pale blue, mimicking ripples on water. "What do you think it is?"

Vergil's brow furrowed, he honestly didn't know. "There's only one way to find out." He pushed past his brother and made his way delicately towards the lights. One hand slid down to ready Yamato's blade; he was thankful that he had retained his instincts, that they had never relied on his demonic blood. Dante followed suit, drawing his guns and picking his way through the undergrowth. The advantage at least to this strange forest was that there was no bracken to step on and alert enemies, merely the mist which still threatened to trip them at every step.

As they drew closer Dante felt an unwelcomed thrill of electricity, there was something powerful and demonic in the clearing. He could smell it in the air. It set his nerves on edge more than he would like to admit. Their first encounter in Hell and they were moving towards something powerful. It was questionable to him if they could actually beat this thing.

Vergil was the first to step out into the open. The ground was swamp like, the trees hung inwards on all sides, eerie shadows cast against their bows in flickering shades of green and blue. The source of this light appeared to be from small pools set into four corners, the liquid within them was mercury-like and flickered with iridescent lights beneath a thick transparent surface. Against two trees on opposite sides of the clearing strange luminous shields were set, almost grown, into the thick ivory trunks. Curious glowing runes shimmered in a ring at the outer edge of each shield, flickering with a brilliant white light before fading away into nothing again. Vergil would have made his way across to inspect one were it not for the sludge that rippled in a deep puddle at the centre of the clearing. It was faintly green in colour, but in the deepest areas appeared black like a magpie's wing. Mixed within the toxic-smelling ooze were grotesque inhuman bones and other inorganic substances. The puddle shifted unnaturally, stretching outwards, almost reaching, as though it knew something had entered its den.

"The fuck is that?" Dante whispered from behind his twin, apparently he realized the need for caution just as much as his brother did.

Vergil shook his head; he didn't know. "Stay here, I'm going to check one of those," he gestured to the closest shield, "don't touch it."

"I don't know Verg-"

"We are going nowhere in this forest Dante," Vergil cut him off, turning to look his twin in the eye. "I'll be careful."

Dante bit his lip, huffed, and nodded his assent. Like he could prevent Vergil from doing what he wanted to do, a fight would not help, but he didn't like it. As the ooze shifted in the centre of the room they could both feel it, the thing was rippling with demonic energy, it was powerful, perhaps one of the most powerful things Dante had come up against, and it wasn't like it had an easy targets if it chose to become hostile… if it was capable of conscious thought. Who knew, maybe if they just left it alone they wouldn't have any problems, but Vergil was persistent, already making his way around the edge of the clearing, hugging the tree-line to avoid the stinking black mass in the middle.

All Dante could do was watch, guns drawn as Vergil made his way further around until he stood directly in front of one of the glowing shields. The pale white runes had faded again; in the darkness Vergil was barely visible by the uncanny purple glow from the dim pools. He couldn't see what his twin was doing; perhaps he should have followed him. Just because Vergil was smarter didn't mean he was necessarily less careful – that whole debacle with Arkham had proved that. The runes shone again, lighting up Vergil's face in a deathly glow, it was all the warning Dante had before his twin reached out and pressed down hard against the circular dial.

Suddenly the whole clearing blazed with light, Vergil took a step backward and his heel hit the oozing puddle. In a second the whole dark mass had slid forwards and before Dante could comprehend what he was seeing the sludge had risen above his twin's head and engulfed him, dragging him down into the sludge.

"Vergil!" Dante was glad there was no one there to bear witness to the all too desperate shriek that escaped his lungs. Dante told himself that it was more surprise than concern. He paused a minute, but Vergil didn't resurface; there was no sign of his twin.

The fact Vergil may very well be dead was one he had to shove to the back of his mind when a thick slug-like tendril broke away from the mass and advanced towards him with tremendous speed. Oh shit. Wary of stepping in the goo itself Dante drew rebellion preparing for a killing blow as the slime catapulted itself towards him. He only sheared half-way through it before he was knocked to the ground, but that appeared to be enough. Rolling sideways to free himself before another attack he staggered clumsily to his feet and cast about himself searching for any sight of his twin. Nothing, he was alone and trapped in this clearing and there was already more of those slugs separating themselves from the main body of the thing.

"Ugh you're disgusting whatever the fuck you are," he muttered slicing another of the tendrils in half, feeling Rebellion stick in the viscid substance.

Cautious of the main form he moved hurriedly around the circle uncertain of what he was doing, but praying to god that his twin had been onto something. As he reached one of the shields he swung hard, striking the centre with Rebellion's edge and watching as the runes around the edge lit up under the blow. Barely stopping to wonder what might happen once the whole circle was lit he struck it again with all the strength he could muster. The ring of light shone and locked in place, but Dante didn't have time to study it as he turned, drew Ebony in time to waste one of the slugs as it flew through the air towards him.

Electricity crackled and blazed filling the darkness with lines of fiery orange which stretched from the four pools to transfix the puddle – only it was no longer in liquid form. Before his eyes the thing was solidifying, hard shields of bone and foreign metals rose from the depths of the substance as it hardened into a smooth oblong shape. He thought he could make out a head at one end, it rose sleek and rounded above the rest of its body which tapered back into the pool below. He didn't get the chance to study the creature further as its shape began to alter further, the metal crackled with electricity and lifted in places to allow small metal spheres to emerge from the form.

Before he could think he had to throw himself to one side to avoid a spray of machine gun fire. Scrambling to his feet Dante took off in a run around the creature's edge, as more bullets peppered the trees behind him with holes. Shit, shit, shit! How was he meant to beat this thing? Using the curved body as a shield he ran in from the side, ducking a long protruding arm which seemed to appear from nowhere and threatened to take his head off. Finally within striking distances of the curved carapace he took a wide double-handed swing with Rebellion. The blade barely left a scratch, but a further two swings seemed to alert the creature to his presence as it span quickly on its own axis forcing him to jump clumsily onto its back.

Barely staying upright Dante turned Rebellion and drove the broadsword point down into the thing's back. The sound of the metal plating cracking was truly satisfying, but he could only feel confident in himself for a minute. Seconds later the creature span again and he was knocked off his feet, tumbling sideways down the creature's back and into the goo. He was winded, disorientated, but knew with a sudden sense of panic that he had to get up and move as the armor began to fall away back into the thick oozing puddle which threatened to engulf him. At the edge of the pool he tripped, the black sludge wasting no time in entrapping his ankles and climbing further up his legs.

No! Dante rammed his hands into the harsh ground, clawed desperately to pull himself from the things grasp. With a strong tug he was uprooted, dragged further in. He turned onto his back, drew Ebony and Ivory, fired into the midst of the blackness. It was too late; there was nothing he could do. The clearing had gone dim again, panic coursed up his spine, lodged in the back of his throat, as the over-powering stench of death and toxic sludge threatened to overwhelm his senses. Fuck, it wasn't supposed to end like this, food for some slimy, stinking hell-puddle. Perhaps if the situation hadn't been so dire he would have laughed.

Another tug, he was dragged in further, unloading a clip into the black mass. It didn't seem to be affected, merely absorbing the bullets into its body. He yelled in frustration, kicked his now fully submerged legs. "Fuck you, you piece of shit!"

He was certain it was over, their mission into hell had barely lasted five minutes and Vergil was dead, Lady was captured by demons and Dante was about to be absorbed by a fucking puddle. He finally let despair sink in, as any traction he had gave way, the demon seemed prepared to swallow him whole.

From the darkness of the tree-line came a crackle of electricity and then immediately after a blinding flash of yellow light. Lightning sprang from the shadows, dancing across the creature forcing it back into solid form. The grip on Dante loosened and he saw with fresh hope Rebellion tumbling towards him down the thing's back. The air burned with electricity, the smell of molten slime filling his nostrils. Dante didn't have the time to wonder where it was coming from, who or what was aiding him – had just saved his life. Before him the thing's exoskeleton shifted and gave way to a glowing green sphere.

"Destroy the core!" The shout echoed from the trees, a female voice, Dante thought he recognized it. "Do it now!"

A separate beam of light sparked past his head catching a serrated limb which would have shorn him in two.

"Kill it! Destroy the core!"

Without another second of hesitation Dante jack-hammered to his feet, his muscles strained, he ignored them, Rebellion firm in his grasp. The glittering core was before him, coursing with electricity, all around him the air shuddered with power. With a sharp cry he drove Rebellion into the centre of the orb, forced it with all his might and then tore it downwards. The core shattered like glass, the blast knocked Dante backwards, blinded him. He threw up a hand to shield his eyes; Rebellion still clutched tight in one hand and stumbled backwards away from danger.

When his vision finally cleared the clearing was dark again, so dark he could barely make out the figure striding towards him, only just understanding that the creature was dead – or gone – and that for some reason he was still alive.

"Stay back!" He warned harshly, raising Rebellion to point at the silhouette. He wished his hand didn't shake quite so much with the effort; his breathing was coming in ragged gasps. "Who… the fuck… are you?"

He thought he heard her smirk. "That's not a very good way to greet the person who just saved your life." The voice was calculating, amused, there was something honey-sweet to it; he knew not to trust her.

"I was handling it," Dante retorted, like he was going to admit he had needed a demon's help.

"I'm sure you were," she said sweetly and took a step forwards into the light, sliding the tip of Rebellion from her path with a delicate hand.

The voice belonged to a blonde woman; tall and thin dressed strangely in black leather with a neckline which left little to the imagination. Had the circumstances been different Dante might have been more talkative. That was until she removed the sunglasses covering her pale blue eyes and he nearly choked. The resemblance was uncanny, not an exact copy, but almost, younger, her jawline firmer, her eyes harder…

Dante swung the sword back up again, halted her in her tracks. "Who," he bit out, "the fuck are you?"

The demoness merely smiled, paused and then folded her arms leaning to shift her weight over one beautifully curved hip. "I'm Trish," her voice was sultry, amused, "you must be Dante."


A/N: So just under 7 months is pretty good for an update don't you think? I am always thinking of this fic, my plans for it are still growing and since we're getting to the good bit I am praying that will motivate me to write. I hope everyone had a good Christmas! I just turned 22 and my writing seems worse than when I was 16 - dear god I was 16 when I first posted this?! (I hadn't actually worked that out…) ANYWAY I tried to make this chapter a little bit longer to make up for the delay. Hopefully my updates will become more frequent. If you want to check out more fics and things I have an Archive Of Our Own account (Ao3) under the pen name LadyLuce. I won't stop updating here, but it's useful for me as I can put ALL my fics in one place there (the NC17 stuff as well). Also I have a tumblr so if you want to geek out with another DMC fan come say hi there :) I really miss the DMC fandom, it seems to have died a little, sadly, but it will always be important to me no matter how old I am - hence why I will finish this.

Until next time!

-Luce