Chapter 5
Author's Note: Looks like I'll be updated a bit less frequently than originally planned, as I have to continue try and keep the story compelling enough whilst balancing my personal life and also work on a commissioned story. Sorry, everyone! I won't abandon this fic, I promise! I also amended the dates on the first few chapters for continuity purposes. Sorry again… ಥ‿ಥ
To redeem myself, Fran and Vergy finally meet *gasp*
Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one!
Disclaimer: As usual, I do not claim any ownership over DMC, or anything Capcom-related. All belongs to Capcom.
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January 18th, 1993, 9:35am
Francesca stood there, her limbs frozen from shock, confusion and sheer terror. Her eyes did not know what to focus on but the man's stoic expression. Yet somehow, she was hypnotised. He was not the everyday being one would come across without turning their head in Fortuna. A few seconds passed, for what seemed like an eternity. Focusing her grey eyes on him once more, being solely alerted by the ticking of the large clock in the office, she took her time to observe his face and attire more carefully as a strategy to attempt to regain focus. His face was immeasurably handsome and young, likely being not much older than her, with his skin pale and smooth, lips neither too full nor too thin, grey blue eyes, and distinctive silver hair, slicked back with only a few strands cascading over his forehead. His jawline was finely chiselled, defined further with his ascot tie and elegant attire consisting of a sky blue long coat, decorated with thorns down its collar, leather vest and leather trousers accompanied by knee-high brown boots. He was towering over her, at least by six inches.
He was so close, Francesca can just about feel his breath, as she slowly began to look away whilst searching for the right words, losing herself again, as her eyes looked down and noticed the blade his left hand was holding. It was a long, slim sword, and, if she remembered correctly from her ancient weapon studies - a Japanese katana. Her eyes widened, presuming he has come here to kill her. Why else would the strange man be in her room, standing in front of her whilst holding a weapon capable of slicing her in half like a knife through butter?
Recomposing herself, she straightened her shoulders and breathed out deeply, only now realising she held her breath for longer than usual. She was surprised she didn't pass out from fear, let alone oxygen deprivation.
"Wha…wher…who are you…?" She build up the courage to ask, standing absolutely motionless, casting her eyes down, ready to accept her fate.
"Hmph. I see your people do not accept many of us outsiders." The man pondered, who remained unmoving, gazing at the defenceless young woman. His voice had a subtle nasal quality to it that possessed an unusually relaxing quality, whilst remaining paradoxically cold.
"No…no we don't, I guess…"she began fiddling with her fingers. "I heard the guards talking about you…the man in blue…" She refused to look up and face him properly from fear.
"What or who I am is hardly relevant." The man dryly replied.
"You're here to kill me, aren't you…?" Francesca's voice began to tremble. There was no way she can escape now. He was too close, able to grab her from either side.
"Hardly. You're not worth my time." He cocked his head to the side, eyeing the diary laid on the desk. Francesca's stomach turned in relief, her vision going cloudy. She was going to pass out if she doesn't focus on something else but her hands. She lifted her heavy head up, her eyes aligning with his. The silence was menacing, until it was interrupted by the distant cathedral's bell tolls.
"Why aren't you at church with everyone else?" he asked, his gaze not leaving hers.
"I…I just wanted to do something different, I guess" She began to steadily regain her confidence. "Something no-one else was doing. Do something else worth living. Something…other than worshiping Sparda for our eventual salvation…do something-
"Sparda. Did you just say 'Sparda'?" He interrupted.
"Yes…he's our guide to salvation…or what we've been taught to believe in, anyway…" She put her hands behind her back, arching her back straight again to regain posture. She was fully conscious again.
"You have doubts?" He narrowed his eyes as he slowly turned towards the desk's direction, taking slow but steady steps closer to it. Francesca was too anxious to stop him. If he takes that diary, she will never be able to find the full story. He begins to flick its pages.
"I…I don't know what I believe… I just want to know the outside world other than that I have read about from the documents and papers. If…you could tell me more about it and Sparda, then…why am I telling you all this…?" She suddenly realised she was speaking to a foreign stranger capable of killing masses. She paused for thought, standing still to not trigger a reaction from him that she may regret.
The man picked up the book, staring at it longingly, before turning his head to face her again. "You wouldn't be interested. You're an educated woman – learn about it yourself."
"I would in a heartbeat, sir. But…we're not allowed beyond Fortuna's mountainous walls and the surrounding sea. Only the select few soldiers can venture out there. Please, tell me anything. In return…"she glanced at the diary "…you may borrow the book for a little while…"
She never negotiated like this – but for the sake of her self-destructive curiosity, she wanted to know the outside world more than this myth of the fallen ones.
"What's your name?" He asked quietly.
"Francesca. But everyone calls me Fran…" The archivist responded, her excitement building as she took one small step forward. Perhaps he wasn't intending on killing her at all. Still, that sword nevertheless intimidated her. She refused to move any further.
"Well then, Francesca. It seems we have ourselves a deal. I will expect more information about the fallen ones and this…'Order of the Sword' from you soon." His composed voice made her quiver. He turned around, striding out of her office.
Fran was unable to process what just happened in front of her. A young man, clad in blue, with the most handsome face she has ever seen, holding a mysterious blade, took the diary and walked away.
"Not anyone's typical morning…" She managed to breathe out, neither in relief nor exhaustion. She had so many questions. Now she prays he will hold his side of the bargain. She forced her legs to move toward her desk, as she sat down and stared at the untouched pile of more documents to examine, as if nothing happened. Perhaps it's for the best, she decided. The last thing she needs right now is further suspicion from anyone. Realising the daunting task laid out by the man combined with the pile now facing her with longing to not be neglected any further, she sighed. This will be an easy mission.
Still, she was at least somewhat happy that her work finally had a true purpose. Regardless of what that man's intentions are, she didn't feel he needs this information for anything other than curiosity, or perhaps to find the truth about himself or someone else he knows or once knew.
Sitting behind her desk to get back to work before she collapses, a loud 'thump!' came from the cupboard located in the far corner of the room. Francesca's head whipped round, standing back up brusquely in reflex. Quiet rustling followed.
Walking slowly and as quietly as she possibly could, she was afraid a demon followed the man into her office. She felt her body begin to feel hot from the sheer fear. She was helpless. With little choice left, her fingers gripped one of the doors' handles and creaked it open.
"Well….you are no demon" the woman commented in sheer relief, as Antonia hoisted herself up, possessing a look of guilt in her eyes. The small girl tucked a small strand of her hair behind her ear, attempting to hide her embarrassment.
"I'm sorry…I just hate going to mass. I just want to read, miss!" she pleaded with a trembling voice.
Francesca sighed, kneeling down and holding out her hand, offering Antonia to step out and bawl in her chest. She held the girl tightly in silence, her stomach turning from relief and fear for her. Had that man killed her…
"That man…what did he want? Did he want to hurt you…?" The girl looked up at Fran.
"Of course not…he was just looking for something. He's gone now. Don't be afraid." Her arms enveloped Antonia again before picking her up, walking out of the office to take her back to the orphanage. There usually was at least one member of staff there. Whilst she would not be hurt in any way there, the archivist's concerns grew for the child. Her curiosity for the man may get her into a dangerous situation.
Whilst the girl was still too young to understand the dire situation Francesca was in with that man a few minutes earlier, she nevertheless wonders if Antonia's further involvement can get her into a dangerous state of affairs. Without saying another word, she finally reached the orphanage and handed Antonia back, promising her more stories about the fallen ones she managed to pick up. Francesca proceeded to head back to the library, processing everything in the meantime.
An hour earlier, during mass…
Sabina and Chester sat patiently as the vicar said the usual prayers, accompanied by the gentle hymns of the choir. An impressive statue of Sparda looked down at his worshippers. Chester looked admirably at his wife, who had her head down, hidden beneath her usual hood and her fingers locked together as she prayed. Her eyes were open, however. That was highly unusual of her to do this, for he was familiar with her habits when she 'gets in the zone', as he likes to say. He nudged her gently on the shoulder with his elbow.
She returned him a tender smile, but she was as easy to read as a book to him, much to Francesca's surprise. His hand took hold of hers, her fingers now interlocking with his instead of her own. For the past few weeks, his wife has been behaving more and more strangely – she became more aggravated, worked longer hours and struggled with sleep. Whilst she had always comforted him by telling him she's okay, every day became harder to believe her denials. He wondered whether he was overanalysing her well-being.
Cocking his head up a little, he blinked slowly; their body language for a kiss before asking if his wife wants to stay until the end.
"Yeah, I'm all good. Just worried for Francesca…"Sabina whispered back, kissing his shoulder subtly. Her tears began to build up, swallowing them hard for Chester to not find out.
Having been married for over twenty years, the man held no regrets. Ever since Francesca came into their life, everything has been pretty much everything he could ask for. They both raised her to be an honest, well-educated and kind individual. He recalls her nightmares – ones she had ever since she was a small child. He remembers running to her bed and sleep by her side to comfort her, he recalls her knocking over five shelves of bookshelves in the library by accident. But there was something truly unique about this young girl from her first days at their residence. He presumed Sabina felt the same way when she caught Francesca red-handed and offered her a chance to live with them. The girl displayed an aura of purity more unpolluted than anyone else he has ever met. She would always seem lost with a glint in her eyes that always made her seem significantly older than she is. As if she was looking for something that was once a part of her.
He was no psychic, but something right now didn't feel right. And at that very thought, he was completely right.
The vicar's hands began to tremble as his voice became hoarse before the old man clutched his chest in agony and abruptly fell to the ground with a loud 'thump'. Everyone simultaneously gasped in horror before a company of surrounding soldiers sprinted towards him whilst instructing the inhabitants to stay well back.
Meg and Bastian took care of the remaining demons quickly, swinging their swords back and forth with grace and vivacity. A small horde of assaults were an unusual encounter in the city, but ones they were both well-trained for during their time in the Australian outback. Their styles differed greatly, with Bastian being much more expressive and reckless with his swings, in contrast to Megaera's more technical, precise techniques. That reason alone, however was most likely the reason behind them being paired so often, other than them being siblings. A ranking difference was not an obstacle for their union, either.
After their ritual post-demon slaying high five, an officer is heard running from the direction of the cathedral, urging the pair to run with him. The officer was Elijah, Meg's admirer who she saw back at the bar a few days earlier. Only this time he wasn't nearly as flirtatious. His hands clenched his sword so tight that his knuckles appeared white. His jaw was clenched and his skin was a paler shade. He ran so hard and fast that his hood fell back, revealing his dazed face. Meg grabbed him by the shoulders to attempt to calm him down whilst he was catching his breath.
Recollecting himself, he breathed out "The vicar….he's dying…the Order…they're - "before coughing out blood and passing out in front of the siblings, revealing the crimson stain on his back and revealing a stab wound. Blood began to spill out with more vigour, creating a dark puddle on the pavement, with drips now falling down a storm drain. Bastian and Meg both jolted back in utter horror and disbelief. Meg covered her mouth to sustain her scream and tears began to roll down her face. She could not believe what she is seeing. Whilst she was used to bloody injuries of fellow soldiers, she was not prepared for the passing of a close friend like this. She felt sick to her stomach to the point of throwing up and collapsing. Blood was a weakness she was too afraid to admit she has.
Her brother quickly grabbed her in comfort. Before she could pass out, Bastian shook her and instructed her to help the others in the cathedral, whilst he picks up Elijah's body and carry it to the Order's infirmary.
None of this made any sense to Meg. What did he mean about the Order…? That stab did not look like it came from a demon. He was 1) more than capable of handling them himself and 2) a demon would rip him in pieces rather than inflicting a clean stab wound in his most vital organ in one attempt like that. Something was going on that was not right. 'I gotta find out more about all this…' the young commander contemplated as she ran harder towards the cathedral.
Bursting the doors open, she found herself in the middle of a panicked crowd, with women, men and children screaming, crying, hunched on their benches, some holding each other, others desperately praying to Sparda. Other officers stood round the vicar, not knowing whether to stay with the vicar or carry him to the infirmary. Pushing any standing people aside for her to get through, Megaera commanded the company to pick up the vicar and carry him away, before commanding another company to calm down the dazed crowds.
The young woman took the podium where the vicar stood, calming herself down as her hands gripped to the railing rightly to remain upright and authoritative. Taking a deep sigh, the woman finally spoke stridently.
"Everyone, now is a good time to calm down!" The cries subsided, being replaced by whispers. Meg was thankful for the inhabitants being an obedient type, unlike the citizens from outside Fortuna.
"I want all of you now to go back to your homes and not come out until we have announced an all-clear! I understand you have been through much for the past few days, and I can promise you, with all my heart, that we will not let any of you leave this world knowing less than us" She lowered her voice. "Pray to Sparda, all will be well." She eyed for Sabina and Chester, who sat near the back of the hall, with the husband clutching his wife, who had a blank look plastered on her face. Her skin was paler than she remembered…their daughter was not with them, the commander noticed.
"Francesca…" she muttered.