This chapter has been updated.
Chapter 3 - The Killing Road
The trees in the forest were malady-brown
Grains of poison tarnished the bark and gleamed like witch dust. Trolls haunted the sooty coppices, salivating over their prey and smearing blood over their heavy faces. The decaying air, the stifling atmosphere; it provided the perfect abode for those who worshipped the darkness rather than the light. In the dense shadows, spiders clutched their snare-strings, their webs shimmered like meshed steel dipped in silver, eyes a-flame with hunger, hoping to dine on bloated bodies and gorge on the prizes within.
It was a primordial forest. Centuries-old trees with sprawling limbs safe-guarded the darkness, blotting out any sunlight. Their bark was mottled and splotched, as if boiling oil had been frozen in time on its surface. Numerous, clumpy combs of wet moss dangled from their rotten boughs. Underneath this moss, lethal larkspur peppered the mulch-y floor. A pungent tang oozed from every sentient being in the forest. Lamenting wails ghosted through the trees. Whether it was from victim or victor, only the forest could tell. It was truly a place to make one's veins freeze over. Everything considered edible in other woods was nauseating here. It left one with the same sickening sense as blood seeping across skin.
This was a forest to be avoided.
A tall-lithe woman stood at the edge, her left hand's fingers curled. She closed them, then flexed out several times.
Her emerald eyes stared off into the distance without really taking in the view. She was in a completely different place, mentally.
Dressed in grey-blue cloth, her top exposed her midriff quite well, the form of her body hidden by a short white shroud that draped over half of her torso. A pair of brown boots strapped once by leather-bound design around her calves. Her slacks matched her shirt, though they were faded. Still, they were nimble enough for her to not worry for clunky resistance. Her unusual vermillion-flavored hair was tied into a braid over the left side of her exotically formed face, affecting her towards a darkened presence. Her hard stare helped matters along.
A tree croaked and snapped, crashing to the ground, cutting through the silence of these dark timberlands.
Crows flew through the leaves out into the sky, chirping repeated strange squawks, announcing to her a thing that came from the distance.
The woman held to her daggers, rolled her shoulders back, releasing tension, breathing in and out as smoothly as possible, and she activated the muscles in her back. Awareness of what surrounded her grew. In the dim tree line, there was a small, faint glint from one of the dirks. Her eyes strained as she scanned the area. Moments of booming quiet were followed by the occasional sound of footsteps that brushed along the forest floor. There was a clearing in the trees, far from her, where her people once communed together, sharing stories of old. She hailed her focus there, knowing the demons of the wood toyed with common folk like her.
And though, it took time, the beast did emerged, wings grown from its back, wicked horns curving forward in front of its face, ruptured clearly from the skin of its forehead. It possessed a humanoid form, though to state it only barely held these features would've been more accurate, as large claws replaced hands altogether, and its wings defied health, skinned down just to bone and canvas, blood vessels pumping away beneath the thing flesh.
The woman bared her teeth. She almost charged forward right then, if it were not for the actions of another.
A blue light rammed through the creature's backside. Screeching, it fell face down onto the ground trembling.
The metallic clanging of a sword rung out as it carved the beast, a strong katana held in the hand of a man dressed in red and black. Black patches of fluid caked the surrounding trees. With an artful stroke of the blade to the side, the blood upon the steel flecked itself clean and then slowly, it returned to the black scabbard from which it'd been drawn. It crawled back to the darkness, distressed. In the dark, he appeared once more, as though he'd teleported his being there; the demon hunter, a stalker of the unnatural, his sheathed-katana clasped firmly, prepared fully to kill.
'Dante' trudged forward and knelt down by its side. He turned the creature over, forcing his knee onto its ribs, then held the monster's neck in his hands.
He clenched them 'round its infuriating throat, his burning fingers a death grip. A loud crack filled her ears, followed by a forced exhale and the complete collapse of its windpipe. Blood seeped out its mouth slowly as the skull rocked back to the ground on the left temple, no longer supported by functioning vertebrae. Swiftly redrawing Yamato, he drove it through the demon's sunken chest. For added measure, Dante twisted the blade. The journey into nothingness would be, under him, the absolute opposite of welcoming.
The creature fell lifeless.
The woman watched in admiration.
"You called me here," Dante whispered aloud.
And she heard him.
He watched the woman closely. Power radiated from within her, power of a black order. She was a demon, but . . . something was out of place. He couldn't exactly place it, but, there seemed to be something missing, or was it something additional? For lack of a better word, something was just 'different.' There wasn't any interest in conflict. No strife troubled her, and inside seemed to almost be an innocence he found, somehow. The day was long, and maybe he was just tired.
"Thank you, for coming," the woman spoke with a thickly-eastern European accent.
Staying her blades, she walked towards him, "Deep into the forest, where people went missing. I'm coming with you. And the name is Lucia, if you've forgotten."
Dante glared her down, "Don't take me for a fool."
"Of course no," she said.
The man winced out of impropriety, "Did you-. . . did you mean 'not?'"
She seemed not to understand what he was saying, confusion painting her eyes down.
"I guess that means yes," he mumbled. Clearing his throat, he declared, "Let's be quick then, this forest is daunting enough when it's empty."
And he nodded for the woman to lead him.
"You were prompt, I appreciate." She told him.
"I pride myself on professionalism," he said, and he could feel it now, "Insofar, it's your lucky day."
He felt himself letting go of that old stern tone, little by little. It didn't feel good till it hurt.
The only way he'd survive from here on forward would be to seize the day, as he already had. The philosophy he grew to live by under his old life, 'Carpe Diem,' it still stuck to him like feathers in honey, engrossing his works of might in a sordid history he couldn't forget. The subsequent walk was a calm one, as neither one of them spoke. Pressure bred anger and frustration, all things he sought to avoid under this new regime he'd created for himself. Of note, particularly, was Dante's posture and his choice in attire. It seemed to be far more polished than his reputation had let on. All functional, sophisticated. Red was a bold choice in particular, but she liked the color. Her own hair wasn't too far removed from it. The slayer stood with his shoulders leveled, relaxed, broad and sturdy.
He caught her staring.
"It makes the blood easier to wash out," he said.
It was his way to remind her: eyes upfront.
The walk continued, still drenched in silence till they arrived, hours later.
. . . The blue one walked a path meant for his red counterpart, a spinning coin in a churning sea of fate . . .
Every child in the nearby village had laughed at the forest lore, passed down by the woodcutters all those years ago. Now the villagers themselves were gone, swept away by the endless oceans of time, and Dante had known the saying to be true, bound by moral obligation to help. Vergil himself was far more fascinated by the desire of a demon to help humankind. It made little sense to him, as he'd only ever known his own brother to possess this trait. He watched them carefully. Indigo eyes and waxy, pallid skin marked them out as the flesh-eaters they were.
Hidden in plain sight inside skin tickets, how bold.
Spellbound and revolted in equal measure, the half-man glared on as they danced a ghastly ritual around a massive blazing fire, howling to the beat of a rumbling drum. They held their large arms akimbo, expressions frenzied and ruthless, their victims crying as they were dragged towards the pig-spit, a female screaming in fear, the first victim crying for help.
The stone-faced Vergil raised his arm. A blue blade bolted through the dark.
It tore into one of them, impaling the demon through its chest.
Flying back off its feet, it crashed to the ground, pinned there. It struggled for freedom but failed. Through cyan light, Dante vanished.
"Hmph," He muttered aloud, amused by their feeble attempts to locate him.
They screamed and swung wildly, looking for any part of him to smash. These beasts were wild and still hungry, his flesh they so craved. The devil hunter fluxed into existence on their left. Summoning two azure brands, they hovered behind his shoulders waiting for his command. A giant scythe-bearing savage charged solely at the half-breed first, readily eager to consume him down to the bones.
"Caution!" Lucia gave a shout.
Dante grumbled as he released the blades, annoyed at having failed to successfully maintain his grip on his opponent. If she'd just stayed quiet . . .
He ducked the first swipe masterfully. His arctic eyes flared with an untold ferocity. Immediately, the man dashed off, carting onto his side, but it was a second too late. Lucia's efforts were harmless, blocked by the crimson shield generated by the creature's own core. Within a split second, Dante was imprisoned inside the demon's hold. His iron muscles tightened, then immediately loosened. He'd tensed on impact, the blade inside his ribs. The man's sturdy legs parted slightly as he found his balance.
The demon lunged at Lucia then with a speed even a fighter like herself couldn't match.
Try as she might to outmaneuver, the creature nicked the side of her neck. She crashed through the first row of falling trees, silently cursing the demon.
Picking herself up once again, she quickly felt the air at her side whip. That was all the warning she earned.
Mid-turn, she felt something pierce her left shoulder and a firm hand gripped her right one. Dragged around, she was hurled back into the scythe's line of fire. She bit her lip over the pain, throwing her knives down toward the creature's feet. Metal on metal ground against unholy bones, blood flowing through the ground. It gave a horrid growl, the scythe severed from its skeletal grip. With the malefic entity enraged, that brief distraction was all 'Dante' needed. He broke apart the giant scythe with only his fist, embedded through into its shroud like a ghastly trophy, and his left hand closed over Yamato's hilt tightly. Vergil's might pulsing through the katana, returning to him briefly, and so the cursed trees quivered as he sliced upward at the savage. Abyssal red eyes flickered into fear, registering the beast's mistake. Rage replaced the calm inside him. One could not afford to underestimate Sparda's offspring.
Severing an arm, he brought the hilt back by his side, held parallel to his head.
Accuracy in form was paramount. He stabbed forth the thick steel. It broke the flesh, driven forward to break on through to the other side.
Blood poured from its mouth uncontrollably, Vergil's best kill in years. Satisfaction danced across his lips. At least it meant something. He bore teeth, his fingers tightened to the point of blisters, and the man tore the blade back out. Turning on his heels, he faced the opposite direction of his foe, but drew the blade back into its home, the Yamato's scabbard held out in front of his chest. He let it fall inside, save for a pale inch, then closed the gap with a forceful jam.
His enemy stood at death's door now, shriveled up and limping.
Explosions of gaseous light brought it to quivering cubes of jelly, cosmic slices of bluish hue macerating its body, summoned from thin air.
Lucia charged at the others, mere underlings of the fallen, the best of strategies to leave bigger dogs to the Devil Hunter beside her.
Several daggers came hurtling outward, grabbed from her belt, and several more still hid inside her cape. A demon beheld a knife driven through its eye as they sprinted full-bore. Raising her left leg, the succubus crushed her boot down into the blade's handle, skewering it further in. It stopped instantly, then merely fell over, crumbling to ash. She drew herself below an incoming claw, rolling her torso backwards as she stood, bending inhumanly backwards as she brought her right hand forward, slashing through the devil's arm with her short sword. Righting herself, she hauled back a stab directly into the creature's head, she put the brain to sleep with a twist, and then, without even looking, she pulled herself down as another demonic fist swung through the air. She forced her boot back. The swan-like kick pounded its stomach like a hammer grinding meat, throwing it backwards.
Rolling back, she stabbed up into chin and dragged it downward to the ground with all her body.
Crashing to the soil, it laid briefly on its back before the woman thrashed into both its eyes her furious metal, blinding and killing it.
She found herself on guard as an attempted slashing of her throat came swiftly, rising with her right-hand dagger clasped backward. She batted away the beast's claws, retaliation swift, and a swift jab to the jugular tore its throat asunder; a roundhouse kick split it's roach-infested head. She tore down whatever rose in her path. In rapid succession they fell, each one of them crumpling to the ground, the souls returning to dust.
Violent slashes and further dices and spikes bred a blood-filled ground soon enough.
From her own force, Lucia retrieved several of the salvageable daggers she could find. Her eyes gazed over her shoulder to see 'Dante' the victor.
Two others had tried to assert their dominance over him, but the slayer was not to be deterred. Staring, she kept quiet for a minute, almost forgetting about the grisly assailants. Almost.
As another made its way toward her, it nearly nipped at her flesh, that long set of razor teeth opened wide. A dagger pierced through its way through the trachea. That solved that problem. Blunt force trauma worked remarkably well against soft tissues. It never stood a chance. One moment later and a blood trail followed her knife. That was the last one. Dante took note of their bizarre appearance, they were not a breed he knew.
Not even in the Demon Realm, Avernus, had he seen such putrid things crawling about. He glanced back at Lucia. She aided those who survived, leading them into the grass nearby.
The empty field was safe, no monsters from above to prey on them.
Something . . . maternal just sort of 'clicked' inside her. She gave them comfort.
A woman held Lucia's hand and spoke some words that he couldn't understand, at least not that muddled . . . not yet.
Meanwhile, the men were so afraid they couldn't say a single thing apart from, "Thank you!"
It was an interesting sight. Some kind of emotion he'd never really seen much before.
The slayer wondered what made her act in such a way. Was it something as paltry as love?
"You're helping them . . . Why?" He wondered aloud, speculating what kind of answer she might give him.
Long or short, it didn't matter, the concept was fascinatingly foreign.
Lucia secured the area and assured she would return to the group soon.
Facing him, she approached and said, "Because they are innocent, they deserve helping." She looked at him, confused. "Are you saying me you are gone to leave them if you had the choice?"
"I certainly could, and should walk away. Depends on the situation. It's foolish to play the hero if you ask me. Everything dies eventually." 'Dante' observed the people as rejoiced with their loved ones.
Ignorant weaklings every one of them.
"I do not understand you. If you think like this, then why take jobs?" Lucia flicked a dagger of blood then holstered it. "Does this mean Sparda was a fool too?"
Vergil heaved a long shudder, he himself didn't understand why he took Dante's place.
His company watched the expressions of those grateful, mourning the grateful dead.
The callous brother looked to the side as his right hand rested itself in a pocket lazily.
That was new, when had he picked that up?
Perhaps a bit of Dante's spirit was with him, but this certainly wasn't the time to fidget on the idea.
"Honor that overrules common sense and logic is just another facet of idiocy. You know it's sad, but it's immutably true: only I know when to walk away." He frowned in her direction, dropping the pretenses of imitation. He added further, a hint of personal annoyance taken with her, "And please, don't mention Sparda again."
He removed his hand from his pocket and let his fingers relax in the breeze. The woman glared at his eyes, unmoved. She considered drawing out a dagger but thought better of it.
"You are a strange, Dante." She shook her head solemnly, and took a step away from him.
The comment just left him confused, sometimes she could communicate well, other times . . . lord help her.
"Where did you learn to speak . . ." He mumbled casually, mocking her.
Lucia stood proudly, turning back to him. "I belong to the clan of Vie de Marli. We secure and protect everyone in this land. Maybe, you will learn that someday."
Damn. Perfect english there.
'Dante' crossed his arms, unsure of what to make of this whole event. "Why then did you seek my help? You proved your clan can not protect your people."
"I wanted to meet you in person and see if the rumors were not lies," she replied. "No matter how tough we are, we won't handling every demonic entity resided here."
And there it went.
His frosty demeanor never faltered on the surface, but inside he was unsure of himself. Never had he encountered these emotions during his time with Mundus. He'd lost his human soul, made so corrupt that the vines blotted out all light from his flesh, for a time. Looking back, he was shielded from it by his darkness, a shroud clotting his mind, diseasing him. Though he recognized it, he didn't know what it was exactly, that much was still what he had to discover. He had preyed on dreaded creatures that could shock anyone into deep-seated fear. In the fathomless bowels and dripping basins of the deepest caverns in the demon world, they roamed and he quarried.
He'd ascended sky-kissing mountains, look-alike valley's and trekked across some of the most jagged black rocks known to the observable world, all to seek out blood-bathed brethren.
But this dark forest was different to anyplace he'd been before.
Hunting after such beasts into dunes and burrows, down into grimy pits through gloomy hollows, it couldn't begin to compare to this gullet of madness. Just being here felt like partaking in an unholy parody of his own knowledge. He followed her through the thick grass, silent. They almost reached a larger clearing than earlier, another place to inspect. The air was growing cold, fueling his ember heart's crematory menace, the burning fire within him rising slowly.
"Stop," Dante warned. A rime-laced calmness accompanied the order.
The woman was about to ask. Vergil interrupted with a visual cue, placing a finger to his lips. He began motioning silently and grabbed his sword by the hilt. Slowly, he unsheathed the beautiful weapon, its slight-curved elegance prepared to destroy demons once more. His maneuver was smooth, comfortable. Lucia analyzed his every waking movement and tick. Promptly, she drew her silver short swords, grabbing the hilts tightly.
She backed away from the path ahead slowly.
After a moment of silence, she could hear it all, the sounds of demons almost close to them . . . how could she have missed that?
His hearing had grown stronger now, greater than it had been earlier, somehow. He could hear these beasts easily and their crooked machinations made him sick. They tore at the humble ground, lacerating the earth beneath each foul step. It was a blight to the soil, their twisted flesh. Accompanying them, the low croaking of a demonic horde; they communicated with one another and began moving about, sniffing for the two.
They knew, as did he, the son of Sparda wasn't far.
They were the vanguards of hell, by what he could see, nasty, annoying creatures with their black cloaks and screeches. Abnormal to their scythes were the purple-blue flames that burned brightly, he remembered the last time he'd seen one. The tower . . . all those years ago. Sensing the two as prey nearby, on the other side of the trees, the monsters pounced, smashing into their blurry sight inside a flurry of sand. Their scythes were raised aloft, hungry for tender flesh, dutiful soldiers seeking to destroy. They'd searched for a long, long time, only now discovering fresh meat to chew, empty shells.
She was the first to act, throwing her recovered throwing knives with professional accuracy. The fine points found their targets easily.
It was an apparent problem that they did almost nothing to her intended kill. So, improvising, the huntress refocused her attention on the lesser demons that started crowding around.
Can't fault a golden strategy.
The minimally damaged Vanguard lunged toward Dante, seeing him as the closest thing, scythe lifted as it came for his face. The slayer shoved Yamato above his head. The strike bounced and ground against the silvery steel, held in Vergil's right hand, crossing over his serious face. He seemed to despise every bit of this, those wails reminding him of the chains that betrayed him. Lifting the blade up, he forced the scythe around in a circle, locking it on his right side, from its view, the left. Forcing his free hand forward, he balled it into a fist. The devil's knuckles made contact, and a thin needle of white light burst out the vanguard's backside, electric currents accompanying the fine point through the air.
It stumbled backward, it's chest caved in by pressure. Slowly, its ghost-like cry croaked out for release, the grip on its scythe faltering. It still clung to life somehow, refusing to let go of its weapon.
He heard a crunch as its lungs forcibly expanded against those shattered ribs. It mounted some kind of protective measure. He shifted around faster than it could perceive, darting off right as its great decapitator lifted up to the left. He struck Yamato out towards the vanguard's waist. With one batting motion, he drove the blade sideways, cleaving through twisted flesh and bone. It made a horrible sound, spitting up blue blood upon the ground like a fountain as the man bisected his opponent effortless.
Ashes hit the ground, blown away by the wind. What was left of the vanguard itself was a smug skull, crushed instantly under the slayer's boot.
Of the three, two remained. One sought revenge on Lucia, though the nimble siren easily avoided such lumbering attempts, belting back acrobatic kicks into the demon's pale face.
And the other came after the dark man.
Such as it moved, it's withered form teleported beside Dante in a black cloud. The man was distracted. Perfect. With eyes blazing sinful fire, the dark reaper brought the scythe around wildly in an oval-sidewinder arc. The blade glanced off his neck, though he managed just barely to duck in time. To spite him, the hellish metal grazed his right shoulder, tearing apart some of his shoulder's tendons. Streaks of red chased the weapon from his arm as he held his damaged limb.
His lips twitched, teeth clenching at the sharp pain, his whole arm went numb instantly. Needles and pins pressed on his flesh. Acid coursed through him. Enraged, he clasped onto his weapon tighter, this despite the damage dealt, and he swung back with a devastating flurry, striking the iron numerous times.
Rapidly, back and forth, he diced Yamato side to side, creating a symphony of destruction all his own from thin air.
Each strike reached a maximum of forty-five miles per hour, the torque alone tearing at the vanguard's cloak, fraying the ends of its feeble sanity.
It could only defend, that god damned wailing droning on and on. It was content to continue annoying him. Finally, he had enough. After so many strikes, he ceased this same sideways trajectory and brought the back to rest beside his calf. With a single motion, he rammed Yamato upwards. The slash broke through its defense, slashing the rotten flesh and snapping the beast's weapon in half, held still in its crooked hands. The staff's lower section flew off, impaling itself into a tree trunk.
Eyes flashing silver, he brought the katana back down and gored open its chest cavity, spraying otherworldly blood across the forest grounds.
Vergil then dashed forward into a climactic stab. It only took one.
Driving the weapon through its target, Yamato tore apart demon flesh in new ways, grinding through bone without remorse. The monster stood there, shocked. It's strange blood dripped down and coated his blade. Such liquid transferred strength, reinforcing the weapon's fortitude as well as his own. It vanished into thin air, leaving behind shrill, malicious laughter. He circled the blade licked from it the blood of the beast. It gave to him a renewal of strength.
He knew it was still alive, only waiting and hiding, as though it were somehow superior to the others.
He stood, fresh wounds slowly closing themselves, forcing himself to attune to his surroundings.
'Dante' closed his eyes, searching through other means. It drew near, its presence a black blight to this world. From the ground below, it emerged, swinging wildly at him. Its wounds still pulsed blood, but that mattered little to it, and still it came for him. The demon struck nothing. He'd gone as soon it emerged. Confused, it stopped, looking around at everything it could. Just as it sensed something from above, the Cambion shouted, slamming Yamato's tip downward. It could only look as he stabbed the weapon down, spearing through the vanguard's eye. The reaper seized-up completely still, the blade's steel driving itself further and further down through its skull, down into its shoulder and next into the boney chest. The slayer grasped the blade with both hands and placed behind it half his strength.
He was seething pride in and out, channeled through his own sword. With the weapon dug down as far as possible, Vergil pushed on until the hilt met the skull, then twisted.
It appeared to stiffly creak, almost as though it had turned to clay. With a simple twist of the blade, the being broke apart to dust before him.
Standing up, he looked off to the side and saw the last vanguard.
It had knocked Lucia off course, and she'd seen become encumbered against a variety of other devils that had materialized. He could see she was taking care of herself just fine, throwing out brutal kicks and remorseless stabs, the same as before, but the vanguard was a touch too far. He barked off in its direction a word of black speech, and it turned back toward him, wailing demented nothings.
It pointed at him, challenging the man directly and intently.
He obliged the creature with a hard stare, motioning with his left hand.
"Come on," he said.
It screamed bloody murder, the wailing wall vaulting up through the air at him meaning strike downward. He rose to the occasion, swiping his sword upward where it logically should have landed. But instead, the demon snapped out of reality, his blade striking the black fumes it left behind. Another vanishing act. It was time to play the waiting game yet again. He remembered these, they held little intelligence in those days and he doubted anything had changed since.
All the more, he just had to wait and pay attention . . . wait and just feel out from himself what lurked around.
He opened his eyes.
"Unworthy!" 'Dante' uttered a sharp hiss at the cowardly entity as it re-materialized behind him. "Unworthy cretin!"
Just as abrupt, without even peeking backward, he thrashed his blade around with one decisive slash. The slayer moved so fast he'd not even disturbed its baggy cloak. It was like lightning struck, invoking a cerulean blaze from the steel's edge for a single moment. It glowed before them all, pulsing with the power of Sparda's son. The Vanguard's shriek ceased abruptly as it stilled, its hideous features frozen in shock. It wilted and cracked, breaking apart into ashes that fluttered along and merged with the sand.
It had returned to nothing. So it goes.
Those that remained were nothing more than grunts.
Vergil smirked and slid back, sheathing the katana. He'd settled into a combat stance, prepared still to draw the weapon, but kept still. They screeched coarse clamor, feeling something akin to emotion for its deceased leaders. He drew the blade an inch, then waited as they all did their little dance. Before the charge could even begin, he shut the blade back into place harshly.
At first, nothing happened.
It was almost serene.
Then came the breaking. In a second, their peace became desecrated by the emergence of light shafts, black and purple together. They burst through the creatures' limbs, pinning them all into place like marionettes. Writhing around for but a moment, a sudden, destructive explosion of light from within the pillars engulfed them all and the strange things ruptured into bright blasts, tearing apart those walking-corpses into minced meat. This, too, faded into ash. And he saw to it whatever survived joined them in nevermore, the entities all returning to their lowly homes.
Lucia had vanquished what she could, leaving them as husks that dried out, devoured soon by the woods. She huffed out slowly to herself and glared in his direction. Looking down at the last devil's face, she sheathed her blades and relaxed her shoulders back with a smooth cracking. Her neck felt rusty.
"Amazing," she said. "I should have not expected anything more from Sparda's son."
Dante's eyes glittered with a detached gratitude. He trudged past her, working to move ahead of their pack. He scouted for anything more that dared defy him. She followed behind, bewildered by his nature, so ruthless and effective. She could not understand why he was the way he was, most certainly not here, after all that destructive majesty. He seemed to be bred for this occupation alone, almost as though the sole purpose for his creation was to slaughter the wicked. It looked as natural as could be. How could he walk this desolate killing road and still be as confident and self-assured? Now, he seemed to be but an empty shell, as though the fighting spirit he displayed was all he was and nothing more.
The next clearing looked peaceful enough. Standing atop a hill's peak, they could see the dark forest's endless top.
"Years ago this forest used to be filled with life," she whispered with a broken fury. "Then the curse engulfed it all. We shed our blood to try retake it. I lost many people here."
He stared at her blankly, and could not understand. "Your people tried retaking this forest by themselves? Then they were fools and braggarts unable to comprehend truth. Why bother to try even now?"
His voice remained deep and monotone, never affected, never present.
Lucia sighed and gazed back at him. "You work and know how to handle Demons. Even if we disagree, you're able to help without drawing soldiers from our people."
Vergil sighed and returned his attention back to the sight before him. Seemed she was right enough. He could finally see the forest for the trees now, he was still alive. But . . . did he deserve to be? A man of hell given the return of time he couldn't grasp, eternity passing him by and the world rendered changed and unrecognizable, returned to the place of his brother, a better man than him. Perhaps that was a question for later.
He spoke to her coolly, "You asked me why I work for humans, why I take 'jobs.'"
"'Where there's a will,' right?"
He smirked at that. "No. I think I take them because they are my salvation. I am one with the darkness, you should know. I live by it almost as though it were my creed, my kin, my home. I know not the human heart that beats beneath the chest nor the struggles of men and women that claw through life trying to reclaim forests dead and cursed by an unknown force, I know not the meaning of insanity. I am interested in the coin of desperate, perhaps to sustain my interest in this world's slow-paced nature. The power I might claim from these opportunities, it entices me."
She glared at him. He was a crooked man, surely, not the one she'd heard of, but all reputations were falsehoods in some regard.
"I do not comprehend," she told him. "You took my offer regardless of me. There is no special power here, only the dead earth we live on character."
Her words gave him pause. She seemed to be so plainly ordinary in that moment that he couldn't find it within him to crush her back down. On principle alone, he was a driven man, not one to fall prey to the trappings of human dogs and cowards, and yet there was a truth to what she'd spoken. He knew full-well there wasn't anything to be gained from this trip alone. So, why had he taken it at all? What had convinced him to come along and suffer the banalities of a kind he was still not used to?
"Then perhaps," he began, sullen. "I may have found a use here in slaying demons after all."
The woman rolled her eyes, tired from him, and tired from the ordeal. So, the two walked on for the task ahead in silence.
To Be Continued
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this. Please share your thoughts in a review.
I wanted here to show Vergil confused and questioning his own beliefs. It's fairly straightforward, I hope that's not lost under the details. Particularly, it struck me as interesting over how hard it might be that he was sensing he could be wrong; i.e. - if he were seeing irrefutable proof that his observations of humans were simply incorrect.
Not to mention working through the fact that he's somehow still alive. It was a goal of mine to at least not hand-wave this kind of stuff away. I hope I showed it well enough.
Thanks to my Beta Angel Wolf helping out. That's all for now.