Chapter 6 ~ Blessed Be
Lady shouted viciously to the driver and he hit the gas, whipping the military-grade hummer around a tight corner as gunfire thundered through the cold Maine night.
She spotted the two targets only a moment before and they'd barely given her enough time to be ready, growling and galloping after them. Seemed to be the trap she'd laid had made them visible but not much else, the creatures still alive, albeit skinned. They were damn near colossal and red and raw. Basalt spikes adorned their chins and forehead, while their wings appeared singed off and their tendons moved with agency, each inch of their bodies screaming pain inwardly as they traversed on three limbs. Both looked anorexic, meat shrink-wrapped tight to the bone, and their Jurassic jaws chomped mightily after the gruesome twosome on the run. Whoever was on their ass— the local cops— it didn't matter, flooring the gas meant survival.
"Cover! Get us cover!" Lady called, somehow managing to be heard over the bullets her weapons boomed out through the air.
Lady felt scattered, her thoughts racing and jumbled. She kicked ass on every job she took, but she was still disturbed by the notion a man with her father's pseudonym had seemed to rise.
Her mind was occupied and she couldn't help it.
It had been too long since the bounty hunter felt such a rush in the early morning.
The explosion of metal and shattered glass behind them was so close that Lady's heart skipped a beat. She turned, looked out the back with the others, and saw that one of the monsters had crashed while charging into a car. It had been in their way, though luckily, the driver swerved. They themselves had probably come within a second or two of bashing into the vehicle, and she would probably have fallen off from the force.
She caught just a glimpse of a crumpled hood, of broken windows and a stream of oily smoke. She leveled Kalina Ann out the side like a turret and pushed the trigger.
Shrieking 'round the corner, the chase continued.
"Sorry 'bout that!" the man called back to her, sounding anything but calm. She'd discovered that the man would make light of pretty much anything if she let him. Lady couldn't blame him, herself wired with adrenaline-soaked frenzy. It was simultaneously his most likable and most annoying trait. Reminded her a bit of her other partner— Dante and his good ol' ways.
"Brace yourself for the impact. Mister John, just past the next turn, bring us to a stop. Hit and run, got me?" Lady told him sharply.
Their dark pursuers screeched and lunged forward, drawing closer to the car. She did the best to slow them with what she had.
John pumped the accelerator while steadily mounting up for a quick stop. These mindless beasts were charging along blissfully unaware, soon to be struck by about a ton and a half of fast-moving steel.
Lady inhaled smoke-tainted air and sighed deeply, relaxing her muscles as best she could. The squeal of the brakes came up fast from behind and—
—
Wham.
—
Violent motion, a sense of incredible vibration, a second that seemed to stretch for an endless eternity, vast ringing in her ears blotting out miles of sound; and the noise crashing through deafness immediately after. A cracking windshield and the sound of a tin can being crushed amplified a million times through speakers as tall as the Empire State Building. Lady was jerked forward and back, hearing John emit a strangled gasp. She pressed those thick legs down in a squat and jumped from the back of the Hummer, dragging him along through the window.
Times like these, she was thankful he hadn't worn a seatbelt.
The demons cycled with their strange legs at full speed.
Both entities collided with the jostling hunk of metal, together catapulted over the truck like toothpicks in meatballs.
From below, Lady smirked cockily and hefted Kalina Ann on her shoulder again, firing the missile. Fire rocketed through the air, barrel spitting phallic hatred, death flying towards them on metal wings. And it missed, flying past them both, right between the bullseye. The vehicle carried with them above over their backs was like a transient gift from god, whichever one that might be. The gas tank laid bare.
The missile didn't have far to go.
Jagged metal contorted and detonated outward, triggered by the incendiary head's crash, and fragments flew by— demonic flesh splintered apart blasted by glass and impaled on charred steel instantly— as a swirling ball of corrosive flames erupted around the beasts. They brayed like asses, blood boiling them alive, bursting from the skin as it bubbled and burst in geysers. Cooked into a sickening miasma, painting the inferno a dazzling blue and red, they almost seemed to burn its light brighter than any normal fire on the earth. Their final cries called out as their bodies turned to holding cells, blistered and burnt so badly they could scarcely move, rendered limbless too from the caustic blast.
Hisses like a gaggle of live snakes in a blender left cracked-open mouths and blackened teeth, a marriage of the beatific and the horrific.
The remains plastered the ground as stains, then withered and died off into nothing.
Lady lowered her weapon and exhaled happily, "That was amazing, it's been awhile since I took a thrilling job."
However, her client felt differently, as he was slumped over the bushes near her. Vomit covered the ground and flecks of it dotted his face and shirt. The man lazily brushed this off, annoyed by it more than anything. Gross.
"You're a brute, Lady," he mumbled the words, limping back toward her. "Who would date you?"
Slowly he raised his hand with cash.
The woman raised an eyebrow, "Aw, gee. Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment this time. You'll live longer if you don't say things like that."
She laughed it off and took her payment, walking away. All in all, she'd say she was somewhere close to happy. She never thought much about dating when all was said and done. The nerve of some folk. There'd never been an issue prior, not that he'd ever get close to knowing. The night was fading fast. She kept thinking on it. She liked her life the way it was . . . at least for now. Perhaps someday there was someone worth her time.
Most certainly not the current batch of losers, they couldn't handle a tough Lady.
Her happy expression darkened.
She remembered her dream last night.
The night before had brought a severity of worry to the mind. Extreme feeling was a sensory load she'd grown used to carrying but this such purity was unlike anything she'd ever felt before.
Worrying about a dream was knowingly stupid of her, but what pulled her back to this one was a solitary reason.
Him.
. . .
A bright light appeared. So lustrous, she had never seen anything like it before.
Then, she was falling. The sudden rush of air came from nowhere. The glow went out, all around her shifting pitch black— all around her black, obsidian abyss. Hands held onto herself.
A familiar, cacophonous laugh punctured her eardrums.
". . . Time for bed Mary!" the voice croaked. "You can visit your dear mother soon . . ."
It's laugh bellowed on and on.
"You bastard!" she screamed as hard she could, trying to drown out the laughter, but there wasn't a thing she could do to defend against it. From beyond, in some place that was nowhere, a hand grabbed onto her and pulled her up. Taken from the dark she emerged in light and blindness greeted her abrupt transportation. She came to stand on solid ground, shivering. Once her vision cleared, there was a royal blue coat in front of her, worn by a man with swept-back silver hair standing tall and strong just as the arrogant day she first saw him.
"Vergil?" The woman whispered to herself.
The Devil looked back at her, tilting his head to the side slightly. With barely a smile, he drew Yamato, charging forward to the silhouette of a clown with barely restrained contempt.
. . .
What made her think about him all of sudden? The eldest son of Sparda had been dead for almost a decade now. Not to mention it was for the best. They put a madman out of his misery in hope he wouldn't do anymore damage . . . poor Dante.
She took a left, ready to head back home.
"The sword, that must be it," she talked aloud to herself. "I saw Dante using it. Must have played with my mind, that's all."
Anything to reassure herself now would be greatly appreciated.
Her cellphone started ringing loudly, startling the woman out of her head.
She took a deep breath in, allowing herself a moment to breath, and then exhaled. She removed the device from her pocket. The screen displayed a name that made her smile a bit.
She answered, bringing the phone to her ear, "What's up Dante? If you're calling for a job I ha-"
"-I'm not Dante," on the other end, a small girl's concerned voice interrupted her. "Are you his friend? You have to come to the office, something's wrong with him!"
She was immediately unnerved, something wasn't right.
"Wait, what? What do you mean, who is this?" Lady asked, her back tingling.
"My name's Patty. He was hired to protect me, but-" the little girl paused, "please, please come."
"O-Okay, just sit tight, I'm on my way." Lady answered, confused and worried. "Are you alone?"
"It's just me and him," the girl replied.
"Alright, lock the door, you wait till I get there, I'll knock five times quickly so you'll know it's me."
And the huntress made off for the devil's office
Vergil's head hurt for awhile.
He'd been half-dreaming sitting at his desk, remembering things, reliving parts of his history out of order, until the faraway sound of thunder surged through his skull, pulling him closer to wakefulness. The man dreamt of his actions over the past two days. Even though an almost-conscious part of him knew it was reality, it still seemed too incredible to be true. Flashes of what had happened, post-Mallet Island, as it were, kept rising to the surface. Images of the demon lord and his strict rules, his clever ways to control, had stalked him through the devastation. Mundus was a vindictive being. So he often put Vergil through the most horrifying torture and demeaned him through lowly tasks or objectives that were purposefully beyond his reach.
Memories of his childhood tormenting him; meeting Dante again after so long, he'd long been hoping to be killed and freed from that slavery.
Thunder again, louder. He realized something was wrong. But he couldn't seem to wake up, to stop himself from remembering. First, he was tired, and his bones ached often. Secondly, he was freezing now, and his head throbbed, yet he didn't know why.
What happened?
When did he fall asleep to begin with?
He brought his mind together, but it would only come in pieces, pictures and thoughts plucked from the day. He couldn't seem to control their flow, like watching a movie in a dream edited by an epileptic woodworker, every still jerkily shifting and crashing into the next one, hammered together atop each other out of order, simultaneously, intravenously, altogether sadly distorted. Images of Dante's corpse saddled in his arms, walking in that forest with Lucia, the voice of his mother telling him it would all be okay, and his sense to become more than just a shell of a man.
No. That was not normal. Something demonic had done him wrong.
"You alright, Dante?" he heard a feminine voice. A bit deep, but friendly.
He opened his eyes.
There she was again, Arkham's spawn. She looked down upon him, something that instantly got under his skin. She was worried, her face slowly coming into focus as a warm photograph.
"I told you!" he heard the little girl's voice say, "He's been like this for almost half an hour." There it was: concern again. What was her name again? Patricia? Pamela? Partition?
Patty. That was it.
A second later, he felt a smooth hand graze his forehead.
"Come on, say somethin' here, rockstar, this a new thing too?" Mary spoke to him again. The devil huntress couldn't hide her confusion once she returned to this place.
Dante wasn't the same anymore, left changed from how she remembered him. He bit his lip and forced himself to a sitting position.
Grunting into a sigh, he said, "I'm fine. I just needed a nap is all."
"No you're not cowboy, you look pale," Lady argued.
"I'm always pale! Get off my back, would ya?" he'd become a little more adept at impersonation, he thought. Vergil's eyes then drifted to Patty. "Hey you, it's almost time. Ya better get ready to leave, so pack for anything. But, I warn you. It's gonna be a tough road."
Patty's eyes glowed slightly, so much so she didn't bother to notice the shift in his syntax. She nodded.
"Yes sir," she said. Seems he still commanded plenty of respect despite his persona's reputation. So she ran off to do so, leaving them to their devices.
Lady tilted her head down over the desk, sighing till she was sure the girl was out of earshot. She slammed her hand over the desk, angry at her would-be partner.
He looked at her, surprised.
"Stop ignoring me."
'Dante's' face plunged into a frown, "What do you want from me, Mary? I'm doing-"
The mention of the name once again sent her over the edge. She rounded over the desk and grabbed him by the collar, and she spat venom, livid, "Ya wanna try it again? What's wrong with you!? I goddamn told you to never say that stupid name again! You may be powerful but I'll put you six feet under for that, I swear to god! Mention my name again and we're done. We'll settle it with a fight."
Her voice inhabited something fierce.
Vergil grabbed her hands roughly, to where she could feel her wrists flare up in pain. He was staring at her unblinking.
A challenge.
"Do you really think I'm going to tolerate that behavior from you? Do you? You're a sadly mistaken bitch, now either leave or stop whining," he answered her fury with his own sneer. Deep down, he held back the urge to disintegrate her. He could at least deal with humans overall in their putrid insistent existence, as much or as little as he needed to, but never would he ever tolerate disrespect from some turgid whore such as this. What did she think she was, Queen Hell herself? What an idiotic notion. That much was something he could never tolerate, even if he tried.
Why would Dante even think of allowing this human to disregard him so? Why would he lower himself and take it? Or was he that desperate to be . . . accepted by her?
"What did you just call me?" she replied softly.
"I didn't stutter. I believe you heard every word. You can't take me calling you by your name, you want to put me below the ground six feet so bad you'd kill me where I stand if you had the power, and yet you have trouble listening to me? What a soldier you are, really. You're a coward abandoning your own name, it's not worth the power to salt the earth with me," he growled. He stood watching her, mocking her. His lips moved into a smirk.
He couldn't help laughing at humans and their pitiful self-image.
"What?" Rage flushed her face, her hand still hanging in the air under his grip.
"If you had an ounce of intellect, you'd understand the power of that name, the things you lived through to claim back your life and who you truly are: 'I am Mary, Arkham's daughter. I'm still standing and stronger than ever.' But I suppose dear father broke your spirit, didn't he? You're weak. Still running around without a home. What are you running from? Does anyone know?" He shook his head at her, disappointed, and let go of her hands. By the expression etched on her face, he'd pushed her into silence.
There was a first time for everything, even for Lady's own ego to be stood up to. Her eyes stared into his blackened pupils, a silver glint glazing over them, expectedly inhuman to her foolish mortal ways. The words stung and she knew he knew it. A tear fell from her eye onto his umber desk, sitting plainly and alone. She let out an angry shout as she slapped him across the face.
Her hand damn near broke.
It appeared to barely affect him, as he quickly looked back at her with that same vendetta.
Vergil scoffed at her, and so went to grab his artillery. He went past her, and though he hesitated when he looked at it, he took up Dante's black guitar case. He strode to the front door, where he waited for the little girl. Eventually, five minutes went by and she came back downstairs, a cute little suitcase in hand. The man greeted her like an estranged parent, then pulled something from the side of the double door entrance.
It was a black umbrella.
"Alright. You ready?" he asked, to which she responded with an enthusiastic, affirmative nod.
He gave her his very first smile and lightly grabbed her hand, "Okay then, let's get outta here."
Opening the front door, they stepped out into the cold rain. He quickly opened the large parasol.
Patty silently felt his cold skin against hers. She didn't quite understand why he felt this way to her.
"Are we going to walk?" She asked. The duo stepped down the gothic stairs, and down onto the sidewalk.
"I'm afraid so. There's no other choice, given the circumstances. So, for your safety . . ." and he kept describing what they'd do.
Patty swallowed a lump in her throat, worried.
The sound of the water drops against the umbrella were akin to Uzi bullets striking concrete. She took out her necklace once again and opened the pendent to see her precious picture that she'd kept over the years. Perhaps it might bring her some comfort for the moment, it always did otherwise. And that solace did come but dampened by an uneasy feeling, a feeling that the world was changing all around her without her consent.
"Is that a picture of your mother?" Dante asked, attention grabbed.
Her head shot up, almost forgetting that he was even there. The grey skies clouded the city's appeal from her.
"Oh, yeah," she answered softly. "I don't- I can't remember anything about her. All I have is this picture."
"She looks like she was a woman of class," he spoke softly, almost gentle, and a smile graced her face.
"Thank you." she replied.
They walked on foot, Vergil sure to take the path that led to the train station. The two took a turn down an alley and walked ahead for a minute. Ever so often Vergil, could hear the faint sound of heavy footsteps following them, stalking them like an old lion king in the jungle, a concrete jungle of noise and confusion, untracked human lives, random acts of violence and evil and love and harmony swirling and teaming throughout intertwined.
He kept himself vigilant but it was difficult.
His hand tightened around hers.
"We better move a bit faster, you can't trust these backstreets nowadays," he said, pushing her forward to the light past the end, mist hanging in the damp air. The skies were quite gray across these brownstone structures. Patty obliged him without a question. Fear nagged at her brain. She could see the shadows again, the alley darkening before them. They reached the end of the passage at least, and he moved her behind him. Something wasn't right, they both knew it.
"Hey, you, um, have to listen to me here, okay?" the man said.
She gave him another silent nod.
"Okay. You have to go hide in that bush over there. Ya see it?"
She looked around and eventually managed to find what he was talking about, a big pallid bush of green. So, the girl looked back at him and affirmed she would follow his word.
"Good. Do not look up or walk out until I say so, understood?"
"Yes," she whispered.
The man felt close to her, much closer than that Lady. Patty was almost like a friend, absurdly so soon, though she could trust him and he her, or at least they were beginning to, and he didn't know how to feel about that just yet.
Nevertheless, he told her, "perfect, now go."
She ran over to the bench nearby, and, sneaking under, she managed to crawl inside the relatively dry bushes, hiding beneath her hood.
He stood in front of the pathway's opening and simply waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Thankfully, he didn't have to wait any longer.
"What do you want, demon scum?" his voice rang out into the nothing, deep and coarse— all venom and brimstone.
Patty desperately sought not to see who it was that he spoke to, so she just stayed hidden. And then they appeared there. Yellow eyes, peering out at the man through the dark. A crimson-clad devil with green scales tread deftly cross the concrete stone to the childe Vergil, his old prey and crumb. It showed itself so casually, it seemed not to care for the years that had so long passed since last he'd been seen by the devil-boy now grown. It looked at him through those discolored reptilian eyes diseased and strode in a majestic coat of flesh grown straight from it's own being, to the unimpressed hunter with a smart-ass swagger it seemed dull and uncouth.
"Hello there, dear boy," it growled at him. "Can't you at least just once pretend you're glad to see me?"
"My excitement knows no bounds," Vergil spoke, cold and sarcastic, blood-chillingly hostile. He oozed a dark, rage-filled aura.
"Well, I'm happy to see you in one piece too. It's been soooo long," it hissed, 'lips' if they could be called such quirked into a dreadful cheer. "I've been itching to give you a suitable bash upon your return. I had not known it was you who would be here, guarding that little girl so heroically, trying to pretend as if you aren't every bit a monster as I am, I wonder. What's with the change of color? I thought blue suited you just fine."
"I could ask you the same question. Are you trying to mock my brother with that getup? I can't contain my 'exhilaration' any longer," Vergil replied, undercut with cynicism.
"And yet, you aren't going to change your form again are you? That's hardly fair now, isn't it? Aren't you going to prove yourself sporting?"
"Funny, I've never heard you complain before. Or have you lost your edge, Orzoth?" Vergil's stone mouth was shadowed with a pale grin.
The brutal Orzoth. A figure from his own past he couldn't forget.
. . .
Loud cries of a child echoed through outside the cold night. Vergil struggled against the grip of the green lizard, a nightmare incarnate.
It dragged him without much effort, stealing him away. The boy's hands were pulled behind his back. His cheeks stained with his hot tears.
"You are all mine, boy," the hideous creature spoke into his ear. It threw him savagely against the ground. "Nowhere to run."
Vergil stared at his tormenter, drops streaming from the corner of his eyes. Terrified, he jumbled various options of escape.
At last, thinking of his mother and how worried she must've been, a spark lit itself from within, and a devil's rage awakened inside him.
. . .
So long ago was that time. Forced to live within the world of demons, Avernus, kept alone in torture for 2 years, exposed to all kinds of horror a boy such as he should not have seen. Turned a boy to a man sooner than planned, corrupting him, corroding him, choking the life from his bones and replacing it with something else, a burning hatred for all life on earth, all life in undeath, and all that walked the crooked black lands of his father's old forsaken realm.
Oh, how it burned him to know this beast hadn't known suffering, that he'd been cheated the chance to make him suffer . . . until now.
Black energy erupted from him, a gloaming pillar surging high into the sky.
It could sense him. He was beyond what he was all those years ago. Against his power, it glowed like a ghost.
Orzoth's smile vanished as he slowly mounted his stance, prepared for an eager charge. "I might have. Would you care to help me sharpen it, dear boy?"
A flurry of demonic Gladius burst from the Devil's body, taking aim at his opponent and spiraling forward.
Blue rivulets of power taken shape as swords, they barreled on through the air, malice made structure. Neither expected them to hit, least of all Vergil. He read that beast up and down like a guide book, looking for any and all patterns, for every little tick and familiarity he could gleam. The creature didn't disappoint, as it put on a mercurial display of speed, weaving in between the living blades as he had before, the swords taken off and circling around in the air above them like birds of prey, waiting for another chance to strike.
The reptilian entity shot forward on his firefly wings, fluidly moving like a slimy skeleton.
The man released from his summoned katana sonic might that gashed through the beast's shoulder, but it kept coming.
Striking downwards, it was confident that it could match his speed.
In a blur, the blade twisted itself around and impaled itself through the beast's wrist, moving faster than anticipated.
Orzoth felt splitting agony shoot up its arm, conjoining with the pain felt from the other wound. Its Cambionic enemy had shot a glowing, azure blade into a crease in its harness through its abdomen, a strike not perceived of the murderous beast's other pains. The creature wrapped its thin fingers around the hilt and yanked it out, but regretted it immediately. Though the construct looked smooth, it may as well have been barbed. It ran the creature through on sordid razors.
Grunting the pain away, Orzoth attacked again, swinging those taloned-arms. It kept Vergil on the defensive, dodging and spinning.
The halfling bid his time wading through its unending assaults, waiting for just the perfect moment, stringing his old foe along until launching himself and Yamato off his back, roaring down through dual sideward-bound claws a helm-breaker for the ages. He slammed the katana down on Orzoth's armor. The blade was almost ripped from his hands as the creature coughed and shoved him with its entire body, leaving him unguarded and off balance.
Orzoth launched a series of claws into his mid riff that tore at his granite flesh.
It stuck him on his right side and issued another series of punches to his face, rock-solid scales dirging painful promises of pain into his countenance. Two basic ones, a bloody nose. Then a final third, capping the man viciously so hard it knocked him on his back. Its crimson insect-armor coat was ruffled by his fist, which clung to the lapel. Those dinosauric legs couldn't support his weight, and so it came crashing forward on its knees, and the slayer's arms grasped and heaved the beast forehead-first to the cement ground behind him, leaving cracks in the foundation. Though stifled the man used his legs to give the creature further momentum, sending it flip side onto its back.
It struggled to get to its feet. Despite its demonic origin, these combination of features weren't exactly conducive to grace.
Managing to eventually toss itself onto its hand and feet, it quickly slithered around, moving not unlike a crocodile in scum.
Twisting itself around to face a recovered Vergil, the man stared the creature down for a split second.
Vergil threw Yamato's hilt in a spin, rotating at sonic speeds as it crashed into Orzoth's reflexive forearm.
The beast was unsure of the purpose of such a minuscule tactic, the hilt a mere afterthought in regards to damage.
A boot heel dug itself into the cheekbone. It felt a serious crunching as it hurtled into the brick wall. Vergil zoomed forward with his katana, taking a page out of Dante's playbook with rapid-fire stinger, carried in his right hand. The strike hit the brick wall and sent reverberations through the whole building as Orzoth used that brain for once and flew on its wings to take shelter in the sky.
Looking down on him, the demon took a moment to think of a plan.
Unfortunately, it didn't anticipate another strike, as a summoned sword hit it square in the chest. But this time, the blade did not linger as it had done before, instead bringing forth the slayer to inflict further rage upon it, who appeared before him in seconds. The Yamato slashed down and severed the left set of wings. It roared and spun downward as the slayer made artwork out of his body, slicing and dicing so fast he cut perfect lines through the rain drops before they could fall.
He bloodied the demon, amputated its right arm and stabbed it to oblivion, all before delivering a stomp onto its head when the time came to hit the ground.
A shockwave rang out as the cement cracked and upended itself around it.
Vergil raised his left hand and the scabbard shot up from the ground back into his hand.
Removing his foot and the blade's final stab, he quickly sheathed the blade, slowly stopping just an inch away before suddenly jamming it shut.
Numerous cuts and sores opened on its body, bleeding the creature to near death. The man banished the weapon and seized the thing by its throat.
"Who sent you!?" Vergil yelled.
"Your father!" it coughed sarcastically.
He jammed his fist into the devil's stomach and belted its ribs.
"Who sent you after her!?" he asked again.
"Argh! The fairy godmother," it replied.
Vergil stomped on its leg and it snapped unnaturally backwards, whatever allegory of bone breaking, and he crushed its back again into the pavement, and he sat there and wailed away on its face his fists, disfiguring the shape of its head with every inhuman strike he threw, cracking the skull steadily, but not till it broke, and then grasped it by the neck and hoisted the demon up off the ground.
It gagged and spat teeth, hissing at him though it had no venom.
"I will not ask you again," he growled.
"Okay! Alright . . . ! I- I'll talk," the demon trembled. "It was a man from the Lowell family, Walter! He wanted me to take this girl to down to Avernus. It-it was his wish that she become dinner for the boys down home, hehe- Gah!"
Vergil crushed on its larynx, stifling any further sarcasm.
It cried, begging for release.
"Aheh! You'll burn in hell for thi-!" it coughed routinely, interrupting itself with broken wheezes. "Arrauhghh-Alright, alright you pale fuck! You'll find him at the train station, we knew you were going there, he's waiting for me to inform him about the girl."
The silver-haired man took satisfaction from its suffering.
"I see," Vergil replied with a glint in his eyes. "Thank you . . . now, goodbye."
At last he slammed the handle of Yamato into the demon's head, cracking its head open and sending it off to wormy undeath.
That was that.
Vergil began walking to the bench but stopped for a moment, taking his breath. He was soaked wet by the heavy rain.
"That felt good," a menacing smile broke across his face.
An old revenge finally settled after so long. He'd be lying if he told anyone he didn't gain satisfaction from that murder. He picked up the umbrella and closed his eyes. He focused on the environment around him, the rain and the water, the heat within, internal temperature expanding, and the new magic he'd gained kicked itself into power. Slowly, hellfire rose from his boots up to the rest of his body. Warmth spread in once again, almost like nothing happened.
The flames sparked out from beneath his soles, then traveled up above to his hair, engulfing the form altogether.
And as soon as it appeared, his blaze vanished and Vergil walked out of the smoke, fully dry. He immediately opened the umbrella again.
There was no sense in drying himself off if he would just get wet again.
"Miss Lowell, it's time to go," he called out sternly, eyes shimmering silvery blue again as he bent back over the bench, his umbrella covering the soggy bushes.
The little girl peered out at him with such relief in her eyes. "Is . . . is it over? I won't see him again?"
Vergil beamed warmth down at her, reassuring with his gesture.
"Oh my god, I didn't think- I owe you my life," Patty replied and came out of her hiding spot.
Vergil simply tapped the top of her head and continued walking to their destination.
Deep down, in a part of himself he desperately did not want to acknowledge, he did feel concern for her. He himself had been in a similar set of circumstances once before, but at that time, in that place, no one had been there to help him as she had now. When the boy needed help most, no one was there to answer his cries, least of all Dante. He had to suffer for a long, long time till he broke free of that leash and kept on running till he couldn't see the light anymore.
And he couldn't wait until he stumbled upon the filth who wanted this done to her.
Ten minutes of walking was all it took, down the sidewalks and through town to the customary office and out onto the railway platform, tickets in hand, they reached the almost-empty train station.
Vergil's eyes darted around, scanning for the supposed human nearby the beast had spoken of so briefly. He'd know him by smell. Orzoth's putrescence was a stench hard to lose. Sure enough, he soon saw one lowly man standing there alone. He was smugly leaning against a neon advertisement sign, desperately trying to hide that ridiculous receding hairline and that sick belly with clothing much too young for him, of the latest fashions and such, a terrible combover sufficing in place of a hair piece that likely would've looked better. Beneath the black hoodie he wore was a tattoo on his left forearm. His head looked down while his leg tapped the ground relentlessly. He smelled the air and there it was, that foulness again.
He lowered the umbrella and placed it in her hand.
"Wait here," he said, leaving her beside the vestibule doors on the bench.
There was something coldly mechanical about him that made her comply.
"A-Alright."
Vergil quickened his steps towards the man. So many possibilities to punish him for his crime.
"You," he bellowed. The stranger's attention was drawn and he threw away his cigarette butt on the ground. Vergil scrutinized him for the littering. A true scumbag. "So, you are the pesky human who sold that child's soul to Orzoth?" he asked loudly. Walter looked him up and down and scoffed, a bit surprised, but he just ignored him and kept checking his phone.
"Yes you are," he said, smelling him intently. "You're the one. Walter . . ." Vergil spoke again, dragging out the last syllable of the man's name.
He stood directly in front of him, knocking the phone from his hand.
"Get the hell outta here," Walter spat the words, and he kicked Vergil's shin. Like kicking a skyscraper. "I dunno what your talkin' about, whaddya want, huh, punk?"
"Punishment," Vergil leered widely at him. "I must say, I really hate people like you. I don't even know why, I just really, really want to hurt you. Who are you to kill a child? To decide that they don't get to live, and for all intents and purposes, you don't even know her or who she is or what her life is, but you still stand there with that arrogant look on your face. Who made you god to say 'I'll take your life from you?'"
The man stared at him deathly silent.
"I dunno who you are, but there's no way you took down Orzoth, no way," the thug said.
Vergil smirked and simply stepped aside, allowing the man to see the girl who should've been dead sitting at the bench staring him down.
"She would beg to differ," he said to the man.
With a horrified look on his face, the man took a step back from him but grabbed two objects from his pockets and brandished them subtly on his hands.
Weapons. That was a mistake.
Walter exhaled and drew his knee up and kicked Vergil in the stomach. He then slugged him twice in the face, the weapons being two brass knuckles, and he nearly tumbled backwards off the force of his strikes almost seeming to reflect back on himself.
Vergil remained still and staring at him. The pain was minor, nothing really. A human man trying to harm him was a joke. A human man inflicting pain of any kind, no matter how small . . . well that defied his worldview altogether. The slayer glared at the man with smoldering hate. He reserved that kind of rage for only certain folk, but today was a loose day, one he felt like reveling in. From his body, a purely maddening sapphire-aura of devilish craft suppurated, encompassing him in an icy chill of sulfuric anger.
Walter lifted his head, eyes widening, gripped by terror.
"Wha-What the hell are you doing?" he wailed, petrified. Vergil's eyes turned red, glistering hostility.
Walter didn't even realize when he'd been hit, tailspinning backwards out beyond the train station's soaked ground. His neck snapped and his head severed itself almost clean off the body.
The cadaver laid there lifeless in the grass. His separated head fell down the steps towards Walter's approaching posse. These man were larger than Walter, but just as thuggish. Vergil looked upon them with that same ruthlessness. He walked on towards them with hell in his heart and rage in his steps. Far in the distance, Patty heard their blood chilling screams. She flinched, not really wanting to see.
She heard his voice eventually call her, "Move it."
Patty did as he said and ran toward Vergil, wishing nothing more than to continue the journey home and escape these horrors she'd been plunged neck-deep into. Once she reached him, her eyes caught the sight of a man who'd faltered onto the ground behind the slayer. Quivering, his arms were crossed in a crucifix-formation.
Eyelids forced open to the point of bloodshot, staring at the wall above him. "I saw him, he-haha! A demon . . . a monster!"
The man fumbled over his words, stuttering insane ramblings and madness. He appeared struggling to breath and he broke into hysterical fits of laughter.
"What . . . what happened to him? Shouldn't we call for help?" Patty wondered.
"No," 'Dante' replied. "You forget about him, little one. He's a mere distraction."
Patty then felt a surge on her right arm. It wasn't painful, but it was a definite feeling. She lifted her sleeve and saw the blemish hadn't gone, but rather changed shape, and she called to him, "Hey!"
"Hm?" he muttered back.
"My scar is still there! Why?"
He rolled his tongue behind his lips and said, "Well, that's because there's apparently more than one demon after you," he replied. "They must've known my involvement would mean Orzoth would fail."
"Oh . . . well that's just great," Patty's sad, head drooping down in defeat.
Hey guys, chapter's been updated and edited, can't believe I hadn't touched it since late-2017! time flies like crazy I swear, anyway hope y'all dig the polish, more will come soon!
Special thanks to Angel Wolf for editing and betareading this still 3 years on!