Chapter 12 ~ Harvester Of Sorrow
Vergil returned to his office.
The wheels of his mind spun several logical questions, seeking to eliminate scenarios. Who could have come in while he was sleeping?
If they were typical robbers, why was nothing else taken? Where is Dante's body? Is he. . . ?
No. Not that.
He froze, listening into every sound and echo, expecting to catch an unfamiliar noise.
But, he heard absolutely nothing. After four minutes of disappointment, he gave up hope. How much time had passed?
Shuffling around, he found the phone, and on the crawl read the date.
Two days. . .
Three messages from Lady. . .
Well, no time for that right now.
His fingers twitched, legs barely keeping him balanced. Taking a breath, Vergil sought the bathroom.
A poor attempt for relaxation, but it'll still help at least a small bit. He turned the faucet and washed his face.
"Who dares? Who would dare. . . ?" He repeated to himself.
Once his eyes gazed up, he could not help but to widen them, startled.
It's said the mirror reflects what you really are, an unflinching look at all your flaws. Perhaps theres some truth to that, considering what he saw.
It was like a glimpse into a far darker universe, one where the inner thoughts are worn like flesh. For a moment, just a single second of time. . .
Nelo Angelo stared back at him.
Vergil checked his hands.
Nothing; just a plain old set of fingers and palms.
"What's happening?"
The reflection in the mirror was normal again.
Calming himself, Vergil ushered himself back to the bedroom, attempting to catch some kind of clue, any little piece of information he could to figure out what happened.
He was halfway when he heard a loud crash that came from outside, close to the front door. The man frowned and sprinted over to the entrance, moving in a blur to the normal eye.
Right outside stood a brown-haired male with well developed muscles.
He looked startled, and so tried to turn back.
Vergil grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backwards, effortlessly trouncing the spy onto his back, skidding six feet back into the building.
Shutting the door, his eyes burned, glowing a molten red, like break lights on a car. He tightened his fists and looked down on the man, furious.
"You speckled worm, who are you? A thief?" Vergil spoke in his chilling, pragmatic voice.
The man began to tremble as he sought for some kind of escape.
His bones hurt, so he gave himself a shakedown, rubbing the bruises away in vain.
"W-Wait man! It ain't like that, I- I was just-!" He fumbled the words, barely able to speak a coherent sentence.
Vergil rolled his eyes, grabbing him. Hoisting the man up by the shoulders, he slammed the intruder to the wall.
The visitor coughed up saliva onto the wood flooring, and the slayer stared into his soul.
Apish bastard, treading on his territory, stealing his brother's corpse. . . What a sad excuse for a human.
"How many of you were hanging around? Waiting for the perfect moment to enter. . ." Vergil growled, mounting rage hidden behind his throat.
Yet, the man gave him a confused, scared look.
No more mr. nice devil; playtime was over.
"How many!?" Vergil bellowed abruptly.
His intruder squirmed, almost crying.
"Please man, I never got into your place! I just heard my ex likes you, I wanted to see what it was all about! Christ, please let me go!" The man begged, "I won't bother you again, I swear!"
Vergil stared at him for a moment, reading his body language, scrutinizing those eyes.
He grit his teeth, and dug his fingers into the man's joints, dragging him along to the front door.
The man felt himself flying, and he landed on his chest, somersaulting forward outside in the street.
"Christ won't help you, fool. This is a place of evil; never come back!" Vergil barked and closed the door.
. . .
Lady watched the scene in surprise, what was that all about?
She strode over and knelt down slightly to the man.
"Hey, you alright?" She asked.
But the man pulled himself up and ran away, so far beyond the blacktop and these sordid buildings.
She stopped in front of the stone steps, worried.
It'd been a while now, her messages had gone unanswered. Here she was thinking he'd be the one who was fine after. . . Arkham.
Maybe she shouldn't have come here, given their recent history. Still, Dante is her only friend.
'Friend' being someone she used to treat poorly and pile more debt onto, but still, a friend nonetheless.
God she regretted being that way to him, she realized it just came across as mean-spirited sometimes, but Dante was an arrogant ass anyway.
He deserved it, at least at the time.
She needed him as much as he needed her.
It just came out wrong, that's all.
Lady tried to call him more than once, and he never answered back, despite being here at his office.
What was going on with him? She exhaled one more time before her hand touched the handle.
"I know you're there, what do you want?" She heard him say.
Lady opened the door and went inside to greet him. However she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the place.
A dark cherry desk that seemed almost superfluous, since there was little to no paperwork to be seen. There was one picture frame and a pen.
Behind that sat a deep burgundy leather-desk-chair that reclined to an almost obscene angle.
There were only two small table lamps - one near the door atop a wicker table that clashed with the rest of the room's executive motif.
The absence of overhead light casted shadows within the corners, spilling beneath the desk.
Dante faced her, sitting on his desk with his arms crossed, a sight normally welcoming, but she felt betrothed to tension instantly.
His expression was so cold, looking ridiculously hostile, even for him.
"Uh, hey. I-uh, I tried calling you the past two days, but you never answered. Are you doing okay?" She spoke in a soft, gentle voice.
Vergil raised an eyebrow at her.
"You're awfully calm. Why do you care?" He replied casually.
Lady sighed and leaned over slightly, letting him see some generous cleavage.
"Why? Because, you're my friend."
"Friend, huh? More like assistant. You take what you want from me and then leave. Typical smug human behavior." He readjusted his arms and looked at his boots.
"Where did that come from?" She questioned.
Awkward silence dominated the two for a moment.
He didn't feel like talking, and didn't really care if she did.
Dante's missing, and he had no idea what to do to make sense of what happened.
"Look. I came here to say this." She took in a long breath, then exhaled slowly and reached out to touch his arm.
"I'm gonna say it only once, so please listen. I'm not giving up on our friendship."
His lids widened, not intensely so, but enough to look alienating. His head cocked to the side, aloof to her idea.
He looked down at her gloved hand as it touched the side of his bicep, the presence warm and strangely kind.
She spoke quietly towards him.
"I'm going to fix the cracks between us, no matter what. I-. . . I value you."
For a moment, Vergil's thoughts changed.
She came all this way just to say this to him?
Wait a second. . .
She was saying this to Dante.
"Although, I found it particularly bizarre that you yelled at Morrison, for no good reason. . ." Her words delivered serious confusion to him.
Morrison? He hadn't yelled at Morrison.
Lady's face drooped from a riling smile to a slightly worried disappointment.
The weird look 'Dante' was giving her was sincerely confused.
"Morrison told me he offered a job to you and you screamed at him, and I quote: 'How dare you bring such a low class job to me, you mortal trash. Know your place, lest you make me punish you.'"
Lady humorously recounted the supposed call, but he didn't seem to acknowledge this either.
"Hmph, sounds a little too formal to be me." He replied darkly.
"But-. . . Why would you do that?" She asked.
"If you're trying to make me laugh, Lady, It's not going to work." He replied a bit agitated, "Why would I refuse a job at all, then say those kinds of erudite words?"
Vergil's smoldering gaze made her laugh inside a bit.
"You've been. . . Rather over-the-top recently." She said, explaining, "It doesn't sound very far removed from how you've been talking. Pretty arrogant, if you'll 'pardon my horrible transgression.'"
Her sarcasm fell flat to his stone face. So, she sighed to herself and struck a pensive look down.
Vergil's expression broke apart. He held his forehead tightly. This isn't who he was supposed to be. This wasn't his life.
Lady's worried about Dante, not him.
What was he doing? What the hell is she talking about? He'd been sleeping for perhaps two days.
"Are you okay? Please answer." Lady stated more urgently, her voice cracking.
Vergil took a moment to feel the back of his head.
Well, it seemed screwed on.
"I'm fine." He said through a glare.
"Dante? What day is it?" Lady asked, and straightened herself.
Vergil rubbed his temples.
"Friday."
"Slow down, cowboy. Count back from fifteen."
Too drained to argue, he relented, "Fifteen, fourteen. . . Five. . . Seven. . . Shelubist. . ." He trailed off.
"Well, now I know there's something off." Lady said, now somewhat more concerned, "Can you remember anything that happened in the last two days?"
He coughed, then said, "Heh, what are you babbling about? Enough silly-talk."
"Dante, you do realize that you didn't count properly right? Not to mention you don't remember your heated convo with Morrison. What's going on?" Lady knelt over the side of the desk again, to his right.
Vergil wouldn't deny that she was a pretty woman any longer, he'd be a fool to lie to himself.
Still, he didn't think she realized that she frequently showed him her. . . 'Assets,' whether intentional or not.
He spoke at last, breaking the silence.
"I've been robbed, I think. . ."
"What?" Lady replied, "When?"
"I'm not sure." He muttered.
Once more, he felt her hand touch his arm.
"Leave it to me." She said with a smirk, "Tracking down thieves is a specialty of mine."
Without waiting for an answer from him, she turned back and went for the front door.
Leaving him alone.
Again.
Vergil sighed, and he decided to move on his own.
There's no point in sitting here, doing nothing.
He could try to track down the strange smell that infiltrated his nostrils.
What was that disgusting stench anyway?
Whoever left it, they were going to regret having even been born.
The world was cruel.
He was crueler.
. . .
Dark rivers are flowing back into the past. That's how Vergil perceived the winds that slashed and cracked down through the city streets this time of year.
The wind grew cold and bitter when the sun went down. When it came to lying low, there was an option to walk around in plain sight, disguised. It did have some kind of its own merit.
Or. . . He had done it before so many times on a daily basis, as patience was something he was proficient at, unlike Dante. . . His nose led him to the seediest bar ever, or what his conception of one was.
For a moment he stood there stilted, a pure kind of rage threatening to emerge. His fists crackled with fury, small ions dancing around his knuckles like plasma to a star.
The gravity of the situation crushed his shoulders, and he had enough anger to negate.
An inferno of torment rumbled through his chest just as a breeze from the AC unit wistfully blew by.
His fists tightened to the point of grinding his own flesh, unsure what was more horrid.
He: The last son of Sparda entering such a disgusting place.
Some filthy bastard, an abhorrent criminal, mired in revolting human arrogance, had the nerve to enter his office and steal his brother's corpse. . . Just like that.
The bar door felt sturdy as Vergil pulled it back, the light piercing the hazy darkness to reveal the disgusting simians inside. It all had these darkened, grey walls.
On his immediate left, there were some framed photos on the wall. The stools were of a faded maroon, the faux leather finish having several cuts and holes in them.
The door hinges themselves needed to be oiled, the paint was chipping off of the wood entrance itself.
His eyes scrutinized the innards until he spotted one man, seated in the far left aisle of booths that were isolated from the rest of the patrons on the right.
Vergil's face crinkled into a disturbing sneer.
His hair mostly hid his face from view.
The twilit corridor was dirty, and he could see rats scampering about. In no way were these rodents normal. Their eyes were pure blood, and when they caught a whiff of him, they screeched and skittered.
They made desperate pleas for his flesh, scampering towards his feet as if he were fetid tissue.
Vergil rolled his eyes and stomped his foot down, crushing one instantly. The rest fell in line, as Vergil didn't even need to use a weapon.
He glared his eyes, and they macerated into strips of rodential meat that painted the floor. He shook his head and continued his casual walk past the scum.
The slayer knew who this was.
There was another decorated door with a small set of bars to peek through.
He didn't wait.
The slayer just kicked the door down. A patron touched his shoulder. A half-second later, the man's head bounced on the floor, severed.
That was enough to get the visitor's fleeing. So, this was where he chose to send him, a dive bar not even fit for lowly scum like Charlie Sheen.
And yet, Vergil found himself in a cylinder-shaped hallway. It was quite a bit smaller and too clean for such an ugly place.
There were a number of candles scattered around. Right in front of it stood the man he had been following for a long while, with all his despicable glory.
The man trembled slightly, and for some reason, avoided looking anywhere close to him. Did the man not see him?
The weasel's lips moved, speaking into something.
"It's done, I got my share."
The man looked down at a steel blade struck through the table in front of him.
Swallowing a lump in his throat, he gazed to his right. . . Through the smoke, he appeared.
The devil-man had veins all over his pale face, and he was grinning madly. It was that kind of glare that crushed hope.
"Ahehehe. . . Found you." Vergil mocked him with a monotone delivery; a predator had found it's prey.
The man ground his teeth and took a hold of a candle.
"I-! I knew I would run into someone like you." His voice held a tremor, yet, he immediately tossed the candle toward Vergil.
Vergil stood still as his figure phased somewhat, his arm looking like a crimson blur for all three nanoseconds.
So puny and pathetic, a candle as defense. He split in half without any effort. 'Don't make me laugh,' he thought to himself.
"You just made your last mistake." He spoke in a cacophonous malice, "I'm here for the body you stole."
He then remembered an egregious err. The one thing he should have known to avoid.
When he'd come back, he'd chosen to leave Dante's amulet with his body, out of pure respect.
That's right; Sparda was only Force Edge now, he wondered how long it would take for them to put it together, that they needed both his amulet and the fabled blade.
And then the next step, the blood of Sparda. . . Dante. . .
The meek target spun around and darted away like a rat into a sewage drain, releasing an inky smoke that Vergil banished instantly.
When the dust settled, the man had gone into hiding behind a number of wooden boxes scattered across the room. It literally looked like a stealth game level.
What good is pain when it's merely the vehicle for release? What good is life when it's only the transformer for stupidity?
"You're a monster! Creatures like you left a tragedy in my home. The savior is on my side!" The man replied, moving between the boxes.
His attention was glued to the escape route, so he couldn't see how obvious his movements were.
Vergil's expression changed and the wide grin broke away from his face. Rapturous hatred arrived.
"Me, a monster. Hmm-ehehehehe. . . ! You honestly believe calling me what I am is going to stop me? I was bred this way, you insufferable trash-heap.
You still don't understand. You've tainted my brother's grave, and so the earth demands penance. I'm going to salt it, one member of the order at a time. You're going down." He finished in a bestial growl.
The deepness in his voice projected far, rumbling through the support beams.
With a look in his eye that was unbearable to a human's, his innocence corrodes.
The slayer appeared above the man, touching the floor one second later. He grabbed the weasel by the front of his face, and so the animal trembled and cried.
"P-Please! I have kids at home, I need to be there!"
Vergil chuckled.
"Well, then they'll grow up orphans."
The man felt heat spread from the top of his head like he was combusting.
His body started to move in reaction to the temperature.
The man scrambled, trying anything he could to get away, but Vergil's metallic fist tightened around his skull.
"No! Don't do this. . . Please!" He cried out.
Vergil lowered him down and crushed his hand closed.
A sickening fountain erupted from his exposed throat, and a gurgling sound droned on before the man went limp.
Must have been an involuntary reflex for that to happen.
The body fell back, and Vergil stared at the human mulch within his hand.
Within an instant, a fire engulfed him, burning the remains to a crisp and cleansing the environment.
Hell, he wasn't feeling kind that day.
No one was here to keep him restrained to doing the right thing.
He took Rebellion and in a moment, he allowed the lit candles to fall to the floor.
The building began to burn, scorching into the ground as ashen pillars crumpled, crashing down in front of the door.
He'd grown tired of protecting these insufferable humans. The way he was feeling right now, they all deserved to die.
As it came undone, the whole building was left a smoldering ruin, with red trucks pulling up just about five minutes too late.
Tormented screams had no effect on him.
The veins on his face receded as he came to his normal senses.
Did he really hate humans so much?
Everything seemed a little hazy to him.
Perhaps this was just like the 'Morrison incident,' as he'd begun to put it.
And yet, as he looked around, Vergil felt a sudden change of air.
Like time itself stopped.
Once he gazed up, in front of him, upon the rooftop of a building directly adjacent. . .
There stood a red-haired young man; he didn't look any older than 16.
The boy stared at him with cute puppy eyes, like irresistible sugar cubes.
Dressed in an all-black, Japanese high school boy's uniform, the teen looked as if he'd stepped straight out of a generic anime. He had fingerless black gloves and his face was fair.
"Judas Priest, another old foe. What's the name you've given yourself, child? Oh right, Elias."
"You still remember me? I'm touched." The young man had a strangely enchanting voice, to the point no human could resist the allure.
This was a particularly hateful demon. A pied piper who would gain your trust, then rip it out without care.
But Vergil was no man, he wasn't sure any part of him was human anymore.
"How could I forget Ulmarag's bitch?" He spat at the boy, "I said it before, you should run the next time you see me."
Though overconfident, Elias' face fell into a scowl.
Vergil grumbled loudly, "You love courting Death, don't you?"
"I'm a demon, this is what I am. I hunt for food and for my own fun." The boy responded.
Elias then struck an overdramatic pose,
"You belonged to my master once. You were meant to die there, and so let us all feast on you. Still, I suppose this is a better way to burn the remains of Sparda."
"Come and try." The slayer replied, drawing his katana.
"Is this anger why you wanted to kill your brother? Perhaps he hurt you too, so you wanted to kill him as revenge. He was always better than you." Elias commented.
"You remember Temen-ni-gru don't you? Why, in this world, would you want to give us access, when you know we'd come after you?"
Vergil frowned.
"Mind games don't work on me." He replied.
Elias smiled and started pacing toward him, slowly. His eyes shimmered red, "Really? You were so hungry for power, you were willing to sacrifice Dante just to claim it."
Vergil felt his fingers tighten.
"That's not what happened."
"Maybe, but it feels true, doesn't it?" Elias's voice started echoing.
"I wonder what your mother's going to say when she finds out about it; I wonder what would Patty think when she finds out it was you who helped expose her to the existence of demons."
Vergil's vision slowly began to blur.
"Vergilius Sparda, how could you do this!?" A feminine voice on the verge of tears spoke into his ear. That's it.
Vergil rushed forward, despise full-frontal.
In one move, he plunged Yamato forward in a violent tempest.
Elias danced around his barrage, but he still caught a few hits.
"There's no use! You're still the same murderer who brought chaos upon the lands." Elias mocked more, "What would Jessica think, hmm? Your little whore."
Quickly, before Elias could respond with a follow-up line, Vergil swiftly punched him in the abdomen, a rock-hard gauntlet liquifying his innards.
He dove down with his blade and carved a large gash into Elias's left cheek, all down to his chest. He kicked-in the boy's knee, breaking the joint backwards.
Vergil held up the boy by his shirt collar, that smug face delivering him an arrogant smile.
"Why are you helping them, the ones who stole my brother? Grave-robbing a dead man doesn't help you." Vergil interrogated the demon.
Fighting him was a bit annoying, since thanks to the incubus's powers, Vergil actually couldn't use his devil trigger.
It made trying to assume the form painful, rather than enjoyable, suppressing the regenerative properties of the form in favor of activating universal phantom pains.
The dark thrill replaced by a squelching agony; no thank you. So, he instead relied on other ways of destructive force.
In kind, Elias stomped upon the slayer's right foot, and a hidden blade ejected out of the tip of his shoes.
In a strange twist, the boy raised his legs and attacked in a flurry of kung fu kicks, his knee healed instantly.
Vergil was forced to back off as the boy kept up his attack, intent on slitting the man's throat.
Elias was so arrogant, it spurned the slayer forward to be as brutal as possible. The insidious boy got lucky and struck the left side of his hip.
The blood seeped as his crimson eyes began to glister back at his opponent.
The most the boy could do with his arms was block attacks, a brilliant strategy for a demon who never lost stamina.
"Relax, I don't want to kill you," Elias leaned back and kept his footwork frantic, "There's still more for you to see. We all want you to suffer."
Vergil smirked and shook his head.
"Kids; they're so idiotic . . ." He said aloud.
Elias became enraged, swirling his legs around for a pouncing roundhouse that failed as Vergil's face felt like a truck tire.
The boy's ribs still felt like mush, broken apart but healing steadily. It took concentration to heal his knee up like that, it hurt like hell.
As long as he could avoid another strike to his mid, he'd be fine. The man's statements could get under his skin though, that was a problem.
Leaping away mid-attack, Elias faked out the slayer, backflipping up onto the wall and then swinging himself up onto the roof of the next-door building.
Vergil's boots pushed back through the ash on the ground, the man jumping to the rooftop after the rotten boy's dirty trick.
Elias went for a hook kick, swiping the slayer's nose with his heel as they traded blows. It didn't even dislocate as the Vergil spun with the strike and whirled around with a fiery right cross.
The attack rocketed into the boy's face, slamming his skull out of proportion. He flew back and hit the side of the next building, falling down into the alleyway. He heard the boy crash into the sidewalk.
The red hunter followed closely, leaping up to throw a spiteful strike downward into the ground, but the cestus hit the pavement.
The boy barely managed to get out of the way as the impact released a blast of pyrokinetic energy.
He felt a searing flame engulf his legs, and metal fingers grasped his throat.
The flesh of his legs came apart, falling to the ground where his feet lay detached.
Blood dripped from his mouth as his burnt tendons drooped out, exposed.
As he held the mutilated teen several feet from the ground, he began to speak to him.
"You will talk. You will beg. Then, you'll have my permission to die."
"The amulets-. . . Hold the answer for them." Elias coughed, "But, you separated them, they've no idea how to put them back together on there own. At least, they believe that."
Vergil tightened his hold on the throat and brought him close to his face.
"Explain yourself you little imbecile."
Elias's bloodied face smirked back at him.
Just like, that he vanished from his grip.
Vergil remained silent in that empty place, so many thoughts going through his mind at once.
'And the Red soul will ride out from the North.'
North.
North. . .
North!
'That's Fortuna, the north city, of course! I lived there for a time; the red soul . . . Maybe!?'
It was a desperate measure for sure.
To be safe, he hightailed it back to the shop, hellbent.
Once there, he began loading up with whatever he'd need.
Outside, Lady Awaits
The woman stood, her built legs making such lengthy tasks easier in this weather.
She waited and waited for the man to return, but he never seemed to do so. She continued to wait in vain, so it seemed.
Around the back end, a weird set of noises arose.
She knew he hadn't come back yet, she would've seen him.
Then again, he was half a demon.
So, she made her way over and grabbed the welcome mat's edge. It hadn't been toughed in some time.
Peeling it off the ground, she grabbed the spare key and easily opened the door. Inside, she could see a variety of different aspects that all made for a familiar scene.
Strange though, she could swear he wasn't here. Perhaps it was just a rat in the alleyway, or gravity working it's magic on a stray piece of trash on a high surface.
Two plainly obvious sets of dusty footprints led her sight all the way to the backyard door.
"Grah!" He screamed, frustrated he wasn't able to wring more out of the boy. His expression changed to that of binding rage, and within seconds, his face growled something fierce, like a caged wolf.
A sense of frigid wind chilled him, starting to spread throughout his entire circulatory system.
He took a breath as he zoomed up the wall, lunging for the way home.
Flying above the building's, he made sure his jumps were perfectly timed.
It didn't matter what he was doing, just where he went.
Once his head cleared he heard the sound of a woman startled.
"Jeez, don't do that! Can't you just use the front door?" Lady shouted, holding her chest.
He'd just appeared before her, arriving with a thud in his small backyard.
She could see the disturbed ground, and observed that, beside the footprints were another murky pair she'd failed to notice beforehand.
Vergil didn't say anything, and simply waited for her to go on and blurt about why she came back.
One visit was enough, was there really something else already? So soon?
"Are you okay?" Lady asked, and crossed her arms.
However receiving no answer made her worry even more.
Nothing seems to be right with him today.
Well, 'right' as far as the last few times he'd met with her following his return.
"Well?" She said, tilting her head to the side.
"I'm fine."
"Okay. Anyways, I was able to figure out that some members of a cult called, 'The Order of the Sword' have been spotted here in town recently." She continued.
"Order . . . of the Sword." His cold voice replied.
"Yeah, they were real shifty-looking, easy to spot for the regulars in town. Word is it's a small congregation that gathers in the old Castilian castle town of Fortuna," She scoffed slightly.
"I never imagined they'd actually leave their place, pious religions like that don't just come down off mountain high into the big city.
I hit up my underworld contact, and they said they heard the order's been seeking the perfect amulets, along with a whole host of devil arms for some reas-" Lady got cut off.
'Dante' left the room, going to his weapons cabinet.
She heard him rummage through some stuff, eventually knocking over several pieces of furniture.
It sounded weird, and his silence made it even worse. Lady hated no communication.
"What are you doing?" She called out to him.
Something crashed, making a thunderous boom.
"Hey!" Lady ran up to see what was going on.
Vergil walked out, Force Edge in-hand, and he was wearing a tan cloak above his current outfit.
He went by her back downstairs, and so she followed him again.
She could see the hate, the sheer hurt painted across his face.
His eyes affixed themselves to the front door.
"Where are you going, Dante?"
He touched the handle and gazed back at her.
"To Fortuna, I have unfinished business to attend to."
"Do you. . .?"
He didn't wait for her to complete her snarky statement, there wasn't any time left to waist.
Vergil closed the door and looked up at the sky. Grim thoughts flooded his head, his hope of salvation drifting away. Now was the time for damnation, to destroy hope.
He would bring down an ungodly destruction to Fortuna and the order, himself alone, the ultimate harvester of sorrow.
"They are going to pay for this. I'll make them suffer. Every. Last. One of them."
Thank you for reading. I know this isn't much, Sorry. I hope you liked it at least. I've been feeling down lately.
Special thanks to my beta reader Angel wolf.