Bless you Turbo Sexaphonic :)
Did you read my answer to you before?
Chapter 15 ~ I Disappear
In the corner of the gloomy office, Modeus waited, again calling upon the young one to return and tell him what he sought. He drank enough to rival Dante, though both could never get buzzed.
At the bar he sat for her there, and ran an interested eye through the cozy, gothic space. The furniture, the feel of the whole studio reminded him fondly of Sparda's taste a bit, with some deviations.
It brought back so many memories, much more than he could say. They were the best of times, they were the worst of times. . . Funny the way things turned out, he never foresaw any of it.
The Priestess wasn't supposed to have any offspring. But, somehow. . . A child appeared to carry on this tragic legacy.
He wondered what Baul would feel if he didn't realize what was to come already. Hopefully, he's wrong, just paranoid.
Laying down the paper, given to him by Lady, he glanced out the stained window. Slowly, the place was getting empty.
He remembered that time, the way things were. Out from the old day's mists, images rekindled, though their luster faded.
Charlotte's long hair braided, wearing her favorite black satin skirt, with the beaded robe acting as an unconventional top, with fringes.
"I must say, you're one of the most amusing individuals I've ever 'the pleasure to know." He told her, sounding older than his face let on.
"Ahehe, who could've imagined? A demon complimented me." She laughed, just as she would laugh, the most gentle sound.
Unfettered by time, the persona, at it's core, was just the same as those days long gone.
. . .
He always believed devils weren't the same when it came to human emotions. But he realized, he was absolutely wrong.
He'd just realized it too late.
Charlotte already married someone. He'd give up everything to turn back time, and have another chance. But it's over, he wasn't blessed like Sparda. His darkest secret no one knew about.
Meeting her descendant awakened certain memories he buried a long time ago. The ideas didn't sit well with him, this was another person entirely, she didn't even have a concept of her.
Focusing back to the task ahead, he searched his mind for all that he knew of the wolves.
From several witnesses to the herds of animals found dead in mysterious piles, those who survived their encounters described the same thing.
Large two headed beasts.
The unfortunate fact was that the remaining son of Sparda left to Fortuna in the case of a robbery, and the other one had died long ago.
According to Lady, Vergil, the eldest, sought to reactivate Temen-Ni-Gru, raising hell for the sake of an old sword; their Father's true power.
If only he was there, he could've put a stop to that lunacy, without loss. Still a debt can be payed to the remaining Sparda, he could make things right.
Then came the first bold statement. The Order of The Sword were trying to break the fabric of death, freeing a weight that should not be lifted. All for what?
To make names for themselves among the living. Such arrogance, the single notion that Sparda could even be brought back. He was long gone, worn away by age unfortunately.
Even a being as mighty as he couldn't best Father Time, everything stops existing at some point. Sparda was just old, though Modeus wondered what was left of him, after so long.
Disgusted by the notion, he sat stewing for a time, not wanting to acknowledge what The Order had planned. . . Pious fools. . .
He did ponder on it, though. Perhaps he should visit the city. If not to stop this plot, then at least to see how much time had changed it's hallowed walls.
. . .
Lady entered the office at last, "Sorry I'm late."
"It's quite all right." He replied in his usual manner, "What did you figure?"
Lady took a seat next to him. This close proximity made him feel somewhat uncomfortable. He didn't know if he could control himself, should she grow nearer to him.
Whatever demonic grace he held could be overpowered by a strong enough impulse, it took all that he had to maintain this tranquility, to not be like his brother. . .
What was the name? The signature was rather difficult to read.
Lady spoke impatient: "Well nothing really makes sense. I found this message from someone named 'Saint Dicks. . .' Or something like that."
Modeus put his fingers to his head, and sighed in exasperation at her immaturity.
"Haah. . . Do you mean Sanctus?" He asked flatly.
"How do you know that?" She asked him.
"There are somethings I know inherently, Fortuna speaks to me. He's someone important, I know this for certain. He's been there for a long time."
The man felt uncomfortable, as his subtle relation with the city left him feeling like one of those old coots whom were too invested or afraid that they would fail to act, despite being charged with this duty.
He couldn't tolerate this dynamic, feeling it picked on his every moral. How was he, someone indebted to Sparda, unable to stop Vergil from his path? He'd failed in his duties.
Perhaps that's what this was. It was some sort of elaborate punishment against him, resolving to destroy his every thread of sanity in return for the failure to save Sparda's children; his legacy.
This was consequence's nature, picking away at the host with guilt till they went insane from the pain they surely were familiar with.
He knew he was headed for the bottom at this rate, the bleeding on his soul making his stomach knot.
It's not like he missed it on purpose, he was growing old. People his age needed rest to remain, lest he fade to black.
"You're not wrong," She commented, "I didn't get much on the Order, but this Saint Dicks is most definitely the guy in charge."
"Sanctus. So, do you think this Order is behind the appearance of the wolves?"
"I honestly don't know, but. . . Yeah, probably. Dante only went there to get back what was stolen, unless. . ."
She let her mind run back over the people downtown. She had been there and most people knew her, or knew of her.
There had been that nice middle-aged woman - Mrs. Johnson. She told her about the men of the order she saw, wandering around. White hoods and brown cloaks; creepy cult stuff for sure.
They were skulking around, wearing metal masks that looked like they belonged on old knights from fairy tails. Then there was Dr. Holbrook. He was a local medicine man, had a small practice off Hovley.
He said he'd seen them acting shifty, spelunking about harassing other people who got in their way; unfriendly guys. After a while, just before they disappeared, he saw them carrying a big duffle bag.
It was human-sized, in fact it was large enough to house a sizable animal, almost a lion or tiger. This was backed up by Mr. McMahon, a retiree who said he saw them carrying a dirt-covered body-bag.
So it was definitely down to a crooked science, these guys were incompetent at not being seen. Thankfully, she was able to discern their theft with ease, though the connections to a body were. . .
Unnerving. If they'd stolen from Dante. . . What had they taken?
Did he have something buried in his backyard? Or was it just a huge collection of his weapons, maybe some familial artifacts or something?
She had no way to know, but the entire city certainly noticed it's strange intruders.
And, a day after all that, she heard howling rumors spread about werewolves.
Many locals had retreated to their homes earlier than usual on this particular street, the recent spooks making parents nervous. It was like Grimm folk tale, wolves attacking children wandering after dark.
This was strange too, demons typically lie low, surely those who followed Sparda would be smart enough to be subtle, inconspicuous. Things were ramping up, and far sooner than she wanted.
Both sat in Dante's abode, drinking coffee of different styles. Hers was a cappuccino, his was a sweetened cup of good ol' fashioned brew.
They hadn't spoken aloud for a few minutes now, the memory of Sparda and his offspring affecting their sociability even more.
"I think we should meet up with Dante." Modeus broke the silence, "Perhaps we would find the answer with him. If he's already in Fortuna, it would serve our time well for this mystery."
"Good thinking, lets leave today. I'm sure he's fine, but we need to get there as fast as we can if we want answers." She replied and took a breath.
Things were moving fast, at least. Time often stood still in moments like this, making it a great place to contemplate dark thoughts.
It was time to leave, time to hit the road for that grand old reason; answers. There was always something they never knew the answer to, whether it be her and Dante, or this new friend.
Truth be told, she enjoyed the newcomer, his aura was calming even though she didn't trust him as far as she could throw a truck. Her serious demeanor betrayed her growing friendliness.
It was late in the day now, the sun was still there, blistering down despite it being winter. Making sure they both knew how they would get to Fortuna, she prepped her things.
Every gun she could think of, she packed away on some part of her body, using blessed ammunition.
Though incomparable to Dante's own firearms, the use of Holy Water-soaked bullets would be useful in combating fiends from the dark.
Lady walked out the front door, ready to depart for the city. It was dark out, they'd spent all night gathering more intelligence.
Modeus would seek a different route, claiming he had other business to take care of, whatever that may be. She would be going by boat, the town located somewhat off the beaten path.
Her motorcycle was parked by the edge of the sidewalk, out in front of the change meter she never used. The wide square where they'd fought her father. . . Still brought black feelings to her chest.
She'd done up her green jacket over a white blouse, with brown gloves over her strong hands. Her black short-shorts went well with this color scheme, decked out with ammo packs and other tools.
Her hazel biker boots clicked against the sidewalk, and the amazonian slung her huge cannon over her back, lugging her other bags towards the vehicle.
It was a sizable cycle, big enough for a person like herself certainly, even allowing room for all her equipment to be strapped in.
When she reached her bike, a silhouette nearby stopped her.
The figure was small, minuscule by comparison to the towering blades of power that made up this city's skyline. She looked foreign, not really belonging in a bleak world like this.
Was it real? The figure looked almost creepy, standing there in shadow, watching her intently. She tensed slightly, unsure to trust the stranger.
"Excuse me! Lady?" A child spoke to her, and a blonde stepped from the dark, her braided hair hidden by a brown cap
They'd only really been together briefly, but Lady remembered her. She was that girl in Dante's care, taken some other place the day they'd fallen out, that much she could tell.
What was her name. . . Paris? Penny? Patty, that's right! Patty. Well, good to know Dante had done a good job taking care of her, or else she would've marched on the slayer's neck for that one.
What was she doing here? The sight of something so innocent seemed out of place.
"Patty, right?" Lady's face softened, her trepidation evaporated. She wondered why the kid would seek her now.
"How do you know?" The girl cocked her head to the side, raising her left eyebrow, "Am I a celebrity or something?"
Lady smiled at her, "Uh-Hum, You uh-. . . Am I that forgettable? We've already met. I came by when you couldn't get Dante to wake up, remember?"
Patty's face brightened with surprise, and the fringe fell back into place over those eyes, sparking the memory to light.
"Oh! Yes! Yeah, wow. . . I'm sorry I didn't recognize you!" She nervously corrected herself, embarrassed.
Her cheeks lit up like a christmas tree, and Lady couldn't help but smile. The little thing was so cute, it was hard to believe being around her hadn't changed Dante in some way.
"It's okay, what's up? Are you looking for Dante?" She asked, intent to followup with the lowdown.
Patty's face abruptly shifted to sadness.
"Do you know where he is? Please, can you tell me? I've been trying to reach him for days now, but he just seems to have disappeared." Patty said, trying her hardest to stand tall and be tough.
But her young voice failed her.
Lady sighed and came to her, placing a motherly hand atop her head, "I'm sorry, he left for a job. I don't think he's coming back today."
The girl's eyes lit up, the most lovable optimism shining through those baby-blues.
"Can you take me to him!? I promise I won't be in the way, I just want another chance to see him."
Lady was taken aback, the small child irrefutably sincere, and impossible to let down without feeling horrible afterwards.
"I-ah-. . . I-I can't, the place where I'm heading is dangerous." She said, trying to let the girl down easy, "I think it'd be a bad idea."
"Oh come on, please? I'll follow your orders I promise!" The girl struck a comical army pose, hand up to salute, "I'll stay out of trouble, ma'am."
Patty had to meet him again, too self-conscious to say the reason out loud to the older woman.
. . .
His eyes showed the kind of gentle concern no one had ever shown her before.
He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and, instead of flinching as he had the first time she met him, she felt soothed by it.
He left his hand there and spoke, "You can still visit me in the shop, anytime ya want." He spoke, she felt his words reassuring, just by the way he said them.
Those blue eyes carried frost to anyone else, but not for her. She only ever received kindness from him, and now it was time to say goodbye to that.
Fear was her superpower. . .
. . .
Lady stared down at the kid, wanting to walk away like nothing happened. But she couldn't say no, that little girl's face desperate with that kind of purity only someone untouched by darkness could yield.
It's hard to reject that. Looking down at the girl, she made a hard decision, but it was a decision nonetheless. She didn't know how someone hadn't told the little girl of Dante's leaving, Morrison should've.
She'd need to have a stern talking-to with the handler, his communication lacking in these difficult times.
"Okay. . . Hop on. You can't come with me when we get into the citadel, but you can go as far as when we reach the city. You'll stay in a safe house, deal?"
"Deal!" Patty exclaimed with a chirpy smile, and she jumped on the motorcycle.
The damn thing nearly fell over, the little girl inexperienced with the vehicle despite finding it most awesome.
Lady grinned to herself, unable to stifle a laugh as Patty struggled to maintain balance. She grabbed hold of the steering and easily straightened it, holding the girl upright.
Sitting behind the child, she placed her helmet on the young orphan, then revved up the engines. And they were good to go.
In the middle of the ride, Lady decided to ask.
"Why do ya wanna see Dante? Are you having some trouble?"
Patty didn't answer at first, and it seemed like the helmet was running interference, an eternity of silence went by.
The little girl opened the black glass-plate, and replied.
"I miss him. I wanted to take a walk with him at sunset, visit the park at night, and then go get ice-cream in the morning."
Lady smiled at the fact that the kid loves Dante. He could still be sweet if he wanted to be. That was something at least.
Maybe he wasn't so different now after all.
Far above the wintry air, the sky birthed black clouds as it had done since December came. The harbor was as grey as a newspaper clipping.
The sea surrendered her sapphire, the stones showed no russet colors, and the boats had taken on the monochrome look of old black-and-white movies. Even the air tasted more dull, if it was possible.
The wind whipped salt into their eyelashes and onto exposed skin, all the while the trams ran along the beachside with a clatter and whir. They were near their destination alright.
An old, coastal fishing town, with beautiful sights and classic architecture. It was a forerunner to Fortuna's supposed old-world charm.
There was an old man watching them.
"Hey Morgan, sorry I'm late." Lady spoke.
The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible journey. His eye-lines told of laughter, of warm smiles and affection. His forehead told of worries-past and worries-present.
But mostly, they were so deeply engrained, that they told of a man who had travelled through eight decades to that moment; just to stand here. As an old man, beaten and forlorn.
To be dismissed as 'old' when he was so much more than the sum of his parts was a crime against humanity.
"No problem, I'm glad to sail anytime, anywhere."
He was kindly, inviting them in a certain warmth only a grandfather could have.
The two girls jumped over the railing, to the deck of the small vessel, and waited for him to prepare the ship for take off.
The ocean before them laid a short path, Fortuna wasn't very far from mainland, to the point it was just considered as part of the land itself. There were a few bridges connecting it, but they were down.
Bad weather had ruined them, making access by land improbable. So, the next best thing was a boat ride. There was a certain allure to this old craft, the fresh spray of the water filling them with ease.
"Well, settle in, it may take an hour or two to get past all these sand islands. The port's on the other side facing the ocean-proper." Sad but true, this inconvenience.
Still, they didn't mind it so much.
"Do you have stories to tell, then?" Patty asked.
Morgan finished prepping the sail rig, and went for the bow.
"As a matter of fact, little lady, how about I tell you of an adventure I had four years ago? That should kill time for us to get there, the sun'll rise just as we reach her shores."
He was like an old pirate. Well, cleaner and far better-mannered than any historical ones, so maybe that's not the best analogy.
An old navy-man, yes that suits him better.
The girl agreed to his offer, sitting wide-eyed, while Lady crossed her legs and gazed out to the swirling views. Wind rustled her hair, and she closed her eyes.
"I'm listening. . ." Replied the young Lowell.
An hour went by, and Patty began to fall asleep on the wide chair inside, opposite of the bow. The old man had finished his story, entertaining them with his kid-friendly humor and experienced pacing.
The boat rolled left and right, like a leaf on a windy day. Torrents of rain came down with enough force to sting flesh, thankfully Morgan had worn his raincoat.
Substandard weather just made it all the more difficult to see and assess their quarry. The rumbling thunder, and flashing lightning certainly didn't help Lady's nerves much.
'Just made her all the more uneasy. Deep down, she could feel that something was incredibly amiss. Where they were heading towards felt twisted, and she didn't like that.
She didn't like it one, single bit.
The mercenary sat behind the captain, with her pistol in her left hand.
Lady just sat, staring blankly at it.
She pressed the trigger several times, knowing full well the safety was on. The gun resisted her of course, yet she kept on pressing. It relaxed her in a weird way, like one of those wood-grip stress toys.
Early morning hour, and the boat docked at Fortuna's harbor, lonely just like a cloud. A trapdoor of depressive stain of mind, the entire marina was barren.
Patty looked through the window, a bit surprised.
"Uh, are islands supposed to look weird like this?" She wondered loudly.
"I don't know what to say lass. First time I've seen an empty harbor as abandoned as this." Morgan commented.
Lady stood outside, observing the deserted place. Indeed, there was a bizarre aura dominating it. No one was here, the entire market looked halfway closed, and halfway still open.
Something had driven these people away, made them flee in a hurry. What could it have been? Probably something demonic. This wasn't a good start.
Something vibrated around her neck.
Tugging, she ripped it off and looked. Charlotte's necklace was shining, glowing white for some reason.
"Patty?" She called to her, the little girl stuck her head out of the captain's quarters.
"Yes?"
"Stay here with Morgan, I'll bring Dante when I can find him."
"Okay." She shouted back playfully.
Even though deep down she wanted to find Dante herself, she would respect Lady's concerns.
Still, it's no fun at all waiting anxiously here.
In the half-light of dawn, the street was eerie. It wasn't just that it was a still day; the air simply didn't move. The leafy avenue was bereft of noise, as if every murmur and rustle was stolen away.
The sky was empty, not just of birds, but of clouds also. There was no weather at all here; even the sunlight felt cold. Where had the life gone? The city's vitality seemed just outright sapped.
Lady was about to continue onward, when from the distance came a series of tinny clangs. It was like the sound of an old can bouncing down the road after a wedding car, but without the engine rumbling.
Or the hiss of tires on wet asphalt. It grew louder, then softer, then louder again. At first it appeared to come from in front of her, then from behind.
In only brief moments, the noise came from every direction, getting closer, growing louder, more frantic. . .
The four horsemen came, and sat astride their black steeds, amidst the street in blackened armor. Blood stained their Nightmare's flamed hooves, and echoes of screams followed their every step.
It was the closest thing such demons can come to happiness. With steel, onyx and spiked, they carried news of their deeds on smiling skulls of death, glowing a ghoulish green from their fiery eyes.
There was a whole city to kill and nothing to stop them.
War.
To her surprise, the sound she heard before was a number of bodies dragged along the bricks behind them, tied to their otherworldly horses.
What the hell happened here?
Before she could defend herself, a sound rattled the place, shaking the very ground as much as the buildings.
"Veni fructum Durga." She heard a familiar tone.
A black fog engulfed the ground, and in the middle of it arose yet another daemon, whom looked like a human visage wise, but it's skin was dark pink, and it's other features orcish.
Four horns emerged from it's face, two of them pointing downward from the sides of it's pointed chin, and the others stuck right up, looking much more elongated. They curved back, like true devil horns.
It seemed he had no eyes, a metal guard screwed in over both it's peepers, much like the shop doors to the sides. It's mouth was a perennially smiling suite of fangs, crooked and sharp.
The new creature screeched a sound horrid enough to make her cover her ears out of pain.
"Walk away, young one." She heard the familiar voice of Modeus call out to her.
She didn't need to here it twice and she took off running down an alley, deeper into the 'holy' city.
The Horsemen blistered the earth, terminating as one. They launched after the Lady, Modeus himself taking demonic form as an armor, one-headed Wolf himself.
They rode across the city roofs, opposition of her escape coming as an agitated mutilation of physics. True death of life surrounded her, bodies hung by their necks in the streets.
She ran as fast she could, her athletic build making her surprisingly fast by comparison to her grim friends. Bursting through alley after alley, the city's Venice-type layout made her cranky.
Smoldering decay took her breath away, the stench of murder nevermore, the four continuing their dance of the dead, whipping across the broken bricks across the town.
Winter they sent after her, the frigid chill returning, never mending itself back to the lifeless feel of the harbor. The chase continued, killing what might have been as they went.
Fire, then a blackened burst of psychic fury destroyed an archway above her, sealing off the path behind as Modeus swooped down to face off against the four devils.
All was said and done, no love lost as their battle commenced, the female mercenary continuing her pace off into the distance.
She couldn't be careful, the horsemen may come for her still, throwing her name into obscurity when they would catch her.
She rooted for her devilish friend, the trustworthy Modeus making his stand against the wailing danse macabre behind.
A new area of the city, this time a town square, though there were many like it already. She darted through, taking little time to decide her direction.
From the gloomy darkness lurked random demons, lesser than those she'd evaded before. Lady could take care of these ones herself but she had to keep herself moving too.
Like a light-footed deer, Lady grasped her bazooka, then launched it's blade like a pole-arm, stabbing Kalina Ann into the face of a wandering scarecrow. It stumbled a few feet away, turning to ash.
She wouldn't give it the satisfaction of seeing her. Then, she took out her Uzi. One of her favorites, she held Kalina back to her side as she sprinted forward into infested walkways.
Bullets flew out the chamber and across the air elegantly, the shell aimed for the target beyond. As it pushed itself on, with great speed, it gained in proximity, rocketing close by to it's victim.
Hanging for a moment as the adrenaline catalyzed, it struck all her obstacles, and all of her struggle prevailed.
When the being of sin and disgrace trifled with her progress, they'd receive a shot in the head, courtesy of Lady.
All the scarecrows torn to shreds, the ghasts blown to smithereens, and the reapers sown shut. For a human, she wreaked more havoc than any demon ever could.
Further and further she pushed her way through, all this attention stripping her of inhibition.
Once silence governed, Lady finally took a moment to breath and relax. And then, something struck so loud, the noise was countless magnitudes louder than any piddly thunder.
The roar was at an intensity she'd never experienced before. The buildings around her were shaken like a doll houses. Glass shattered. She could here the sound of people panicking inside their houses.
So, there were some people still alive. . . Admittedly not a pressing issue at the moment, but still.
And just like that, it stopped with a rolling clap.
"What the-!?" She shouted. Sparda's statue stood before her. Right behind the building she could see a dark cloud, a sinister smoke of some kind, rising.
It seems to be coming from within the forest and a mountain nearby.
Lady traversed all the paths, trying to reach the black smoke tainting the sky. Her road led her to a snowy place. . . It seemed closer to the smoke.
She took a moment, absorbing the environment. It wouldn't be any use to just run down the first path she saw. Walking across the snow-covered, stone platform, the rock began to shift.
A watchtower to her left trembled, slowly collapsing, striking the base of the platform she stood upon. It overlooked a view of the ocean and the mountainside, now obscured by pressuring stone.
Lady ducked under debris as the monument splintered.
The platform began to slide down the mountain, racing down the cliff with her scrambling amongst the wreckage.
Holding steadfast, she clung to the flat surface as much as possible, the speed growing more and more as the fall continued to grow and grow.
Towards the bottom of the slope, a host of pillars blocked her way, the gold and concrete ground beyond them leading to the under-carriage of a bridge that led further out to sea.
Time for a leap of faith.
Stepping to her feet, she managed to stand on the diagonal platform, using the knifed edge of her missile-launcher to gain footing as she manned a jump.
Timing was key.
Just as the runaway ground collided with the columns, she flung herself forward, using Kalina Ann's positioning as a slingshot for herself against the kinetic raceway.
Turning, she fired off one round from the weapon, and the explosion shot her higher, blasting her much farther than the edge of the small, circular stage. Airborne, she took to the next closest thing.
The Gran Album Bridge. She managed to just barely clear the edge, landing on her feet, and stumbling forward into one of the supports. It broke her momentum hard, she barely survived somehow.
Pain radiated out to her knees, and she barely kept her balance. Stumbling back after the collision, she felt her arms ache from having guarded against the stone construct.
Behind her, the ruined platform slid off into the ocean, crashing into the Adam's ale with a deafening noise, unleashing a massive wave that enveloped the whole walkway.
The winter turned the seas frigid, in a mass of ice water, she froze on the spot.
She yelped, grabbing her elbows to try and keep warm as it rocked her back into the stone pillar.
"Gah!"
She was left soaked, her mascara running, and absolutely chilled to the bone.
"S-So much for. . . A v-vacation." She managed to quip through tremors.
. . . With evil unbound, they make their stand against one another, the dark slayer exhausted but valiant
Sanctus launched a stream of lightning from his hands, intent to electrify Vergil. It struck the ground, spreading across it like an ocean.
Vergil leaped off just in time.
He twisted backward mid-air. Yamato sparked purple as the katana sliced the shield around the old man once again shattering it almost. He landed at the old man's podium, intent to talk back. He yelled bestial, the strikes feeling brutish.
Each time, Sanctus pulled back, closing the shield up again as the man broke through it, but never managed to reach him. Behind the profit landed Ulmarag, taunting.
Dropping to the ground, Vergil put the blade back in its home: "Get out of my way," he snarled.
Releasing it forth, he sent out a judgment cut.
The shield around the old man shattered and dissolved, and the old man began to fall to the ground in a complete shock.
Pushing off his feet, Vergil bolted forward in a blur and caught the bastard with a gauntleted fist. Time for Ifrit to play.
"Beg for help from your false god," He growled as they landed down in the floor, "Because you're gonna need it!"
Vergil flipped backward, and pile-drove him into the ground headfirst, with all of his bitter strength. The old man's body cracked on collision, leaving him dazed and confused.
Inhumanly keeling back up to his feet, the slayer brought him up by his robe and sent a punch to the old man's gut. A shockwave and saliva burst out, Sanctus grunting like an old and decaying motor.
It was followed by another, the shockwave bigger this time. He began to strike him again and again, assaulting him with blows from both fists. The rage poured out from his eyes.
Dealing bone-breaker after bone-breaker, he inflicted a slew of fire-laced punches that fragmenting about every bone in Sanctus's ribs, releasing every torment he was made to endure as retribution.
The machine gun of blows kept going till Vergil thought the old man had had enough, it was time to 'release' him from this suffering.
The savage beating stopped for a moment, Sanctus robes covered in blood, and the old man believing mercy befell him.
"You shall die." Vergil scorned his optimism, and gave him one last welt that shattered glass, pushing back an encroaching Ulmarag with the unmitigated winds of hatred.
Sanctus shot back off his feet, careening off the balcony and down far below into the bottom of the hall surrounding the savior.
He exhaled hoarsely as he stared down Ulmarag, watching him slowly approach, nodding his smug face in approval of Vergil's malice.
"No doubt about it. You're ready for the awakening, aren't you, boy?"
"You've crossed me for the last time," Vergil replied.
"Cliched words for a historic occasion. I'll miss your simplicity." The demon admitted to him, smoothly baritone as always.
"I want to know. . . Has someone like yourself ever felt fear?" Vergil suddenly changed the subject.
"I deal in terror, boy, I do not receive it."
"Ahehehe. . ." 'Dante' began laughing, a psychotic look gloaming from his eyes, "I have such experiences to show you!"
He raged forward, furiously pounding his fists at the Sandman, their powers colliding in a crimson ball of fire. Ulmarag threw a coiled swipe, knocking Vergil's legs to his side.
Mid-descent, the slayer punched the ground, righting himself with sheer momentum, and flew above an intended knee to his ribs, the attack jutting past him.
Disappearing in a blur of black lines, he re-emerged in the same spot standing straight, with a heel to Ulmarag's temple, breaking open the skin. It knocked the dream-master to his right a few feet.
He staggered forth as another punch met his ripped stomach, a burst of flames scorching his scar tissue. Grabbing hold of Vergil's forearm, the creature flung him around.
It threw him to the ground in a slam, and then stomped down on his side.
His insides roiled, flushing through him searing spleen.
Vergil took the kick in stride, followed by another. He heard a crack and realized one of his ribs had snapped in half. No matter, he was far above this pain.
Responding, he shoved the tail-end of his cleated-boot into the demon's groin, forcing him to let go.
It screamed at him, his fury from a low blow translating into a haymaker, though it was matched with a block as the acidic fellow darted to his feet.
Vergil unleashed a wave of flame with a baited swing, the hellfire burning Ulmarag's marked flesh darker shades.
Out from the inferno came the demon's silver-clawed hands, the metallic armor lining only his fingers belying the coils wrapped around his bloody knuckles.
The armored hand grabbed the man's face and dragged him forward. The beast let out a masculine roar into Vergil's ears as it cuffed the side of his head with it's other fist.
He stumbled back sanguinary. He couldn't break everything that reminded him of the past, he couldn't know to stop following this ideal.
The demon delivered a shockingly-fast brevity of strikes that caught the man off-guard, mirroring his assault on Sanctus slightly as it delivered an uppercut that sent the slayer flying.
The fight went airborne as the Demon spread his wings and soared after him, catching the boy, once so young, back in it's own element now.
With the pinions of a Raven, it launched feather's like daggers, pursuing the man's body with impaled furor. Claws struck like talons crushing heads, and it bulldozed him further up.
He felt it dig it's steely claws into his back, entrapping him in a back-breaking hold, and the Slayer reacted vehemently.
Grasping the demon's right shoulder with his left fist, he seared it's brawn without a thought.
It shrieked as he broke his right arm free from it's bearhug, and smashed Ulmarag's face with the cestus, bashing the metal wildly against the horned-savage's mug.
The monster would not release, instead digging it's claws deeper still. Finally clasping it's face with his right hand, he charged and released a catastrophic burn.
Charring the monster with a brilliant solar pulse, the two separated at last. Blood trails spewed from his back as he ricocheted away, the nails having been torn out by force.
They scraped out his back and left him reeling as both sides felt raw to the touch. A warm fluid covered his back, the blood blending easily with his jacket as it trickled out his back.
But the beast wouldn't let him be, roaring back in a furious onslaught. It played pinball with him, refusing to let the burns stifle it any longer.
This feud would end right here and now.
It knocked him around, blasting him higher and higher, bouncing him off walls and brutalizing his face with metal impact after metal impact.
The strikes left his looks broken, unrecognizable for the time being, and it countered all his hazy recoveries with more fierceness. The slayer tasted iron as the monster knocked him clear across the stage.
He recoiled, flipping abruptly with a small second wind, and his feet touched down against the Savior's leg. It easily stopped his momentum, and gave him enough opportunity to launch back sideways.
The slayer plunged his fist vertical, up from his perspective, and tried for a comeback as his old foe raced forward. Their knuckles collided in a blazing purity that shook the halls of this old monastery.
Instantly, the demon surged past him, moving to his back just above, and grabbed the back of the devil hunter's head.
In one, fluid movement, he shoved the man down to the bricks below, his face ultimately crashing into the floor.
A massive wave of dust covered the ground, kicking up from the clamor as the demon pinned Vergil's healing countenance to the ground, putting all the pressure on his forehead as he gripped his left arm.
He wrenched the boy's limb back, a crunch echoing as he screamed into the ground. When empowered, Ulmarag was vicious, he wanted to make this wretched child pay for their last bout, thoroughly.
He sat there, grinding the man's face into stainless stone, now marred by ichor from their vicious brawl.
He couldn't help but taunt the young man.
"Hahaha! I'm so afraid of you, son of Sparda. All you are made of is idle threats."
Vergil grunted in pain, his sound muffled by the floor.
"What's that? I can't hear you." He said, and the boy grunted in pain again, blood shooting from his arm.
"Still not getting it." He kept on with it.
Finally, Vergil yelled back.
"I'll make you pay for this!" He screamed out from under the demon's hold.
"Oh dear. . . Your over-developed sense of vengeance is only outdone by your pride. Don't feel bad, your brother had it too, as did your father and his whore." He laughed at this.
The demon was knelt down on one knee, and enjoying the boy's continued suffering.
"Still, I suppose I wished you'd had more than this. Those tacky gauntlets couldn't hope to melt a marshmallow."
The dark slayer tried to reply, but it was too muffled by the ground.
"Don't worry, now or later, it doesn't matter because it ends the same. You'll be rejoined with your brother in death, if not willingly, and Sparda will come again, whatever remains of him."
He was preparing the end. . .
"I'll miss those anguished cries of yours, Vergil." It growled into his ears.
"Vergil!?" He heard a woman shout.
Ulmarag looked up bewildered, the voice attached to a new playmate.
Right beside them some twenty-odd feet stood Lady, watching.
"What the hell- No. No! This is- No!" Lady's voice cracked, sounding more desperate and pained than Vergil's muffled howls, "What the fuck is going on here!? Who are you!?"
She screeched it to the heavens, red hot choler staining her cheeks.
Ulmarag soon understood, and he seemed to react with utter delight.
"Oh-ho! She didn't know! What a complete, and utter monster you are." He sneered in the boy's ear.
Appearing beside her in a dash, Sparda's old pupil arrived, dismayed.
"We're too late!" Modeus yelled, "It's back!"
Ulmarag never broke from his work, considering them a nuisance more than a threat. So, instead, he just looked at them both and sighed, "Ah Modeus, it's been a long time."
Modeus pursed his lips slightly.
"Not long enough. I wish I could face you right now."
"What's to stop you, old man? Lack of spine, hmm?" The Sandman mocked. Modeus grit his teeth, his eyes becoming filled with an uncharacteristic rage, yet trepidation held him back.
Lady stepped forward, her distressed face scowling at Vergil.
He'd managed to force his head sideways, staring out by contorting his neck so that his cheek rested on the floor instead.
"You are Vergil aren't you!? You callous bastard!" She screamed at him, this betrayal beyond anything before it.
Vergil heaved out a blood clot.
He sat there writhing beneath the indomitable master, "Gah, what are you doing here!? This is my fight, alone!"
"Answer me! Who are you!?" Lady screamed again.
Ulmarag mentally dragged Dante's body out from it's coffin, using just enough focus for her to see, "This is Dante, child."
He was something of a necromancer, able to puppet the dead with ease.
Returning the body to it's resting place, the beast gleefully smirked as he stared at her.
"How does this feel? You never knew your friend died, and this mongrel sat there pretending to be him. I think that's the most awful thing I've ever heard."
Lady began hyperventilating, her world crumbling around her. She backed away, her breaths swelling till she could no longer take them in.
Her mind unable to comprehend the sight and the words she just heard, it all created hatred that churned inside her brain. Darkening in vain, this masquerade revealed as a horrible sham.
Vergil; that freak who destroyed an entire city for a sword, was masquerading as the man she'd become attached to. The revelation haunted her every memory, tainting them black.
It all made sense, at the consequence of a small portion of sanity. Grief set in, making her hopeless as she tried to run from the truth.
Once again, a horrifying screech broke through the hall, followed by a tremor of the earth.
Vergil felt a colossal expanse of darkness as the creature behind them awakened and stood forward to close the gap. It hadn't even noticed them, thinking them insignificant bugs.
It took into itself Dante's body, absorbing his demonic powers after death, and in turn, forming a link to Sparda. The entity hollered to no one in particular, then ascended on a golden buddhist halo.
The being flew above, destroying the roof with it.
Ulmarag began to laugh, the Savior awakened, and his own ends served. He felt a sudden surge beneath him.
Slowly, Vergil's finger's closed, his knuckles cracking as his eyes began to run crimson. This was it. This was the last straw that broke his back.
The Order had stolen his brother, mocked his grief, and salted his wounds with pride. Now was the time that he would no longer bear their bullshit.
His breath quickened, his wounds healed.
An ebony spiral of power emerged, and slowly, his head rose, pushing back against Ulmarag's palm. The demon was shocked, and he tried to shove him back down, succeeding for only a moment.
Vergil rose, his left arm pulling itself back together in his captor's grip. His movements were unbound, flowing freely darkness clear, his Majin prowess burning it's way back to the surface somehow.
An unearthly growl emanated from his clenched teeth, his face growing animalistic as the veins thickened on his forehead. The aura around him exploded, his arm now fully returned to normal.
He moved it forward, Ulmarag still clutching the Cambion's forearm, the power bursting out and scorching it's hands.
Ifrit vanished in a bright flash, Vergil's height increasing as his transformation began to take hold. His face grew indescribable, warping into the most inhuman visage of rage ever beheld under the sun.
Finally, with an ear-splitting roar, he filled the skies with a scarlet pillar of light.
Modeus moved himself, covering Lady's ears and taking her from this madness.
Ulmarag's arms broken apart into ions, and his body crashed through countless walls, flying out to sea from the totality of Vergil's explosion. His barbaric bellow raged on, form now faded to black.
Four wings emerged, their bat-like squalor raising him far above this idiotic convention of worship.
. . .
"You're not going anywhere. . . I'll get you for this, I'll make you suffer. . . I'LL GET YOU!" His volume was unmatched as he came after the Savior, tearing through the atmosphere.
Glancing back at him, the being summoned angel-knights, sending them flying after it's black destroyer as it returned it's attention to Fortuna.
Though they seemed menacing to others, Vergil unleashed a crimson meteor of raw energy, easily ripping through the Savior's artillery. It turned to meet the blast, and met with it's fist.
A supersonic explosion, and the city was in terror. The Savior stood unharmed, mostly. . . It observed scuff marks on it's knuckles. It's stone face turned to rage as it zeroed in on the slayer.
The creature drew a meaty blade from it's back to clash with Vergil. He met it with the crimson lances.
A burst of power emerged, ripping apart oxygen as flames cosmically appeared, the sky cracking open with each clash.
They fed off each other, skidding along the firmament. The strength of both were beyond life, but even the Savior was a little too much for him.
He followed up with a four-strike combination, ending in a ruby-hued dimension slash. The Sparda-like creature batted the first four swipes away with a twist of his sword and a rough swipe with it's leg.
The monolithic attack missed the dark slayer by an inch, but out of nowhere, it counterattacked with a familiar three swing combo.
Dante's style.
He parried the incoming blows, then slashed back, only to strike the blade's edge, it's followup being a guard with the weapon.
Breaking the clash between Devil's, it let out a massive rush forward, pushing it's opponent far off with one shove, then followed with a ball of energy, clasping both it's hand's together to form a dark void.
Vergil closed his wings and blocked the barrage. It felt like a planet colliding into his soul. Still, his rage carried him further, dominating all other feelings.
The creature fired again, and again, and again, and again. The sword it used hovered to one side, telepathically linked to it.
Serious explosions came his way, but the slayer bore it all, redirecting the damage to the Order's own buildings all around them. Building's fell, other's broke apart.
Vergil focused on trying to think of a plan, some permanent means to bring it down, at least for a little bit.
The large demon pulled a number of gladius from un-reality, and casually hurtled them forward with a mere thought.
Vergil looked like a smurf to it, striking downwards.
It was confident that it could match his speed, content to destroy the man with ease.
But in a blur, he evaded the blades coming his way, and just like that, a plume of fire exploded into the blackness surrounding the creature, the flame rolling outwards like the cloud of a warhead.
It was an inferno, fueled by Sparda's buried strength. The heat was oppressive, even from two hundred yards away. The onlookers thought they were safe, in the distance watching.
But then, a subtle shift in the wind's direction brought noxious smoke and ash raining down. With hands and clothing clamped to their mouths, they fled the sulfur, seeking a safe haven.
It was chaos as they all tried to leave at once for the harbor, struggling to see through the suffocating fog that coated the street.
Echidna was not exaggerating when she said it would awaken the end of the city, or potentially everything. The creature wasn't just focusing on Fortuna, it had been trying to leave the island altogether.
False-Sparda launched volley after volley of destructive matter. The air was full of electrically-charged particles, crackling between broken bits of rocks and buildings.
With a yellow orb of lightning, it blast the devil back, far away from it's orbit as the slayer zipped across the island, almost to the entire other side. Building's floated, the Savior's discharge at fault.
Vergil saw a path, straight to the massive creature, and saw his wings had been charred off by that last blast. Taking the long way was the only option. He worked his way up, jumping from house to house.
He hacked his way through wolves, the Savior willing them to appear and serve. A few scarlet slashes was all it took. He closed the distance with each leap, his wings steadily regenerating.
Finally, he reached a floating piece of rubble that was massive, having broken off from a great church in the town's acropolis. A perfect platform.
Arriving here, he cut down numerous creatures it summoned to try and stop him, his might powering through these too. In a massive jump, he launched himself at the creature, intent to destroy.
Just as he did so, it launched it's massive sword at him, just like it had all the other weapons. Unexpectedly, he flipped his inertia, rolling over sideways like a barrel as the blade passed him by.
An artful dodge, fueled by unadulterated ire.
There was only one place he wanted to crush, Sparda's center. If he could just cut the abdomen and enter, he could drag Dante out and it would lose it's stolen power.
It didn't know what to do, stifled by his evasion. Reacting belatedly, it tried to bring it's palm down, the goal being to swat him down like a fly.
He suspended his vault, his wings grown back fully, and just narrowly missed it's draining countermeasure. Powering around, he put his aura-blade right through the crystal on it's chest.
The being jolted back up, grasping it's chest in pain as he bolted rearward with only one flap of his wings, then released a series of judgment cut slashes, cutting deep through it's stone form.
He brought all his might towards a return punch to it's center crystal, intent to break the orb wide open after having cracked it.
It unleashed a backhand, swinging it's massive arm at him.
The slayer was only able to strike the back of it's wrist, where he shattered it's own opal crystal on contact. Though he was forced back, the false-Sparda had critically wounded itself in the process.
A tactical error it would soon regret. The two floated, engaged in a standstill.
For a moment Vergil was debating his next move. So too was his enemy.
It was like a Mexican standoff, the duo of rage-filled beings diametrical opposites.
Sparda dropped its arms and leaned forward. The golden, incomplete halo ring attached to it's back began to gather massive power at the tip of the two spires, where the circle nearly met.
The swirl of chi sucked up all the ambient spiritual heat they'd released so far, balling together into a massive orb or ions that began to change the color spectrum as it formed. Everything went orange.
Pulse after pulse altered what they saw, the humans below not knowing who to root for as the Savior was destroying far more than he was saving. In fact, it seemed malicious to them, were they misled?
It's spectral vitality began to pool, emerging through as this gigantic blast ready to fire at just the right moment.
That . . . Looks really horrible.
Only one thing to do now, he didn't know if he could do it. Would he even survive? Why did he always ask himself these questions at these times?
Summoning up all he had within him, the very atoms that made up his cellular structure vibrated. They held power, potential energy untapped.
Now was the moment to release all of that, lest he and the world die.
Here it comes
. . .
All of his strength, every single bit of his malice came together, in turn forming a massive wall of vermillion. It flowed like the flames of a star, burning so brightly above the city's glistening eyes.
And the two powers collided. The blast overwhelmed Vergil, burning past him as it nearly tore his physical form apart. A ruthless bark escaped his lips, the might of his inner-self coming to the forefront.
He drove through it, forcing all that rushing matter to split around him, his scorching odium stretching beyond his physical means briefly.
Vergil growled, his voice echoing out to the Savior's ears.
"I'm tolling after you, father. . . You will not escape MY WRATH!"
In a solitary moment, it all went white, and Sparda's remade body lurched back, as an unholy eruption blistered through it.
All the city's denizen's stared, never seeing something as bright or as amazing before. Like a comet crashing into an asteroid, the celestial release temporarily blinded everyone.
Wish he may wish he might, the end had come, and he'd been left with no fortune or fame, merely a broken shell and hollow in his chest. He tried, at least.
For a time, it all seemed to fade away, as if nothing existed anymore.
. . .
Vergil felt familiar hands grasp his neck and back, and brotherly arms wrap around him. A soft, benevolent voice whispered in his ear.
"Thank you."
Within a blink of an eye, he vanished, afraid to stop because he couldn't control time.
And at that moment, Vergil knew. . . Dante will rest in peace, free. His amulet laid on the ground near his head. Vergil had fallen to the earth, but someone had made sure he landed without harm.
Blinking, he cleared his eyes for a moment and raised up his wounded body from the soil. Moving hurt everything. He looked at Dante's totem, a part of him remaining in the physical world.
He couldn't look at it with anything other than a gloomy smile, his face feeling it had run out of meanings to conjure.
Gently he took it and placed it in his pocket.
He needed to leave this place, enough was enough.
He saw Lady watching him, emerged from the ruins unharmed, a look of sheer shock in her eyes. But it didn't matter, he walked away. . . Back to his house, if it even survived the chaos.
At first, there was silence inside. Emotions swirled nonstop in his chest. Each new wave a hot trail of agony as slim, bare shoulders shook in each rake of sentiment through his frame.
Fire he felt shame and anger, burning just under his skin. Then, a deep emptiness filled his heart as the feelings brewed over and boiled past his seams.
He could no longer hold together.
He didn't know what he was anymore, something was turning him upside down.
Breath hitched in his throat as his knees grew weak and he slumped to the cold floor.
"And here I thought I was incapable of crying," Vergil muttered as he noticed the tear stains on the ground.
The anger he'd used felt expelled, exhausting his every fiber of vibrance. On this day, all of Fortuna had seen him and known that the devil was alive and well.
Lady entered.
. . .
"Why didn't you tell me?" She cried softly, "I deserved to know my friend had-."
She couldn't finish that sentence. She placed her hands on her hips, shedding tears for a man she hadn't even known was gone.
Still her mind couldn't process the thought. Dante was dead? He was gone, long gone. . . Vergil had been here all along, and she was so stupid she hadn't even noticed.
This explained everything; the personality change, why he was so cold, why he disrespected her past and her name.
The reason he was using the katana and no guns.
"You were lecturing me about names before. . . But here you are, taking over your brother's identity, running away!" She fired back at him, "You are heartless, always!"
Never mind, that anger gurgled right back, deep in his system, as hot as liquid magma. It stirred within, hungry for destruction, and he knew it was too much for him to handle.
He slowly stood, his muscled back looking ominous as he turned to face her.
"I. Did. Nothing to you." He replied, ready to snap at any moment, "The only family I ever had in this world died right in my arms, and you feel betrayed and hurt?"
Warm liquid trickled down his cheeks once again.
From the little time she knew Vergil, she never imagined seeing him broken like this. His words came rushing back at her.
"So what? It's not fair? You expect me to breakdown and cry. I'm not- I don't operate that way."
She couldn't believe her eyes. Part of her was angry for the hidden truth, she didn't get the chance to grieve, and yet . . .
Another part was horribly sympathetic.
"You have friends, you have people you know. I have nothing, no one to care." He was torn inside, something irrevocably forced to the surface, "Would you even miss me?"
As he spoke, she walked towards him with a knowing look, his face seemingly ready to kill.
Out of nowhere, her lips brushed against his. Not innocently, like a tease almost, she licked his lips and he followed for a second, unsure what just occurred.
It was fiery, passionate, and demanding.
She wanted to pull away before she lost herself, but she couldn't bring herself to it. She was so broken down, busted. She wanted someone to fix her again.
In this minted moment, her senses were crushed by selfish want, and she could no longer think straight. His tensed nerves soon began to relax, his troubles, his agony began to melt away.
All he could think was why. Why would she do this with him? He felt he'd hurt her so much, yet they were here, and now. She moved forward into him, and he tasted her lips.
A human woman could do a lot with her assets, in this case, it was the prodigy of kissing.
After a moment of strangeness, the initial motions ceased, and he realized what had happened.
Her eyes leisurely began to open, lids, and lashes relaxed as she was slowly drunk in the cool air. They parted, and he stared back, his eyes confused.
She rested her forehead upon his, placing her hands behind his ears and on his neck.
He just stared.
"Why?" He said.
"Because I have no one else." She replied.
Without hesitation, they embraced one another. Their faces united once more, her plump, velvety lips compelling against his slimmer, warm ones, dancing around and soon bonding together.
She grew insistent, her tongue was parting his mouth, sending wild excitation along her nerves, inflicting good vibrations she had not known often.
The world was cruel, she hadn't been with anyone for a long time. He'd been trapped in hell, forced to serve a dark master beyond his will, he related to this better than anyone.
The heat flowing throughout her body began to grow as she felt his other hand slide through her cleavage and onto her skirt, in contact with her thigh.
She slowly began to unhook the buttons on her blouse, letting it hang loosely. They locked eyes for a moment. Doubt still crossed him. Lady slowly nodded in agreement, and she avoided his eyes.
She'd kicked off her boots, the brown things laying across the side of his old bed. Her toenails were red; classy. He lifted her right off her feet, carrying her toward the cot.
It was effortless even when he was so wounded.
He placed her down on the mattress, it's surface fluffy and inviting.
Kissing from her toes upward, slowly his hands soothed her legs.
She reached for his belt, unbuckling and unzipping for him.
Lady could see something totally different on his face, a combination of lust and something else. That was new for him. She felt her back arch in anticipation, a loud moan escaped her lips, the more she felt his soft lips kiss her inner thighs.
He stopped for a moment, and they kept looking at one another, knowing it felt right, yet somehow still wrong on some intrinsic level. Their realm was strange and unforgiving, couldn't they have this one instant without feeling guilty?
She'd gotten his coat and shirt off, and all his marks and battle wounds laid bare. He was just as scarred as she was. Odd, how they'd become so similar.
Under the sheets now, the cool satin feeling like an old friend.
She rolled him under, laying atop his chest enamored. She ran her fingers through his hair as they remained unbroken in their kiss, eyes closed.
The light outside dimmed, his fingers reaching for the shades to draw the window shut. She didn't notice. The only windows were above the bed, they were obscured from view as it was.
Despite knowing all that she'd been through, he could sense a glow within her, blooming forth. It glistered so special, tainting his darkness with a sense of radiance.
It was the first time he'd felt happy in a long while.
. . .
An hour later, the two laid in one another's arms, nude, neither one of them wanting to speak. She lay above him adoring his face, occasionally pecking at his chin or neck.
He just held onto her, feeling her every bit of skin mixed with his own. Savoring the moment; they wanted to forget about their problems and just stay like this, attached. The warmth of another. . .
"Lady?" He broke the silence.
She didn't answer him, but he knew she was listening.
He could hear the sound of the locals moving about, trying to check their houses. All their personal affections had to be secured, as well as their loved ones left unchecked.
Soon, they would start to fix all the chaos caused by that old fart. He wanted to say something, perhaps explain what Dante's death had done to him, what it meant to him.
He wanted to tell her what led to him taking over his brother's business, and using his name. He finally realized everything.
Lady held unto him tighter, like she didn't want to ever let him go.
He understood though, right now she was afraid of someone, holding onto him for shelter.
It must be what Arkham had done to her. The scars ran deeper than flesh, running to her roots. But in the end, they spent an intimate moment both of them needed.
He felt a sense of responsibility towards her, he'd hurt her just as much as Arkham, in a way. The psychological damage might never fully be repaired. To think she always acted like she hated Dante.
He'd found a few notes in his office mentioning some of Lady's 'interesting' behavior, but he'd just written it off as idiotic humanity. That was his own viewpoint, and he now disagreed with it.
They still had some measure of time, so he gave in to her wants.
Sometime later, the sun was setting, and the little girl rode out with the captain, a fractured city in her wake
Patty, with Captain Morgan, traveled through, looking for them. It was a horror she was thankful not to be close to.
The streets looked similar to skeletons stripped of their flesh. All that remained was the concrete shells themselves, no glass, no wood, nothing any scavengers could use.
Even the street-lamps were cut down and dragged away, along with a number of trees.
She could see a couple on the side, saddened by their destroyed homes, their children holding onto them.
A trio of men were in the front looking through the rubble, it seems like they were looking for loved ones.
"Unbelievable!" Patty whispered.
She caught one of the people walking nearby, "Excuse me sir, have you seen Someone tall? He's grim-looking, walks around brooding a lot. With white hair?"
The man thought about it for a moment.
"Yeah, actually. I think I did. He went that way." He said and pointed her to his left, an alley.
"Thank you. Sorry for your loss." She said politely and continued her way.
The destruction seemed to be less on this street, but still there was damage to deal with. She wanted to cry, such a sight is too much. Thankfully, Mr. Morgan was there to comfort her.
"Hey now, this is apart of life. Some storms are too heavy." He said, and she convinced herself to believe it.
But she's a tough one. Patty reached a closed tailor shop, half-destroyed. A kindly old woman sat in front of it, lamenting the horrible damage she had to deal with.
Patty came closer to her and touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I hope you get back everything you lost."
The woman looked up, grandmotherly almost. She saw a lot of her own daughter in Patty, even though she was a total stranger.
Impulsively, the woman hugged the girl and cried. She'd lost her daughter in the rubble, but Patty was a kind reminder, too kind almost.
Retraining herself, the older woman puled back and apologized, but held back the truth from the young one.
She didn't need to know such horrible loss yet.
"Thank you, little princess." She replied, holding back her pain.
Patty was overwhelmed with emotion herself, knowing this person must have lost someone or something important.
"Absolutely. Can you tell me ma'am, if you saw someone tall with white hair and red clothes?"
The old woman sighed.
"If you are talking about Gilver, this is his house." She pointed her to the house next to them.
"Huh? I'm looking for Dante. Who's Gilver?" She said, confused.
"He's about the only person in town who remotely looks like that."
Right then, Patty sighed and decided to give it a chance. Who was this Gilver guy? She stood in front of the door and knocked as loud as she could. There was a small moment, so she knocked again.
Still no reply. She kept knocking as politely as possible, deciding not to be so loud. Clearly, that strategy was stupid after about five minutes.
She banged on the door, almost punching it.
The door opened, revealing Dante but he wasn't wearing a coat.
"What in Sparda's name is wrong with- Patty!?" He cut himself off, surprised.
"Dante!" She shouted and hugged him immediately. She felt him tense a bit, keeping his balance.
He also smelled differently, a lovely, almost powdery smell akin to perfume, but it was mixed with his own aftershave, keeping it masculine.
Maybe it was new cologne, she liked it a lot. Her fun loving face was just the same as it always was, positively beaming joy.
"Easy there," He chuckled fatherly, "I'm still injured ya know."
"S-Sorry." She laughed.
Thank you for reading, I hope you loved this.
I believe this is the end of an Arc, around Dante's death and Vergil taking over his identity. What do you guys think?
For anyone who might wonder, I listened to two songs.: Fly, the letter soundtrack. Somebody to die for by hurts. And the rest is just music.
Thanks everyone and I hope I will see you again soon :)
Angel Wolf Here: Yeah, so this time around it's different. Except for the fact that it's really not.
For those interested, the songs used for inspiration were:
'Hellbound' by Pantera, 'It Doesn't Matter' by Stephen Stills, 'Nemo' by Nightwish, 'The Chosen One' by A2, 'The Unforgiven II' & 'Blackened' by Metallica, and 'Tiny Demons' by Todd Rundgren. I listen to a lot of eclectic playlists on Spotify, so thats how that all came to be mixed together.
The fights were hard to do this time around. That's mostly thanks to the fact that I had a bout of Heat Stroke while editing this. It left me bed ridden for an entire damn day, and I ended up being violently sick. I'm better now. A lot of that physical pain is the influence for this stuff. I was feeling so bad, and thanks to the fact that I live in an area of America where it regularly reaches 120 degrees, no water source was, or could even get, cold. So yeah, that day sucked.
By the way, my formatting style mainly is made for the default settings of the site on the laptop version, so anyone maybe confused by the way it reads on a phone, this is why.
I hope it sincerely entertains you, this might be the last chapter for a while. It's not due to some creative drought or anything like that, it's just the way things are right now.
The title and tone were influenced by 'I Disappear' by Metallica, which I also used for influence.
That's all from me for now, see ya next time.