Chapter 26 ~ Dominion Day

Mundus shrugged off the attack and swung Force Edge again, releasing a massive wave of royal hatred that left a trail of blood and ruin across the wet ground.
Manah let himself fall off to the side and out of harm's way by a hair's width, once again aching for blood, hungry for more flesh to lacerate. This 'dark prince' would know damnation.

Within a blur, he stabbed Mundus through the chest, forcing the blade out through his back.

The king had not anticipated the horrid pain he would endure from such a weak and unremarkable set of arms.
He stumbled back grunting, pushing Manah off of him as pain rumbled through his bones, and he roared in anger, the veins in his face pulsed, burning like a mad man.

To his fury, Manah laughed at his discomfort, "It hurts, doesn't it?"

If there was something Mundus was known for, it was his pride. You don't cross that. He had to take revenge no matter what.

He took revenge on both Sparda's kin, and he would destroy this insufferable mongrel as well.

"You are refusing me? Why you measly scum." Mundus replied and he lunged forward, throwing out reckless strike after reckless strike, again and again, trading off Yamato and the Force Edge.
Both blades worked together in rapid succession to drain all oxygen from the air around them, and soon Manah began to choke. The blades then cut him, leaving so many marks behind.
But through it all, the beast stayed strong, his own rage broiling enough to snap back stinging slices in a sonic whirlwind that tore apart the structure of the molecules around them.

Eventually, the clash broke and the dark prince stumbled backward, parrying a stab to the side from the billygoat as he summoned a surge of more magical swords.
The blades flowing their spectral bodies through the night into his foe of their own accord, the master was in full control now, and his blackened smile would send winter cross the land.

Still, the mad rival dashed in circles around them, avoiding the projectiles one by one. With every passing second, Mundus's rage grew stronger.

Spiraling through the air, Manah landed behind the dark prince, striking and spinning, painting the earth crimson even more each time he cut deep into the devil's flesh.

If it meant killing Vergil just to kill Mundus, then so be it.

He wasn't in this to care about the life of a thorn in his side.

Incensed, Mundus reverse-gripped Yamato in his hand and slammed Force Edge downward onto Manah's appropriated weapon, driving the opposing steel out of his way.
This left the daemon wide open. The devil thrust forward with his backwards-held blade and executed a blood-filled rampage unlike any other. It sliced horizontal through his windpipe.
With his throat opened to the world outside, the daemon clutched at his neck. His devil-enemy was sure he felt his blade connect inside Manah's flesh.

Seeing the fiend falter gave him great joy, a marvelous gift. But it didn't last for long, when the horned-man straightened himself up and caught his footing.
Once again, the beast exhaled his great fire, enveloping the devil in a wild inferno. The flames scorched like the wrath of the sun, tearing away at the devil's flesh.

No remorse would be shown, no repent given. Those most wicked of the demons present would die tonight, and the state of the world would continue, undeterred by this demagogue.

Every ounce of hatred poured out of the man as he stung the dark prince viciously, and he continued to press on with his flames till they spat atomic rays through.

The next thing he knew, Mundus was at the ground convulsing.

He was staring impersonally at nothing, holding his charred body as he laid there, unaffected and undistracted.

A moment of silence dominated the place . . . nothing but the heavy rain disturbing the moment of peace that finally came to them after such a troublesome ordeal.
For all those caught in the crossfire of this dark lord's tyranny, Manah had won vengeance. He stood proud, satisfied with the amount of pain he knew he had inflicted.

Sparda's former apprentices stood by the farthest side of the desecrated holy grounds, propped up against the brick wall at the perimeter. They were trying desperately to stay alive.

Focus was key.

"Modeus . . ." Baul called out to him, a gentler tone he hadn't heard in a long time.

Resting against the wall, the black demon saw his twin utilize his own broadsword like a crutch to walk toward him.
The struggle was great, but it appeared to finally be done, still the brothers both knew enough not to relax yet.

"Remember what we used to say?" Baul asked.

Modeus heaved a painful sigh, "Y-Yes. We're so much older now . . . It seemed like yesterday."

Both men halted, taking in the pain.
The man in black took a deep breath.

The two of them spoke in unison, - "Our fate is decided by our bond, united to stand or divided to fall."

"I will not let you or anyone else die," Baul whispered, "Not today."

"And I will help you. We can stop the dying." Modeus said and the two helped each other to stand straight, "Let's go."

This was like a distant memory, something the two missed and it felt good to have again, even if it was for only a few short seconds.
It seemed so inconsequential to them now, all the bickering and the wasted years of pride weighing their friendship down.
Still, they would have much to discuss, this wasn't over, and history would not be so easily forgotten. Today was certainly . . . 'unique.'

"You're late. I've already finished!" Manah shouted at them.

Modeus felt his heart ache, the severity of this situation was still beyond their comprehension. If they took down Mundus, Vergil would die, and if they didn't? Everyone was doomed.

He tried to think of anything that could help save the dark slayer's life, but he couldn't conjure the method.
So many years of promise, now coming to an end. Sparda's bloodline would die out, or so they thought.

"I'm sorry, Sparda . . ." He whispered.

Baul nonchalantly prepared his remaining blade, ready to help impale the demon king for his crimes against humanity.
Modeus simply couldn't bring himself to watch. There was no victory in this. He supposed that was all part of Mundus's plan anyway.

"Vergil." The white devil whispered and together with Manah prepared his weapon, "Rest in peace."

A disturbed smile creased across 'Vergil's' face, and in that moment, something ice-cold raptured into existence and Baul's blade created a loud metallic sound when it struck.
Over Mundus hung a heavy black entity, a vast blanket of indeterminate shape that emerged from a rift and skirted around all that remained within this desolate place.
The entity fashioned itself into something familiar, and the shadow became shaped into a hulking man - no . . . a gothic demon of old, with red eyes and the wings of a raven sprouted from it's back.

"Not if I can help it." A deep voice echoed, as the large silhouette became a black-smoking figure standing before them.

When the shadow cleared out, almost like fog, there the demon stood.

"Ulmarag!" Modeus shouted, "You obey Mundus now?"

That same old demented smile appeared on it's depraved face. The Sandman had returned, and he was here to stay.

And he would not answer that question.

"My . . . look at the two of you, hanging on for dear life." It mocked them, "You wish to claim the king? You'll have to go through us first."

And like that, the cemetery was surrounded by starving wolves, each hungering for supernatural meat as much as a child would their first meal.
Ravenous, they all growled at once; an ear-splitting symphony of decaying fur, and in front of the gates stood the purple man, the patron jester of yesteryear.

Arkham.

"You all never learned, ay? So big: so dumb." The clown chuckled.

So, the Sandman grinned at Baul, "Say your prayers now, little one. It's time to tuck you in."

Master of nightmares, blight of children the world over, Ulmarag had joined Mundus. Black feathers scattered themselves in the wind as it stood renewed.
The metal of it's armor had become woven into the very flesh, and it's leather shielding had become less like armor and more like blackened sadomasochistic pleasure.
If the other's had come to fight against the emperor of the dark, then the lord of horror was here to raise hell like they'd never seen.

Manah rested his flared wings close at his back. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"You dare to interfere in my business? You will pay for this 'indiscretion,' pig. You may be the Sandman, but I am the morning star."

Manah opened his wings and released a massive gust as Jester called forth a horde of 20 wulvers, Ulmarag raising his arm to combat the flurry.
The daemon didn't give a shit about the wolves, he needed Mundus to die. All these other sudden players, they were just distractions. His score was with Mundus alone.

Right down between the clown and the Sandman, 'Vergil' stood again, lifting himself up as his wounds healed.

Modeus nearly teetered off his feet as Manah's winds stormed outward, but he kept his ground, and Baul kept him steady.
He knew this would happen. You did too, didn't you? It couldn't end so easily, Mundus was a worm that would only continue to infest.
Stopping him was tantamount to getting away with murder, it was simply impossible.

A black aura emerged from Ulmarag as it anticipated Manah's next move.

The daemon rushed forward and dove around him towards the demon king for a spinning fist; all of his anger, a fire burning brightly, erupted from his eyes and mouth.

Everything he touched turned to ash.

The prince of darkness moved his head left, staying still otherwise.
Manah's right hand sailed past him and he struck a wolf in the face.
Instantly, it vaporized.

He felt something pierce his right wing, and so he twisted midair out of reflex. Yamato ripped itself out of his appendage and the beast launched a stomp into Mundus's face.
It felt as though he'd just kicked a freighter boat, as Mundus hadn't budged an inch while the daemon traveled backwards several feet, landing amidst a number of carnivores.

Ganging up on him, the wolves overran Manah till he was almost completely enveloped. He struggled till he could struggle no more, and then, he exploded.

A red light burned like a star, the creatures flew backward, instantly erased.

Lunging forward immediately, he brought his other fist against 'Vergil's' chin, but once more, the attack had no effect.
The man simply stood still and took it like it were a human's strength. There was no change in him, and he retaliated in kind.

The devil thrust forward a flaming fist, Ifrit's metal bursting through the daemon's stomach, and Manah rocked backward, flying off across the field.

Repositioning his legs, the beast ground his feet back agains the ground, and he stopped himself. The flames of hell continued to burn through his eyes.
A coiled punch met his face, his physical equal Ulmarag gave chase. The demon's fist pressed Manah's face in and knocked him further back off his feet.
Gliding through the air chaotically, he continued till that same monster's hand took hold of his throat, it's fingers electrifying to the touch. His stamina drained itself into the brute's clutch.

He struggled to break free, bashing his fist into the demon's elbow joint, but it was in vain as he grew weaker and weaker.

And finally, Manah went completely limp, and the world around him darkened. Ulmarag tossed him aside like he was nothing, a simple piece of trash to be disposed of.

"All apologies, mourning star. It's all for your own good. You'll see. The world need's a change. Sleep tight." He growled in the daemon's face.

And then there were only two, the battered twins who'd seen better days

"Damn it. He's out." Baul grumbled aloud as he drooped forward, exhausted still. Their sounds were like the outburst of wild defiant sorrow, like it's their nature to be forced into aggression.

So many wolves now . . . They would not end. No matter how hard they would fight, they simply kept coming.
Sparda's forces were great, indeed there was a reason why they were chosen as the vanguard's of humanity.

Right alongside them, Jester appeared, dancing crooked steps toward them. "Welcome to hell, lamb-chop!" He shouted, raising his hands as a sign to the wolves, and he burst into laughter.

Gripping his red brand with renewed resolve, Modeus stood by his brother, "Well, this is the end."

All Sparda's corrupted armies bared down on them all at once, and the duo mounted what they knew would be their final stand. Still, Baul remained steadfast.

"But, it will be a great ending." Baul said, resigned to their fate as well.

Insistent to nab their attention, the filthy beasts came together in the most unorganized assault possible. These poor creatures, all forced to do the bidding of a dark tyrant.
Bolting forward with lightning speed, the two brothers clashed both blades with the flesh of their enemies, cleaving into the beasts they once called allies with a malice unforeseen.
The great charge stormed through the hordes of tormented dogs, and the black red call of their darkest instincts spurned the both of them to spill blood.
Violent explosions of scarlet flame revealed them for their true form, devil's most unholy in this blasphemous night. For each one they cut down, five more of them bounded forward.
So, it was now a game of numbers, and the both of them allowed their rage to consume them for survival, primordial instincts took hold and fire began to fight fire.

Corroded blood sprayed itself through the rain, mixing with the soil. Torrents of sword strikes and demonic powers tore apart every single beast before them.

Baul lifted his arms up and slashed down as hard as he could, and a menacing wave of his own shook the earth, a sonic impact raging through the air through a trio of wolves.

Modeus rolled to his feet, looked around wildly for his brother, and saw ten or so beasts coming for him. Slamming forward, he hacked his way through each beast.
A manic sense of hatred bled out of him in every slash, and every drop of blood spilled satisfied this primal drum beating in his chest, begging for more and more.

A hunger overcame his stomach. He must feed.

On the ninth beast, he stuck the blade through it's belly and chomped down on the beast's neck, tearing a hunk out of it's throat.

The thing howled something evil, but it grew still as blood left it's circulation, and so it eventually fell back on it's back, turning to dust.

Modeus could feel it, he was restored somewhat by the bite, and his health restored itself ever so slowly.
A pileup commenced, the other wolves enraged by the manner of the loss, and soon the man was overtaken.

Baul slaughtered his way to the black demon and screamed, "Summon something!"

"I can't!" He yelled back and fell onto one knee.

An intimidating screech left Baul's throat as he charged onward, finally reaching his brother after so many kills. Drenched in blood, he hacked away, slicing off limbs and ripping through torsos.
Modeus regained his focus beneath the evil menagerie, and in an unfamiliar rage, he bellowed aloud and forced out an explosion of his demonic energy, returning all those sieging to pure dust.
Baul watched in amazement as wolven body parts flew at him and collapsed into dust before they struck him.

So it seemed Modeus possessed more than just the will of Sparda, he also held onto his rage.

The wolves, now either lost or roving for blood, were set upon to put an end to all their miserable existences.

Left to seethe, Modeus raged forward, determined to put an end to this mockery of his mentor's legacy.

Mundus stood tall as he seemed approached them, and with a solitary swipe, a pallid green energy plowed right through the distractions, leaving only his two targets.
Good, this was between them. Modeus proved to be a rotten thorn stuck in his side. The temperature dropped instantly and a chill rushed down their spines.

Canine bodies lay everywhere, savaged and putrefying. Baul tried not to look at them, but it seemed that everywhere he looked his eyes fell upon them. His fists tightened.

All their deaths weighed heavily on him, these poor creatures didn't deserve this. Mundus had skewed the fate of earth when he had taken them for his own armies.

The ultimate slap in the face, and it was all thanks in part to their rivalry, their oversight. They were loyal, they could depend on them in any time of need.
If ever they sought moments of peace, the wolves were always the dependable ally that could ride with them, out in the free winds where no evil could roam.

Trapped in his train of thought, fog had gathered throughout the churchyard once more.

For a moment, Baul shielded his eyes, trying to stay close to his brother. If they could just keep themselves together . . . But promises were hard to keep.

The ground itself shook, and all the dogs had begun to howl. The air grew to smell of sulfur, and suddenly before him, a giant creature emerged from the mist. Balar has been summoned.
It's mighty legs stepped over them, moving out and about towards the city. If there was a god or any kind of justice beneath the sky, it would act now and stop this darkness spreading.
But he knew that wasn't going to happen. The giant grumbled aloud and wandered off, wielding it's large spear made of steel, off through the night to kill the humans that would oppose Mundus.
Ice slowly covered the ground as it walked, frost a comfortable friend to the colossus.

"Damn it!" He screamed, "Why?"

Mundus appeared before him, Force Edge pointed at his throat, "Because this world is destined to eternal damnation. Sparda's boys made that a certainty."

"What?" The white devil exclaimed, "How were they at fault!?"

The dark prince chuckled aloud.

"It was their battle that brought about my return. As soon as that foolhardy boy came to me, I knew. It was a sign that my return was at hand."

At these words, Baul thrust his sword at the man's side, but Mundus batted the blade off using his own brand, then twisted his whole body around.
Unable to defend himself, Baul felt the stinging touch of the Force Edge yet again as the dark lord brought it around full-circle, cutting vertically across his chest.

The man felt his second wave of stamina begin to fade, and he fell backwards.

"All through the years, in that world of darkness we call 'home,' I rotted with my hatred for that man, and lo and behold, his own kin now serves as my vessel.
I knew I could not return once Dante destroyed Mallet Island, the only place in the human world that could withstand something as great as I am. So, I simply sought other means.
Manah presented a wrinkle, as did you, but once again, the forces of good all prove themselves blindingly stupid. All it would've taken to stop me was for you to speak with them.
Yet, you chose to kill without explanation, without vilification. And the boy and the woman became lovers, blinding both to the inevitable truth. Imagine accepting it."

Mundus strode forward towards his enemy, sword gripped tightly and his anger ready to be unleashed upon the world.

"And now, released from my prison, I shall bring about absolute destruction to these pitiful humans he so loved. None will know mercy, none will know hope. All of them will know despair."

And he kept striding towards Baul, content to end him this way as the exhausted vanguard laid on his back, drained.

But, Modeus wouldn't let this continue, he had promised himself. Affirming himself of his own resolve, the man in black charged forth, and he struck the devil's back.
'Vergil,' without a sound, spun on his hells and bashed the hilt of his enemy's blade into the man's temple. Modeus staggered back, his blade still with him.

They dueled, Mundus battering strike after strike at the dazed man. He struck at the man's right side, but the dark swordsman blocked effectively, so he dragged the blade and went for the left.

Once more, the man blocked, pushing his blade over to meet the oncoming steel. Both blades clanged off one another, and the man sought his own counter, plunging his boot forward.

His heel pounded the devil's side, and he grunted as it forced him back a step.

The man in black launched a furious series of slashes, pushing the devil farther back as he sought to gain new ground.
He fought fought harder than he had ever fought before, and the blades clashed through the downpour, sparking every time.

The devil was only humoring him.

Parrying three strikes outward, Mundus stabbed the tip of the blade into Modeus's gut and stepped around him, smashing Force Edge rightward into the man's back.

Thankfully, some of his bones managed to break the blow's momentum, and it prevented it from truly cutting all the way through him.
Lodged, Mundus thrusted forward a right kick into the base of his spine. The man sailed through the air, landing more than twenty feet away.

Baul charged forward, blood dripping from his eyes. Muttering an invocation, he thrust forward his open palm, and a vortex of blue flames swelled through the rain.

Mundus was charred, and the smoke cleared quickly.
His eyes opened, now beaming a frosty green light.

The demon in white sought an overhead strike for his followup, but the devil disappeared. His blade hit nothing, instead striking and splitting the ground.
From behind him, the dark prince grabbed the back of his head and thrashed the man's face into the ground, crashing into the salted earth beneath them.
Grinding him as far into the soil as he desired, the Devil summoned Ifrit's gauntlet and released a massive firestorm, the air combusting into vivid orange.

From within, Baul's screams reached no one.

When the assault ceased, Mundus pulled him out of the ground, and only the white of the swordsman's eyes showed.

His body was singed all over, demonic soot clinging to his colorless garments.

"No!" His brother screamed, launching another charge at the dark prince.

Renewed, the man in black unleashed thirteen strikes at the devil's flesh, tearing into him with as much hatred as he could. Each blow stung Mundus's pride.
He curved around fenced off further attacks, intending to wait for an opening as he had prior, but Modeus never presented him with this gift, not this time.

The man in black swung hard and fast, expertly countering the devil's rebuttals with feline precision, slinking around a million stabs for a lunging skewer into Mundus's side.

His blade gouged out some of the man's ribs, and Modeus landed on his side, quickly rolling to his feet then removing his blade to block a decapitation attempt.

Redirecting the blade over his head to his other side, the man shoved his shoulder into the devil's chest, and succeeded in forcing him backwards yet again.

Rearing his sword, he focused and muttered a basic mantra that set the blade alight, and he thrusted both his hands downward as hard as he could. A wave of crimson fire overtook the devil.
They burned high, and he could find no relief from the celestial rains he had brought upon the skies. Struggling to cope, 'Vergil' simply opted to suppress the pain, and he focused up his defense.

Defending against a series of five slashes, he employed the use of a steady samurai's dual-grasp, and in turn, he compensated for Modeus's increased speed by shifting as well.

The ground broke against the weight of his feet, and stones uprooted ricocheted around.
They were pushed all around by a black aura that emerged from the devil king.
It swirled through the night sky like a pyre without light, and he finally managed to pierce his enemy's wall of defense.

Lashing out at the man's gut, his sliced into Modeus with especial prejudice, tormenting him with thousands of gashes all across his body.

When he felt that he'd had enough, then the devil stopped.

Modeus fell to his knees, grasping for air. He felt both his lungs were punctured and he was in even worse shape than he was before.
Hands grasped both sides of his face and brought him down into the dark prince's knee. His nose shattered on impact.

The man's entire body shuddered and rocked backwards onto the ground, covering his face as his vision went dark.

Baul remained seemingly dead, and so Mundus paced around the man in black, circling the Force Edge in his hand.

"'Virtue . . .' I tire of this circular fight, and your reasoning makes me sick. Now, later: it makes no difference. Either way, I'm going to rip that woman apart." The dark prince said, licking his lips.

Modeus could only groan, his brain jostled by the beating. What was once clear to see had become rendered so violently extant. His failure would bring about destruction to all souls.
Every single death was his fault, every single senseless loss of nature, the corruption of all things holy and sacrosanct, the desecration of even the most tranquil minds, all lay at his feet.
He saw his brother laying there, broken. Modeus so very desperately sought to fix him, and here he laid, more than probably dead.

Seized by his throat, the man felt himself lifted off the burnt ground, and he soon came face to face with the monster he failed to halt.

"You don't deserve redemption. You were gifted with wondrous talents, and yet you wasted them fighting for that insect. I do not pity you, young one.
I alone can bring salvation to this world, the blackened rage of the demons will not go unheeded. But for you, I will show you mercy. And in my mercy, I will bring disease."

There was a purity inside him, the purity of rage, two millennia of billowing hatred filling his every particle, his every atom. Everyone denied him, and now they would die.

Die so cruelly, die so painfully, so slowly, so vigorously, and so deservedly. Every living thing would pay for his exile, the price of it death to all living things.

And he brought Modeus's broken face close to him.

"In my mercy, I will tear the very sky itself down upon you. I will burn the oceans till nothing remains, and I will make all your suffering eternal.
That is my promise, to you and all humans, the very end of all the misery across the universe. Creation bleeds for me, and I will make things right." The devil spat.

It was time to bring the darkness, and for all his bluster, the devil king was true to his word. He would break the cosmos upon a stone slab come the day.
Streaking across every nightmare, he would destroy your very mind from the inside out, defile your institutions with his anthropic uncreation, and rape your soul of it's worth.
If rage was an ocean, he was it's Poseidon, the unstoppable master of abortions and his crimson tidal wave of hate coming for your cities.

Nothing would stop him, not ever again.

"All living things will perish beneath my boot heel. Nothing will be spared, not anymore. This is dominion day." Wrath flowed from Mundus's eyes.

And with that, the king drove his blade through the demon's chest, and split open the heart that beat within it.
The steel broke apart his bones and sliced through the tendons round his spine.
It ripped into him a vile masterpiece of death, a symphony for the new dark ages to come.

Blood spilled from Modeus's mouth, and his hands laid limply at his side. Life was ending now. He hung there in the air, despairing upon the bringer of evil's weapon, his own mentor's namesake.

There were so many factors to consider when one was dying. What had lead them there, why they had chosen such a path, but perennially, Modeus had already sorted thought it all.
He'd had eons to think over all the mistakes he'd made, the time measured beyond human comprehension of how long he'd spent, it was simply a matter of mathematics.

Of time, he had too much, and now felt as good as any to die.

But still, he knew he could not leave yet, not without a final defiance.

Moving his hands up, he grasped the base of the blade, just above the hilt where Vergil's hand held on, and Modeus summoned one last ounce of magic.
It was simple, a curse of blood he knew that would forever bind the blade from Mundus's corrosive touch. Those tired eyes flared as wide as they could, and he screamed.

"Fanfaidh. . ." He began.

"-Siad díbeartha-"

He coughed.

" . . . Go deo!"

A bright rune of scarlet shade flashed around the man's hands, and it burned the creatures of the dark all through the graveyard.
The bright call seared itself into Mundus's ears, and the red conjuration swirled around the handle of the blade, affecting a sting upon the devil's hands.

It was from a land the dark lord had no concept of, not of Spain or Rome, nor of the Middle East or Africa.

The pain grew in waves and steadily it eclipsed even the blackest pain he'd endured, driving away his caustic black control.
And from his pain came a release, the simple human urge to drop the source of torture. From his hand left the power of Sparda.

It was not his to take, and so it returned to rest with it's master's true will.

"What?" The devil bellowed, "What power is this!?"

Modeus fell back for the last time, truly, and he closed his eyes. The man hit the earth so gently, it was as if he'd had no weight to his form.

The blade still lodged within him, it dug through the ground below him and remained there. Mundus, bewildered, grasped the hilt and felt once more an ungodly agony.
What spell was this? That wretched man . . . It was not one Mundus knew, so it must be one foreign to all his great knowledge, a theological 'blindspot.'
And the pain grew even worse each time he tried to take it from the cold man's corpse. The more he desired the blade's power, the more it rejected him.

"Damn it!" The devil said as he grasped it once more.

Managing to move it barely one centimeter out of the ground, smoke rose and the hilt ate at his flesh. He recoiled, hand clutched, the glove fusing to his skin.

"N-No!" He screamed, "Curse you, you- Gah!" Mundus was almost speechless.

In what was to be one of his greatest moments of victory, the devil had somehow been denied once more. He screamed to the heavens the worst sound imaginable, and the rains came harder.

And then, another blade broke through his ribs. Gasping, he turned to see who it was, and there laid Baul, clinging to existence.
He had thrust his remaining broadsword through the man when he hadn't paid him attention, in essence, 'playing dead.'

"May you forever walk this earth a damned fool, if I cannot kill you where you stand today." Baul grumbled, pushed to his absolute breaking point, coughing and struggling for air.

His fallen brother would be avenged.

He laid there on his chest, using what was left of his strength to summon his weapon to his side and impale it forward on his most hated enemy.

The devil stood shocked, the weapon sending pain through his nervous system, the first he'd truly felt this entire conflict. His eyes lost their green glow, returning to their silver shade.

"You-! You worm!" He tried to shout, but blood was filling his left lung, muting him, "-I'll grind you to dust!"

Instantly, he summoned both his gauntlets and launched a fiery kick to the white demon's cheekbone.
Sent hurtling eighty feet, the man landed unconscious once more. Ulmarag circled above and couldn't help but comment, "Lay there and die, heretic!"

Flying back down to bring aid to it's lord, the creature shielding a wing around the devil as he grasped his stomach.

"My lord, you are injured!"

"My power has been robbed from me. Thankless little bitch!" Mundus raged, kicking the side of Modeus's leg, but the body remained in place.

His strength was lessened without the brand's special power.

"They have severed Force Edge from your grasp?" The Sandman said.

"You ineffective idiot, get off me!" Mundus said.

Anger overwhelmed him, and the king spitefully dug his elbow into the beast's side, then drove his knee into it's ailing face.
It fell on it's side, bleeding from it's lower lip, shellshocked. Laying there, it looked at it's master for reason.

"I have lost that which would have assured my domination. Now I must make do with this weakened body and it's incomplete power." He exclaimed.

"What would you have me do, master?" The Sandman meekly replied.

Pale electric sparks gathered around the devil's clenched fists, and he looked prepared to kill his faithful minion.

A bullet struck the direct center of his forehead.

The demon king jerked and twisted wildly, the projectile phasing right through his brain, missing the stem by a mere single millimeter.
His boiling devil arm's vanished, and he nearly collapsed completely, the strength of Ivory's ballistic shot almost enough to bring the crippled master down.

But he continued living, the most vital part of the brain surviving, and to a demon, memory isn't something stored only in the brain.

It was inherent to the being itself.

And so the devil stood tall once more, his head pounding with uncontrolled intensity, and he turned his twisted resentment towards his shooter.

"Who dares interfere?" Mundus growled, looking at the entrance.

Lady.

Through a separate wall came the demonic bike upon which she rode, and the smell of death lingered in it's fume trails, so many wolves torn apart.
She stood, halfway dismounted and Dante's white gun smoking in her hands, a smirk actively drawing itself across her face as she returned to the fold.

"It's time to die." She glowered at him.

Beyond her target she saw glimpses of chaotic carnage, of more fallen wolves torn to pieces. And among them stood the figure she wished most not to see.

"Ah! My dear Mary, come back to join the dance of madness!?" Jester's irritating voice made blood boil within her, "We've been waiting for you-"

Without a word, she shot off another round and it demolished one of his waving hands, his left one.
Backtracking, he grasped his afflicted limb and gaped his lizard-like mouth open at the hole left behind in his palm.

"Shut it!" She yelled.

Mundus moved to acquire her as she took aim again, but the man faltered and grasped the front of his head, "Curse that silver contraption!" He said.

Falling forward onto one knee, his fingers hugged his forehead closely.

In a blur, the lord of nightmares vanished into a shadow beneath itself, and the beast reappeared right behind her.
She tensed up as it wrapped it's hand around her throat, placing the other hand's index finger at her temple.

"Sleep. Now!" It spoke into her ear, and she felt an overwhelming surge inside herself that faded her vision.

Falling over into the beast's clutch, it cradled her to bed as it mumbled a corrupt lullaby in her ears. But she would not go under. It tried it's best, but she wasn't asleep.

"Mm . . . You can't make me . . . You- You can't!" She said, remaining conscious somehow.

Forcing her eyes open, she crushed her right hand closed and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand. The pain was awful, but it did the trick, she stayed alert.
How she was resisting this in the first place was beyond the other's, her devilish company desperately trying to force her consciousness asleep as best they could.

"Why isn't it working!?" Mundus yelled, still kneeling.

"I do not know." It replied, "The only way it could fail is if she was somehow immunized-" It stopped dead in it's train of thought.

"By what!?" The devil roared at him.

"By a lover's touch, if that lover, of course, was preternatural . . . perhaps kingly?" the beast remarked cooly, "I smell both you and your puppet within her, were you not aware of this?"

The look on 'Vergil's' face shifted so fast it might as well have stayed enraged.
It's spell could not fell her because she had become intimate with the only other person resistant to it.
Mundus himself, indirectly.

"Of course I was, but I didn't know it would lead to this." He replied.

Lady began to stir as the call to sleep began to pass.

"She's waking up! Do something!" Jester exclaimed.

The beast tried the same spell once more, but it had an even lesser effect the second time, and she grew stronger and more reactive.

"I will go down fighting, do you hear me?" Almost crying, she carried, "I will not be broken!"

And she struggled more and more till finally she awoke fully from the daze, and she was in the Sandman's grasp, back in firm reality.
The beast held her in place, and she screamed and battled it for freedom constantly, bashing her feet into it's legs, and finally, she managed to slip Ivory out into the open again.
Directing the barrel right at the brute's foot, she pulled the trigger.

Instantly, Ulmarag recoiled and practically threw her away from it's hold.

Jester zoomed towards his daughter and propelled his scraggly, spindly hand forward to grasp her head, but the woman ducked. Pushing forward, she pointed the gun behind her and shot out his heel.

Three shots tore individual holes into the clown's heel.

Arkham fell forward and gripped his destroyed achilles tendon, and the woman bared down at his weakened master.
Mundus rose to meet her, near fully recovered, and she drove her right heel forward into his chest.
Her human body bounced right off of him. Despite the fact that his connection to the Force Edge had been severed, the devil remained quite strong.

Stronger than a human.

Mundus didn't even bother attacking her with a weapon, he simply closed his eyes and began to chant an eerie, unknown language.

He moved his hands about, tutting his fingers in precise movements.
There was a soft, unmistakable sound of dirt moving.

Through the wet ground, they all heard wood splinter and break as their occupants began to escape their confinement.

"If none of my subjects will stop you, then I leave you to the damned." The dark prince said.

She spun around and saw the first one stumbling toward her, repeating her name again and again, an absent-minded puppet moving without threads.
Turning again, she witnessed a dozen more of them crawling up from the mud, their faces all sickening her, missing various parts of their flesh.
Skeletal fingers chomping at the bit towards her, clutching air as they staggered toward her, the ghouls were of a diverse state of decomposition.

Ulmarag flew forward to lead the charge, but the monster received a sonic slash across it's scarred chest from the master.

"No! You've done enough, disappointment." Mundus told it.

The beast grumbled to itself as it's wound healed and the dark lord returned to the Force Edge, attempting to undo Modeus's spell. Jester joined the effort.

They tried all kinds of methods in the hopes that they could break the curse on the brand, but to no avail. Jester grasped the hilt as well, but while it did not burn him, he simply could not move it.
He couldn't even lift it a centimeter, and Mundus grew more enraged by the second. He had lost, or so it had seemed. Sparda's blade was key to his plan, and without it, he could not complete it.

Lady didn't have time for disbelief or dismay, not with a horde of undead bodies closing in, not when she realized that there were even more surrounding those closest to her.

They staggered out from the shadows, slack-jawed, sometimes missing a jaw completely, and demonized eyes festering disease at her.
All of them turned slowly toward her, their gazes blank, emotionless beyond the desire to consume her so that they may live.

"Damn it!" She yelled.

There was no plan in play, she just moved, holstering Ivory and firing potshots with her regular artillery, her Draco, her Beretta, her grenades and even her bazooka.

With the path blocked in all directions, she leapt for the center of the graveyard, clambering over any headstones left.
Her boots slipping against the rubble of some stones, but she managed to balance her weight and keep upright, shooting in one direction a missile.

Taking apart about five animated cadavers, she bought herself limited time, widening the circle and spreading shrapnel outward into others. Half the battle.

As the quicker ones came forward, screaming distraught cries at her, growling like feral animals and spitting up vile waste.

She relied upon her lighter-grade weapons, her trademark semi-automatics.

Lady cut loose and shot as many times as it took, emptying everything into her new dead-end friends. The circle got wider, but no less dense.

All their eyes glowed green just like the dark prince.
His influence was vast, could she even hope to break it?

More came. She was ready.

Lady dove downward and rolled around a meddlesome tree, the lone one that still stood. Switching the Draco sub-machine gun to her left hand, she danced around the tree, using it as cover.
Blitzing every damn corpse she could, the assault of her hellfire drove corpse after corpse backward onto the ground, either immobilized or left for dead. She marked the targets in her mind's eye.
Slamming an encroaching runner headfirst into the tree, she fired off a headshot, and blood spattered the tree trunk, and next she crunched it's friend's head with the butt of her sub.
The confused puppets continued to come for her, unintelligently throwing themselves to her bullets as if they thought they could truly outmaneuver her. Growing closer, their jaws clicked open.
Bam! Bam!

The wails of the damned cursed her ears, and she never knew a human could even become capable of spitting such loathing.

They moved unlike any creature she'd seen before, arms either limp or bent and held crookedly up and off to the sides. Their legs dragged themselves across the stolid ground erratically.

Each one had skin that was colorless, grey and rotted. Some were 'younger,' appearing to have died in recent years, while others wore the remains of clothes from a different era, from the civil war.

She didn't think she'd be shooting zombies when she woke up this morning. Jesus, that seemed so long ago now. What the hell was Mundus capable of?
A quick death . . . re-death . . . whatever it could be called, she could at least offer these tormented souls that much. Release from this un-life is better than using the Bayonets on her guns against them.

These poor people.

It was amazing she had even pushed herself this far. She had to thank Manah if any of them lived through this.

Though they were falling to her, the necessary evasions she had to undertake were taking there toll. Sweat poured out of her body, washed away by the rain but still there.
She knew she had a fever despite the extreme temperatures. Her head was swirling, she was beginning to grow dizzy, and when the final one closest to her fell to her gun, she didn't even see it coming.
Mundus intervened, sending out summoned swords in all directions, blasting through each corpse like they were made of tissue paper.

The devil appeared right in front of her, one foot off the ground as he stalked her every movement.

Grabbing the woman's hand, the king pulled the arm attached to it behind her back and held her restrained.

"There, all tired out, aren't we." He whispered in her ear sensuously, warm breath on her neck.

"What do you want from me?" She said, breathing in and out uncontrollably fast.

"Are all humans this dense? I wonder why I ask myself these rhetorical questions. It's obvious, can you not already see?" The man said, holding her close to himself.

He spun her around and saw the confusion in her face as he restrained both of her arms behind her back this time.
She panted heavily, and every inch of her sought to break free from this monster, but he was simply too strong.

"Why won't you let me die? Are you trying to torture me for what Charlotte helped do to you? Just kill me already!" She told him, disgusted.

"Now, who ever told you I was trying to kill you?" The dark prince told her, "You are, without a doubt, the most physically capable woman on the planet.
The thing's you've put yourself through to get here are astounding, you've survived endless torment, and you possess the necessary genes to cast powerful magic.
Why would I want to kill you? You may be the only human I grudgingly respect. No, I don't want to kill you . . ." He said.

He embraced her, and she felt he was aroused.

"You love this form, I've already had the pleasure of your company once, why not again? You will carry the seed for my rebirth into this world, and then I can dispense with this body."

The revelation disgusted her. So she was part of his plan, now it made sense. Why was she allowed to live time and time again? It was so he could have her.
Lady gritted her teeth, and with all the power she could muster, flexed her muscles and tore from his crooked caress. She felt her leg gain the needed space and she bolted her knee upward.
The blow to his groin made him grunt, and his hold loosened as she bashed his nose with her forehead at the same time.

Following with another headbutt, she drove her heel through his foot with a powerful stomp, and he finally let go, reeling away from her for a second.

With her arms free, she grasped Ivory and fired two rounds into the man's gut.
He spat blood and tumbled over backwards, falling down on his elbows.
Grabbing her missile launcher, she battered his legs with Kalina Ann's blade.

"Ah!" He screamed, his head rolling back, and his bloodshot eyes scanned his environment. His fists clenched the patches of grass beneath him.

"This . . . is for Dante, you monster!" She screamed at him.

She twirled the weapon vertically a single time, and rammed the butt of the gun into his forehead, marring it with a crimson gash.
Attempting to stand, he smacked her arms out to the side and rose up from the force alone, his eyes intent to harm.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he tried to yank her back beside him, but she drew Ivory once more, unloading another shot into his bicep.

He drew back and screamed at her, attacking with a fire-coated roundhouse kick, but the woman back-flipped, allowing her mother's namesake to sling around her shoulder in a circle.

The flames missed the base of Lady's back by a solid inch, and she immediately took a knife from her belt.

He came forward again attacking with superhuman speed with a fiery right-handed punch to her face, but she sidestepped to her left and moved past him.

Sticking the knife into his abdomen as she went, she dragged it across his side and created an open slit in him.
Quickly, she then poked the dagger through his tricep and twisted. The blade was, naturally, consecrated.

The dark prince screamed at her, and he spun immediately with an opposite backhand, very nearly smacking her in the jaw, though she let herself backwards to the ground.

Spinning Kalina Ann around as she did, she pointed the barrel at the man's face as her back hit the smooth earth.
It was all or nothing, and at this range, she was as good as dead too from the blast radius. Oh well. Click.

The missile discharged, and stared directly at it as the thing came forward and struck his face. The two were together consumed in the blast, and nothing else seemed to matter at that moment.

He felt the shrapnel pierce his lungs, his eyes, his throat, and the heat seared his lungs black, through his flesh depositing metal fragments viciously.

Through the smoke, he back away slowly, disfigured beyond recognition, still standing. He choked on clean oxygen around him, and he slipped back onto the ground.

Soon too the water washed away the smoke, and a crackling sound was left over.
There, the bazooka had somehow held out as well, merely being scuffed along it's black sides.
The integrity of the weapon was immense: superb craftsmanship.

The source of crackling soon became apparent, a red field of energy plumed out from the ground it seemed. It was covering her, protecting her.

It was like a second instinct, something innately triggered by the threat of death once again.

And she was safe.

. . . Relatively unharmed at the very least.

Her whole figure was held within this warm cocoon, protecting her from the cold water above and shielding her from the blast itself.

It was so surreal to have lived through that. She swore that she should've died, it was impossible not to.

But still she lived, the power of her ancestor flowing through her, still strong. And she saw the smoke trail up into the atmosphere.
Coming to stand, she held onto her dependable knees and took a hard long breath in. Still panting, she looked at 'Vergil's' body.

"And that . . . was for Vergil."

The man seemed to tremble slightly, laying there still living but broken himself now. His face was smoking, itself a grim parody of what it once was.
Then there was a noise. The noise that burst forth was like a cross between a snort and a drunken laugh and something bizarre, she couldn't at all describe.

His body began to shake, and soon, it was vibrating inhumanly, rupturing in place for minutes on end, till finally, it ceased to move.

The facial tissue quickly regenerated itself, far quicker than it would have normally as the man inside came to stand once more.

"No!" She yelled, and she aimed Ivory once more.

It was an effective tool, and Mundus would not make the mistake of underestimating it again. Summoning Yamato, he moved toward her in a blur, and the weapon was abruptly sliced in half.

Just before she was to fire, it came apart in her hands, sliced cleanly at the barrel where it met the trigger.
She stared wide eyed at the development, and desperation filled her. She had tried so hard and got so far.

The man toppled her to the ground with a shove and the katana's point stabbed the ground right next to her neck, just barely slicing the surface of her skin.

Hunched over her the devil said, "I wonder what Vergil will feel if I raped you to death right in front of his eyes." His rime-laced voice was low, "But, I know there's a better way to torment you."

Strong hands swung her like a rag doll into the stone wall surrounding the churchyard, near the motorcycle she had taken.
It stung and sent swells of pain through her body. A chin rested on her shoulder, whoever it was now breathing in her ear.

And her eyes saw that comically long nose.

"Come on, I was promised," Jester whispered in her, and she could feel his hands feeling it's way through her clothes ever so slowly. His tongue slithered excitedly.

Ulmarag came at them as well, but a figure in black blocked it's path. Manah had reawakened, and he plowed the creature back toward the wrecked cathedral.

"I don't think so!" The horned demon said.

Lady felt like a distortion of what she once was, unable to find her way back. She wanted to fight, but the human body could only take a person so far.
The wind and the rain paraded against her bare skin, and the man that used to be her father ripped away her one of her remaining defenses, the Kalina Ann.

"You'll be perfect when I'm done with you. You'll be a good girl for daddy again, Mary."

"Y-You're not my father!" Tears ran down her cheeks, lost in the rain.

That was it, she made up her mind. Drawing Ebony, she fired it into the man's purple gut, and his eyes flared.

Those hands let go of her, and he stumbled back, looking down at his wound.

"Y-You . . ." He sputtered, and in that moment, he reverted to priestly guise, his true face.

Drawing out Dante's shotgun from beneath her poncho, she raised the barrel at his face and fired. A crimson flash unleashed itself as the weapon shouted it's rounds.
The man rocketed off his feet, and the recoil nearly popped the shoulder gun out of her solitary hand. Mundus re-emerged, and tried to slice those weapons apart as well.

She shot Arkham again as he sailed midair, and his flailing body changed trajectory.

The man came down on his charging master, still alive as the dark prince fell on his chest briefly, enraged.

Elsewhere upon the battlefield, something else began to stir, deep within the dead man

From within the hilt of Force Edge came a small sliver of light, a radiance that sparkled clearly through the darkness.
It pulsed and pulsed, like a chime. Every few moments it returned, growing stronger and brighter with each passing second.

Slowly, the light grew in time, and it soon enveloped the pale swordsman's lifeless body, merging with it.

And soon, the body began to change shape, taking on a new form not it's own. The clothing shifted style and color, and soon, the being was becoming entirely different.

Then, it opened it's blue eyes.

Beneath a canopy of silver hair, the body came alive

A massive pillar of light broke from the ground behind them all at the center of the vast graveyard, past all the wandering cadavers still animated and the scrounging wolves closing in.
Past the dueling winged-brawlers Ulmarag and Manah, past the dark prince himself and before Lady's eyes, the ginormous light scattered across the sky, and familiar warmth swept the field.

Though it soon faded, from within this brilliant luminosity stood the shadow of a confident figure.

A great wind surged, greater than any conjured by the devil king, and greater than any torrential rains could stomach.

The figure within the pillar brought an end to the downpour.

It still drizzled lightly, but no air stirred the grass, nor the leaves.

Not a sound could be heard either close at hand or in the far off distance.

Where the pillar of daylight once stood there was an unexpected sight. Lady could see a man adorned in red, preserved in time. It was as though the man had never left for that island.

"D-Dante . . ."

Slowly the man turned to look at them and there was no doubt. It is him.

"In the flesh." His voice echoed, and he seemed an unearthly shadow, slowly forming still into the physical world, the Force Edge still stuck through his chest.

He easily removed the blade, pulling it from his heart and tossing it vertically before catching it again by the hilt.
The devil hunter snapped his fingers, and both halves of Ivory rattled and remerged together, the steel fusing itself again.

The pistol, once fused back into shape, flew to his right hand where it rested comfortably, pointed at the dark lord's chest as he got to his feet.

"Y-You!?" He said, Yamato in hand, then screaming "But how?"

The hunter merely smirked and cocked the pistol.

"You can't be here, I destroyed you!" Mundus yelled, "I killed you with my bare hands!"

"Oh yeah, that still happened. But I got better." Dante replied, "You ready grandpa? Let's roll."

To be continued

Thank you for reading :)

Oh boy, did I have some trouble working through this one. I hope I'm not boring you guys and this still kept you at the edge of your seats.

Thank you friendly anon, I appreciate the encouragement. I'm sure you understand why this feels horrible, I will get over it.

Thank you so much Hellyeah, It means alot to me. I'm glad that chapter caught your interest, The Sandman and his nightmarish ways are my favorites too.

StableGenius TR, you are almost absolutely correct about your thoughts . . . this chapter gave the full answer.
Abigail, at least in this story arc, is just a red herring. As you can tell, his true intention was to mate with Lady so that he could use their offspring as his new body.
The best way for him to return is through Vergil and Lady's possible child.

With their combined powers, it would create a being that no one could really stop, and he'd essentially take that and use it as his new body.
Tried to convey it through dialogue there, not sure if that came across 100% or not, but there you go. Thank you sincerely, you spoke my mind.

I'm doing okay now.

Thank you, Juju :)

Well, Turbo Sexophonic, this is no way in hell easy to fix :)

That's it, see you next chapter :)