Chapter 32 ~ Snowblind
Etches danced across the window pane and he shot straight up like a bolt of lightning.
In pitch darkness, he felt a cold sweat wash over his skin. The heart beneath his flesh pumped blood faster efficiently, it usually crept along at a slow pace, expertly controlled but never dead. Yet, on this night, it beat faster than a racing bullet train. It seemed to be lately that most nights hadn't been at all kind to him. The incident still fresh in his mind had shaken him, uprooted his sanity, and whilst he swore he wouldn't shut his eyes when troubled, he hunkered his mind down in place and filled the discordant cracks that ran through it.
Her arms wrapped around his chest.
"Are you okay?" She whispered.
"Did I wake you?" He asked.
Lady sighed resting her head on the back of his shoulder.
"Don't worry about it."
"I won't."
He looked back towards her and lightly smiled. Touching her hand, the man turned in her embrace and folded his arms around her smooth waist, laying with her.
Evermore came relaxation. The distant memories of yesteryear's conflict continued to drift from him, drifting away into a dark void, growing dimmer and less clear.
. . .
The light of the day peered in through the window, curtains spread open by strong hands, and warmth engulfed her beneath the sheets. Sun rays cast squares onto the glossy floor, sloth overcoming all senses by way of frustration towards the temperature. She blinked a few times, attempting to adjust her eyes to the bright heat that shone down on her naked figure.
"It's morning already," she yawned.
Quickly, she realized that Vergil had gone absent. Looking around, she noticed steam coming from under the bathroom door.
Smiling broadly, she left the bed and stretched herself, rolling her muscular shoulders back. She cleared crust from the corner of her eyes with simple wipes and cracked her neck to the side. She could feel all those vertebras coming alive slowly, relieving their pressures. Rolling her head forward in a circle, she fully expanded all her muscles, tugging on sleeping fibers and aching bones to right themselves back into place for the day ahead. She was sure of herself despite the scars. Her body had reached an apex that few humans had.
She did wonder what they could do today.
"Good morning," Vergil said.
"Hey," she replied without looking back, "Morning."
He came to her and rubbed her shoulders, "Are you okay?" He asked.
She smirked, "Yeah, I'm fine . . ." Looking at the white blanket below, "Just a little out of my element, I guess."
Humor grew lifted his spirits and he said, "If you're feeling like this, imagine me experiencing a normal life."
Lady glared back at him. He had a point. In a way, they were propping up one another through dark, uncertain times. A return to normality was something she quite desired. Lady returned to the bed and wandered about her mind's eye, thinking on many topics, much of which she felt she lacked the stomach to handle at the present moment. She ran her fingers back through her fair and took a deep breath. She fidgeted about and scratched at her eyelids, flushing her mind of any concentration.
"I'm so used to killing Demons that it's sort of odd that nothing major's going on right now," she laid back on the bed crossed her legs, "having trouble was sort of our business, me and Dante."
Vergil understood, he gave a small shrug of resignation, "If you'll forgive me of my traumas, then you'd understand why I was not part of that business."
"Oh sure," she countered, "I know that. I don't mean to imply anything, I'm only saying that I've been feeling odd without that kind of pressure in my life recently."
He didn't need to say anything, he sat on the edge of the bed and smirked.
"You been feelin' that way too?" She asked.
"I have."
"Damn."
"Indeed," he said.
He was always a man of few words. Not many could drive him to poetic extremes.
"Are you doing okay now? I never get the chance to ask." She said.
"I'm fine," he told her, "I've been spending my worry on other things."
"Yeah, I figured. You always were good at that."
His expression broke slightly, ". . . Yes. I suppose so."
Too much negativity for her liking. She chose to change the subject, "What's the plan today, you wanna go eat at that diner down the street?"
He ran his fingers through his hair, "I don't know. Not sure I feel like diner-food. I guess I could try to entertain Patty . . . before she starts pestering me again."
"Good choice, you two should really connect." Lady chuckled.
He smirked in response, "Hmph."
"Don't give me that look mister, you're the one she looks up to." The woman told him.
"You're not coming with us?" He asked, "Patty would enjoy having you around. She likely trusts you more than me."
The moment was cut short when they heard a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" Vergil called out to them.
"It was Lucia." They heard.
Both slouched their shoulders as the man reluctantly said, "Come in."
The door slowly opened, revealing the cheerful red-head foreigner, "Good morning you duo."
"Hey Lucy," Lady welcomed, "ya don't mind if I call you that, right?"
Lucia shook her head affirmatively.
"Do not mind, though, we need to talking." She addressed Vergil with a serious tone. Lady raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Sure, let's go," he replied, walking with her to the door, turning back towards Lady, "I'll be back."
He waved goodbye.
Once the door closed, Lady heaved a long sigh. She wondered if Lucia felt any form of affection for Vergil. It was likely that she did. At the present moment, it was not something she could sanction, living with someone who would look upon the nudity of another. It was a terrible thing to believe the man capable of, but she simply couldn't fully trust whether or not he would be swayed by the lust of another, one especially as exotic and beautiful as the crimson-haired woman.
She hit herself awake from frustration, she shouldn't think such possessive things. It was wrong.
Still, it hurt to believe that there were demonic women, beings of sex that far surpassed a human's capability.
Insecurity was tough to beat.
No! No, that was not what she would lower herself to thinking.
. . .
The colors of the burgh reminded him of children's toys. Every red was the exact same hue, a brilliant cherry merged within snow. Every blue was a bright royal shade, neither dark nor light, wistful and lonely as a cloudy sky. There were no trees, the foliage could not cooperate its melanin to acclimate on every leaf. The street-lamps were the same canary yellow as the rain-slickers and the taxis.
There were no pinks, no greys, no oranges or violets, but it was more than that; nothing was sun-bleached, nothing scratched or chipped.
The street was free of litter, the walls went un-vandalized to perfection, and the streets were unblemished by trash. All things considered, the city had recovered remarkably since the rise of Mundus.
The two of them walked to a nearby public bench, where there was a stall that sold drinks and sandwiches. The mayor had passed public relief reforms that had seen the establishment of state-funded food banks and many other generous things. Reconstruction was an ongoing concept, one which would be centered around the devastation to the Lincoln Cathedral, a grand piece of inner-city work that had altogether been wiped from existence, decimated and left ruins, bodies strewn about in horrid fashion, and no explanation as to why. There seemed to be an almost imperceivable change in the wind, a darkness that had gone away. The chill of winter's touch replaced by the march of spring's glow.
And there at this stand, the man and the woman together ordered off a simple white menu.
"Two drinks, please." Vergil spoke to the young man.
"Alrighty, what kind would like?" the clerk answered.
"Water for me," the slayer replied.
"Green tea," Lucia said with a smile.
"Alright, here ya go," the man said as he handed Vergil a tall plastic cup filled with ice-cold water, "I'll have your tea ready in a moment, ma'am."
Vergil crossed his legs and sat at the bench sprawled back, waiting for Lucia to speak. They were alone now. No pressure, no demons, no comas, no interruptions, only one colleague speaking to another. They'd come a long since their first meeting. All the way back then, when he'd first returned to the land of the living. Such a surreal feeling now, that it could have been so long ago. The woman herself seemed to be feeling nervous still, and she kept fidgeting as she waited for her tea.
"So . . . there is a linger problem that I wish to discuss." She said to him.
"Okay," he said, "And what is the nature of this problem?"
"There is a sorcerer from my homeland, name is Arius . . ."
"Arius . . ." he repeated, trouble taking root in his brow.
"I discovered his involvement with forest corruption. The monsters that you helped fight, they belong to him." She said.
He could still remember how those creatures walked, the terrible smell they emitted. Something was wrong with that forest, deeply wrong. The creatures there he found were a strange kind he had not seen before, with the expectation of Hell's vanguards, instead he was greeted by abominations, misfits of a kind that he'd not ever dreamed. How strange it was that they never seemed to leave.
What had been occurring within that forest since?
"This man . . . are you saying he 'created' those things?" He asked, interested.
"I seek your help to find out more." Lucia affirmed.
Arius: a sorcerer. Vergil had always despised smoke and mirrors.
He repeated the name in his mind. Curating a foreign thought so detached as this was difficult for him. He disliked when a problem chose to present itself late in development, as there was much time that could've been spent on solving it, but circumstances, as there always were, kept it from his purview till the eleventh hour. As had been the case with Mundus before him, this 'Arius' would present himself as a thorn in Vergil's side.
But, he supposed, that was the fun of an adventure, wasn't it?
"It sounds like he's a real lovable guy . . ." Dante's voice came through him briefly, and he continued, "So, when do you require assistance?"
Lucia shook her head again. There was something that truly disturbed her, beneath the skin, beneath the veil of peaceful calm, and she was unsure of she should express it.
After a moment of silence, she lifted her right sleeve up to her shoulder revealing a clear mark, either a scar or a brand in the shape of I jagged 'X.' He shifted forward, placing the cup of water down beside him and he inspected the mark. He'd never seen it before, it held no form of connotative importance to the career he'd chosen, and so it bore no recognizability.
"What is that?" He asked, lighting tracing his fingers along the lines in her skin. It seemed to cause her no pain, apart from an emotional one.
It was as though it had been carved with a hot poke of iron, a blacksmith's treacherous insignia, to proclaim the pride of his twisted work.
"I do not know," She said very clearly, "I have no memory of how I got this!"
"Tell me what you can remember. What happened to you?"
Lucia shook her head once more, and her mind shuttered, unable to think or recall at what time she had received the mark. Cannot the kingdom of her homelands return her sanity? Perhaps it was a sinister work, a demon he hadn't yet discovered. Anything was possible, though it was unlikely. No curse should be miscalled here, the liveliness of the woman's endurance had taken her thus far, through an endless void of sleep and through injury after injury. She never scarred, no, for it was a thing she had been enhanced beyond. Or, so Matier had claimed to her.
He couldn't quite understand what she was driving toward. Hell was not worth an identity crisis, and whatever sins of the flesh past was no longer a concern to be hovering upon.
"I . . ." And as she tried to remember, she winced. Her eyes emptied themselves of understanding, and a single tear came to the corner of her left eye.
It fell so softly, so sullenly. His face grew sincere and his eyes pried open fully.
He knew all too well what it felt like to become lost, to be weightless in an endless expanse of nothingness, not knowing where to go or what to say. The utter obliteration of the self and the fissure of the mind into upended havoc. Shellacking old wounds with new blood, the weather of the soul would become interminable, a device for blissful soil to lie ever-still, and so shall take humanity into the earth.
But warm hands grasped her cold ones, a warmth so homely that it thawed her out of the void, returned her senses to her.
"You truly don't know. It's okay," he said, his strong voice soothing her fraying nerves.
Lucia chuckled lightly, "Hmhm, you are not the same man I met long ago."
Indeed, to her eyes, he was not the same frozen mercenary whom had come to destroy and pillage the soils for power.
A small, but comforting smile graced his slick face, "You may stay as long as you like, I will make arrangements for you in the office."
Lucia stared at him for a moment, "Lady is lucky woman," she spoke truly.
He placed a hand on her shoulder and looked at her dead-on. There wasn't a hint of discord in his face, only a looming kindness.
"We must get one thing clear between us," he paused for a moment picking his words carefully, "while I am flattered by the notion, if I am to aid you, we cannot take this further than friendship."
In her heart of hearts, she knew it was coming.
"I see."
"It's not a custom of mine to seek more than one partner."
She looked away from him, then back again swiftly, "Forgive me, I did not understand."
"It is fine, I am aware of the allure. I cannot provide for you what you seek in that regard, but I am still your friend."
"But-" She sought to speak, though he spoke calmly through her words.
"I am sorry," he told her, "I still tread an uncertain road."
There came a long time of silence. They stared ahead, looking at nothing.
Lucia finally spoke, "Thank you . . . for giving me honesty."
And with that, she returned to sipping on her tea, hoping the drink would take her away from this disquiet proceeding, and she excused herself of his company. Away she went, off back to the hotel. In time, Vergil came to finish his water and sighed loudly, sitting lonely as a cloud on the bench. He wondered if Dante had faced these kinds of issues in his daily life. Who was he kidding, of course, he had. Perhaps it was worth his time to ask Lady about this little quandary, perhaps enlighten him further on the life his brother held in the years after their battle. Tho Dante resided within in some spiritual form, explicit memories had not presented themselves to his vision, and so what still remained were foggy feelings and intuition to guide him on what had come before.
He returned to the shop. Lucia wasn't there. He knew not where Lady had gone either, but she was not in his room.
The winds had grown quiet and cold. Religiously above him, the lights seemed to grow fainter, and the world outside appeared to become grey. Grey like the skies in rain, more grey than a shapeless, un-molded, unpainted glob of clay. The street outside, as he returned to inspect it, had become stillborn, silent of traffic, he couldn't even hear the sound of birds chirping around. He searched the avenues and found no human, mortals gone home or disappeared, devoid of instinct or reason.
And yet, he felt no danger. Nothing around him had picked the hairs from his neck to stand up. If a small needle fell, he would clearly hear it.
He wondered to himself what was occurring.
"Hear me, son of Sparda." A calm voice spoke to him. Vergil glared around him, and from the shadows of a colossal alleyway that stood beside him, he heard the voice. He followed the voice inside, the dark welcoming him again like an old friend. And there within, he came upon the source, a stilted statue of blinded angel, weeping and sullen. A wounded angel, one burned by humanity's ignorance, once a beautiful face exalted above all others, surrounded by blue porcelain light from an unknown fire above.
He came to look upon it with pity. The thing befell a kind of tragedy only dreamt of by the old poets, now lost to history.
"What has happened to you, poor creature?" He replied to it.
Though robbed of sight and cloaked by white cloth around its bleeding eyes, it looked up at him, crouched involuntarily upon its knees.
"Your eyes are so kind. Kinder then I was told them to be. You are not the same as you once were."
Vergil smiled a closed-smile, and he said to her, "I suppose not many of us are, after so long."
"You must listen to me . . . soon, there will be a storm on you, a storm on all mankind." It spoke.
The half-devil scoffed, "I have weathered the Demon King Mundus, a storm does not scare me."
"When the king falls, the successor shall rise. It will be one that shall surpass lies, and if not wrestled with in time, will doom us all. Heed my words now, I beg of you. You must face them and find peace with your other half, destroy the terrible two before it is too late," and it struggled and bowed its head, laying down its arms for penance to an unseen deity, "if you do not act, a bright flame will supplant the southern cross that once stood in the dark plains of Gehenna's aether."
"A successor to Mundus, you say," The devil replied, and he sighed, "there's no repose for this warrior's old soul."
"You will have rest one day, my son," it said.
"Mmm . . ." he grumbled and rolled his eyes, "But of course, this requires only my touch and none other."
It spoke to him through the word and then told to him, inherently, touch my forehead and receive all you seek.
And so he did, placing his brown-gloved hand upon the wounded angel's head, and hereupon seraphim's wings came a light that flushed his eyes and showed him new things
The air was filled with fire and soot.
Below nine circles, he saw the daemon horde broke into clashes of civil warring, running, dashing, fleeting out like lice unto the sun. There ensnared within them was Lady.
Shelling out fire and hatred came corroded humanoids, molded by malice into beings beyond comprehension, rendered mortal no longer. All around, a vision of hell itself.
Mountains of the earth's blood and burning magma flowed, charring feet and leper messiahs, to the septic fields of torn flesh and souls, burning forever in nightmares below the lord King Minos in his frozen glare, the lord of the labyrinth now made to be the judge of the dead, great halls of suffering holding together torment and betrayers to their unholy creation. And there, down so far below, where the Devil himself lay, a man cackling of the murder, standing on the frozen lake of agony, the river cocytus.
And it was Hell, not Gehenna, not the domain of Mundus, nor Hel, nor Purgatory, but Sheol. The realm of darkness where evil dwelled and dark souls were sent to be punished.
And it was the future.
Vergil awoke to an empty alley, seconds having gone by
The wounded angel had gone, as had that ominous blue fire ceiling above them. Clouds remained high above. Wintry air still swirled around the city, taking every lick of warmth it could.
The man, in his bid to relieve the harsh visions, had taken a walk. A long and empty walk. Across the derelict streets, he wandered on, driven by empty thoughts. The vision had been burned into his brain, and he saw the true ruins that remained. The buildings still remained under construction. At the very least, it put people to work and placed food on their tables. Such pretty windows, places that looked to be made of older things, brownstone and gargoyles, abounded across this dreamy, snow-covered landscape; alongside of them stood the bold and the new, the places of commercial law and modern business. They were grand and massive, sleek and tremendous, broader outside the little borough where he held residence. To the local kids, they were more alluring than the corner candy store, loaded.
The walk had helped him clear his mind, at the very least. The winter surroundings still reeked of Christmas. It was a world that he felt was alienated from him.
While the sun had shone earlier, now it was hidden by dark clouds and somber weather. He came by the shop once more, neon lights glowing now, timed to the night rhythms. Through the windows of suburban houses, he could see people walking about here and there, trying to live their lives like nothing had ever happened in between. The diner nearby opened again and Lady suggested they go and have dinner sometime. He'd like that.
He entered his office building and found Patty sitting on the couch, beside Lady, across from Tony on the other chairs.
In the corner, slouched and moody, was Lucia.
"Well, I can see everyone has settled back in nicely," he said.
"Where've you been all day?" Patty asked, running to him.
"Around and about, I, uh . . . I went for a walk."
"Where'd you go today?" She persisted.
"I went around, hey listen," he said, crouching down and motioning her over, "What would you think if we all went out to that nice diner a few blocks over, hm?"
Her eyes lit, "Oooh, that sounds good!"
Lady perked her ears up, "Oh? Thought you weren't up to it."
"Ah well, a late stroll changed my mind," Vergil said, "Anyway, what do you say?"
"I'm down," Lady said.
Tony himself stood up, "Yeah, that sounds good, ain't a lot else to do around here."
Silently, the slayer nodded his head.
"Lucy, you in?" The young girl asked.
The redhead looked up at them and she stayed silent for a moment, considering what to say. Though, she ultimately decided against the notion, "no. I do not feel up to it."
"Mmm," Vergil reasoned her answer, "well, I guess we'll see you around."
Walking out the front door was easy, walking to the diner was the problem. It was many miles away, but luckily, the slayer in red had a solution to that. He brandished the Yamato, swiped cleanly the blade from its hilt and diced the air in two. With a secondary slash, he cut across the afterimage of the first, and held the blade over his shoulder, then straight down his back, sheathing the weapon. Right before their eyes opened a rip in space, a momentary breach of reality, and on the other side sat plainly their destination.
Vergil took Patty's hand and assured her, "It won't harm you, it just looks scary."
"You don't gotta tell me," she replied, "seems like that's the status quo around here now."
And they walked through the portal. Tony came through last and he looked freaked.
"Since when in the hell could you do that?" He asked the slayer.
"I've always been capable, but the body refused me. It's only now that I possess all my strength," and the man carried on, leading them into the establishment.
They settled in warmly and held for one another a kind of terse likability. What little of the day remained was spent in good fun, ordering many things, eating healthily with good humor and tremendous stories. If, at the very least, Vergil could not be an able fatherly figure, then uncle Tony could suffice, and Patty spent her time laughing sweetly. Lady was, herself, feeling in high spirits. It was satisfying to feel this change of pace. Life was good, changed and foreign now, but still improved.
The glass front door opened and a strange person entered. He was an elderly man, no less than seventy, his haggard brown eyes searching frantically, exhausted. He seem to come from the old country, dressed in a suit that looked much too old even for these modern times. The old man spotted the emotionless Vergil, whose cold, calculated gaze kept him from approaching immediately. Desperation out-weighed any other feelings, and he came towards them anyway.
Vergil saw within him a severe damage to his sanity, fear was controlling him.
"M-Mister Dante, I need your help please," he said, old and raspy.
The others stopped their actions and paused to look at the man.
Vergil commanded his attention before the others could converse with him, "I am eating, sir."
"I-. . . I know, I see that. It's an emergency," the man told him.
"Whatever emergency you have, take it elsewhere. There are other bounty hunters who'd gladly take your case."
"I can't- you don't understand," he said, the old man persisted, "I need your help right now."
Vergil sighed, and he closed his eyes, "I'm telling you this in the kindest way possible," he opened them, "Get lost. I am with my family and I am eating. Bother someone else."
The man's bloodshot eyes immediately tensed, and he took off his hat, holding it in his hands, "Please, listen to me! There is something you need to know."
Stone-faced still, Vergil only repeated what he'd said, "Bother someone else."
The man trembled slightly, "I beg you, sir, I beg-" but he stopped.
His weakened eyes, sunken so deep in his million-year-old face, looked outside the glass window right by their table. The others looked but could see nothing.
The fear inside him grew ever greater, and he backed away from the window. He began to shout at the top of his lungs, "No! No, get away!"
Still, they could see nothing.
His back met the diner counter, and he scrambled, knocking plates and menus off the counter as he became to scream.
Lady looked back and forth between the man and what he was looking at, "What's wrong?"
"No! No! Please, please, get away! I won't go with you!" Tears streamed down his face, "Stop!"
And he fell back off his feet, collapsing below the counter and backing away into the small space underneath the top, behind the scattered chairs, crying over and over, "No, no, no, no, no!"
Lady and Tony both stood immediately and rushed to his side, holding him by his arms to try and calm him. Vergil himself stood and ordered Patty hide behind the wall to his left, and he summoned Yamato, drawing the blade to face whatever it was that threatened the man. And yet still, he saw nothing. Not a soul stood outside, no one to fight and nothing to destroy. Still, he held his steely gaze strong and clasped his katana in both his hands forward at the window.
"No! No, no, no, no- ah-!" abruptly, something cut the old man's words off. He contorted upwards and his eyes filled with blood, he coughed and sputtered silently, seizing rapidly.
In moments, his heart burst within his chest, and he left up, blood running out the side of his mouth, and then, he breathed no more.
And he slumped back lifeless, motionless, dead.
Vergil stood perplexed, unharmed.
He looked back and forth repeatedly, wondering what had gotten to the man, but could find no logical answer for himself.
He'd simply keeled over and died.
To Be Continued
Thank you for reading everyone . . .
Guest: To address the concept of Nero's mother, I left it open-ended so that everyone could imagine whatever they wanted about her, so if you want to believe that Helena is a prostitute or that she's just someone he seduced and dumped, have at it.
Besides, it was only implied that she was a prostitute if I remember correctly, because of people who bullied Nero. So we don't really know who is she.