Chapter 34 ~ It Follows

Vergil's focus was scattered, filled with ecstasy. His thoughts danced in infinite directions, fingers trailing her supple skin, lips leaving burning kisses across her back. Pressed against glass, she moaned, the object of his lust, the feeling of him drive in and out, they sated one another like pleasance to an embers fiery embrace in the flame. She turned toward him, stark naked, and drew up her leg to his waist, leaning back against the glass, her fingers running through his hair and his fingers grasping her tanned flesh as the final throes came. Lips locked, he shook and she whimpered, no one safe from the storm, so wicked and warm. And when satisfaction came, she slipped her tongue down his throat, the two bathed in the shadows of the library's dimly lit study room. It had grown quite late, certainly later than he wanted, and later than she desired to be there, but it was a satisfactory end to the trip.

He gasped for air as they parted, falling back into the chair behind him that she'd used earlier on top of him. He hadn't known previously about her predilection towards cowgirls. Still, of the ways to learn, it was certainly one of the better ones. He grabbed a book off the table and used it as a fan. Sweat dripped down her thighs as she stood with her eyes shut, twitching gratification as she slid down.

She rested herself on the ground, breathing in, almost convulsing as her sweet breath still hung in his mouth.

"Wow," he whispered, "that was . . . wonderful."

Lady opened her eyes and stared back at him, "I think I'm blind . . ."

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, ". . . sorry."

"No . . . that's good," she smirked.

"Ah," he sighed, "still have trouble with day-to-day verbiage."

She fixed herself up.

"You get used to it," she told him, using her jacket to wipe out the sweat gathering in her face.

Looking down at his watch, he saw it was time, and muttered, "we should be going."

Though not much had been learned from this trip, their minds ruminated with a sense of fulfillment. At the very least, they were growing closer and more of it was something Vergil most definitely felt to be an advantage, not a distraction. They walked out from the room after tidying as best they could, leaving the library just barely before it closed, ignoring odd looks from the keepers at dusk. He watched the remnants of the sunset at the horizon, spreading largesse into a grateful blue sky. Vibrantly the sky came to be painted; red, orange, purple and cerulean of the fraying darkness behind. A sense of calm that had washed over them seemed to temper the ominous hues in the sky.

The neon sign flickered ever so often as the two finally returned home. The moment Virgil opened the door, Patty crowed, "hey! you came back."

A sense of relief etched itself in Vergil's face. She wasn't out for very long. Tony was sweeping the floor of the whole place, looking far more sober, and above all else, clean.

"Welcome back," Lucia greeted them politely. To greet everyone without question was a natural custom.

"I appreciate you looking after her," he nodded toward her, then spoke to the child, "did you have fun?"

Patty held her hands together, her face lit, "It was terrific! I caught up with my friends, we had cookies, and we sat in front of the TV watching my favorite show. I'd love to do it again soon."

"Glad to hear," he said, "I'm sure we'll arrange another little visit someday."

And with that, the drained swordsman retired to his bedroom alone and here he threw off his coat and inspected the weapons in his cabinet. Ebony and Ivory remained there, untouched, ever since he returned them that day. Guns gave him great discomfort. He doubted he'd ever use them, not to the same purpose as his brother. He stared at the inscriptions on the sides of the barrels. 'Nell Goldstein, to Anthony Redgrave.' There was a relief of a woman carved on the grip for both guns.

Nell Goldstein.

He wondered if she'd been Dante's custodian. Certainly, he knew the man had been just as affected as he was by the loss of mother. As young men, the two were thrust apart by ambition and differing views, and that still weighed upon Vergil that he'd been as foolish as he was to presume the world owed him everything. He wavered and chose to gather Dante's possessions in a box, his intention to store them elsewhere. It was better than ridding himself of the old things, their sentimental value renewed in his eyes.

"Lady," Vergil beckoned.

"Yes?" The answer came.

"I need your company for a moment."

It was something he'd been wanting to do for a good, long while, but he hadn't felt enough courage for the time.

Lady emerged through the hall door, worry writ in her soft eyes for a moment, "Yeah? What is it?"

Vergil couldn't help but smile, and it was sweet in an odd way, "there's no reason to fret, dear. I'm fine."

Lady blushed to herself and briefly shrunk. She was becoming a bundle of nerves lately for want of her lover's safety.

And she shook her head and laughed, "no teasing, what is it?"

Vergil smirked and was silent for a moment. He found it difficult to express and slowly his good feeling faded.

"It was a personal belief for me never to use guns," he began as he straightened himself, "I believed them dishonorable in combat, a vile and destructive weapon that tapped into the cowardice of those undeserving. I still believe in that code, that the sword is the mightiest expression. So . . . I think you should have Dante's pistols."

Lady grew silent.

A memento unlike any other.

"I think he would've wanted you to have them. Lord knows he thought I was too stuffy a prick to use them . . . and for lack of a better ideal, he's right."

She smiled, and slowly, she reached for the weapons he held out in his hands toward her, presented as gifts from an unspoken era.

"You're just full of gifts, ain't ya," she said, and she took the guns and stared at into the chrome with grateful eyes. The designs were of sleek and dramatic complexion, technical prowess tremendously abundant, and skilled performance undaunted by the hands of time. Even after all that, she felt her hands weigh heavily, as though the last remains of Dante's legacy had been strapped onto the weapons. To the brink came the stress of heritage. She flourished under pressure, a skill most women lacked. It never bothered her when the going got tough, it just meant that she'd have to become tougher, and to this end, her trigger fingers never twitched. With the guns in a stylish posture, she felt one with the method, at peace with her value. It was as though she desired to make a good impression with the guns themselves.

Upon the sides she noticed the name as well.

"Goldstein?" Lady said lowly, rummaging through her things, and she retrieved her latest model machine gun. The inscription, much less flashy in design, read 'Rock Goldstein.'

"Well, I'll be . . ." she whispered, "I gotta say it: Rock isn't as good as she was."

She strolled towards him, high on gratitude, and lightly pecked his cheek, "thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, a light smile dancing across his cheeks.

A text alert set her phone alight. She retrieved it from jacket pocket and looked at the screen lazily.

"What's that about?" he asked, his curiosity unusual.

"Hmm?" she stared back him, "oh it's nothing, it's just this potential job I've got. Someone recommended me."

"I see," he said as he closed the armoire, "what've they got you doing now, pushing pencil-necks to the walls?"

"Haha," she chuckled, "not quite. Looks a friend of this guy disappeared without a word, wants someone to go check him out and see if he's okay."

He raised an eyebrow, "doesn't sound very supernatural."

"Um, well . . . before he vanished, he started talking about . . . an invisible creature."

His eyes widened.

"What?"

She sighed, "yeah, it looks similar."

He snorted out loud a deep huff and strode to the bedroom window. He glared out onto the streets, a voice inside roaring at him paranoia of the sharpest order. She sighed, knowing he might be less than thrilled, as it happened to be similar by coincidence. Her feelings of accepting the case were mixed and she wondered if she'd be at all in her acceptable depth. It was not a normal concept, she was used to fighting things she could see.

"What do you know," he commanded she tell him.

"Just those basic details. I haven't been in contact with them very long."

He kept staring, his back turned from her.

"I suppose that the consideration of my feelings prevented you from mentioning it earlier."

She swallowed and spoke lowly, "yes. It seems too similar to ignore outright. I didn't know how you'd react," Lady said, "I was debating whether or not I'd take it."

He glared back at her, "you will."

The woman nodded, "I had a feeling you'd say that. I'll give 'em a call."

"I'll be going with you," he added, lamenting, "I fear it may not be as simple as looking around an empty house."

Lady affirmed his stance with another nod of her head and spoke cooly, "gimme a sec, I'll get the address."

Though she felt tired, Vergil insisted it be dealt with that night. She agreed, though reluctant. After a couple of minutes, Lady walked downstairs and came to the front door, her cigarette prepared without relish. She never enjoyed them, but when it came to a job taken after a long day, she just had to smoke one. It gave her energy of all things, a kind of frenetic enjoyment when the effects sank in, however short-winded it temporarily left her. It became a custom after so long, to smoke two, then head back inside and gear herself up properly. Nightlife was something she never truly missed. Until now, she'd never done so anyplace else besides her apartment, but in this economy, she'd likely have to minimize expenses soon . . . an apartment of that size wasn't cheap, not anymore. She cared not for who saw her smoke, not even Vergil. It wasn't in her nature to give any credence to those who judged her for the small moment's indiscretion.

Vergil sat inside on his chair, Yamato held close, his clothing freshened and his eyes weary, and Lucia sat opposite of him.

"I have not heard of a demon like that," Lucia said, and as he stared at her, she explained, "Whatever it was yesterday, whatever it is that you are going to find now, I have not seen a demon like it yet, literally. I have seen many kinds of them around in my home, but never anything like this. It is confusing to me."

"You could understand why I'm a great deal worried about what may come," Vergil grumbled, keeping his focus on a single point at his bookshelf.

"Yes," Lucia said with a breath, "let me try to help. I will leave and search the metropolis for clues."

Vergil glanced up at her, "yes, that would help. Thank you."

Lucia bowed her head and she stepped towards the door, Vergil calmly speaking to Tony as she did so.

"Good luck, Lady," the woman said as walked outside.

"Thanks," Lady replied.

The foreigner leapt to the air like no human could and her visage transformed itself into a form of both beautiful white and graceful horror, a form beyond comprehension to those uninformed of demonic nature, and wings of angelic, Luciferian light emerged from her back, taking shape into cosmic feathers of an ulterior creation, before flying off into the night, a whisper on the wind.

"You ready?" Vergil asked as he locked the door behind him.

"Yep," she said, throwing away her cigarette, "I'm ready when you are," and she started off toward her motorcycle, "you gonna join me?"

His expression broke into that of annoyance, "if I'm to join you, you won't be driving."

Lady rolled her eyes, "oh please, spare me."

"Alright," he scoffed humorously and he began walking. She stared at him as he went, wondering what was wrong with him half the time. Nevertheless, she shrugged and sat down, adorning her helmet then turning the engine on. With a roar, she sped off down the street, the house her destination. It was small, even by local standards; two rooms on each level and a single entrance in the front without a garage. The front yard held a small, somewhat well-maintained garden, though it looked like it hadn't been maintained for about a week. A car was parked nearby, left abandoned in the driveway, and a man stood at the door, pounding it senselessly.

Stepping off, she saw Vergil standing at the fence around the project. He seemed relaxed waiting for her, staring down at the sidewalk. The moment he'd come close, the air had grown peculiar, in a sense. The wind was shrieking, and from far away, he could hear a disembodied laugh, as though something was moving about through the sky. He straightened himself as she approached, thick thighs swaying from side to side as they always had.

"James, are you there?" The unknown man shouted, hunched over.

Lady took off her helmet and approached Vergil, "how long's he been here?"

"Long enough to annoy to me," the Slayer replied.

"James!" the man at the door cawed.

Vergil came towards him, Lady in tow, "How long has it been?"

He observed the man to be possessed of a strangely pale complexion, far paler than even Vergil himself, and his short brown hair was messy and matted down. He hadn't known how long the man hadn't bathed, but it was becoming quite clear that it'd been a definite long while.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Name's Vergil, I'm an associate," he replied, "how long has it been?"

"Five days. I've been banging on his door for fifteen minutes."

"Right," Vergil said, "then we should get inside."

Vergil tapped his hand over the metal lock on the door. To their surprise, it fell from the door as though it hadn't been latched at all, and he pushed the door open without a word. Into that gentle darkness he stood peering, and the within the confines of this household prison appeared a normal living room that seemed to be spotless. A cold cup of coffee sat lonely on the table, prepared for no one. The TV was on, static projecting black and white into the dark room. Lady flipped on the light switch to the right of the front door and illuminated the gloomy house.

"James? Buddy?" the man called.

"I don't think he'll answer you," Vergil said.

It was sterile, almost seeming to be that no one at all had ever stepped foot inside or out. It was just as the owner had left it.

The smell was empty. It was bizarre to describe, but it smelled like vacancy. The usually present smells of a person's home were absent in the face of reason. Sterile still did the feeling persist that something wrong hun in the air, as though the life within was missing along with its owner. The man wandered from them, as was human habit, and Lady kept her fingers on Ebony & Ivory. Vergil kept his eyes peeled, stepping slowly. His movements were measured but confident.

"What happened?" She asked him.

The man shouted, and both of them rushed towards him through the hall to an office. Inside, the room hid no secrets. Over the mantle were pictures of a woman, most likely deceased, given the practical shrine of white candles and carefully placed centricity. Around it were smaller pictures of the woman and her romantic partner, a man with black hair. The walls around them were painted blue, and only one window faced outwards toward the main road. On the grey desk sat a desktop computer, a notebook lying open, and a stack of files sitting under a paperweight. In the southern corner, the air conditioner filtered frigid air across pen and parchment and swivel chairs meant for guests.

The man rummaged through everything and yet there was nothing to indicate he was either killed or kidnapped.

"What happened to him?" the man asked aloud.

There was a sense of evil within, a feeling that nothing at all sacred or natural had occurred within the room, and from this brewed a sense of unease. The darkness within surrounding the shrine made the room feel crypt-like, as though it were a place of dead things, things that could not walk straight, dragging crooked-twisted limbs across the barren streets of a small town far off in the east. Evil existed here much the same as it was that night. That old man, the diner . . . the similar feeling made the hair on his neck stand tall and rigid, his entire body growing to feel unsafe. A malevolence gripped him and he felt to spread his dark wings and make the realm his own, the urge to become demonic inside these dementia-ridden walls. A righteous man he was not, Mundus could attest. The banished King of pale descent was only a memory, and yet that same stilted fraying seemed to appear now, kept hidden but still present, as though the dark dimension he'd been trapped had returned to envelope him.

A warmth of memory affected him an unchallenged calmness that tore apart the paranoia. He gazed upon the office, breathing slowing, checked the window, his shoulders broadening, but he could see nothing out of place.

"I-" the man croaked, and they both returned their gaze to him, "he's gone. They got to him."

"Who's 'they'?" Vergil growled.

The man began to shiver and he shrunk backwards, afraid.

"Who is 'they'!?" The Slayer bellowed with a black-toothed howl, eyes flashing red.

"Gah!" the man yelled and stumbled back into a chair, and the Slayer came upon him, towering and infernal, silent. The man spoke hurriedly, "Th-There were things going wrong in the city that nobody was noticing, murders and disappearances, unexplained things that no one was looking into! The police were caught up in rebuilding the city and the destruction made it impossible for cops to figure any of it out, so me and James started investigating it. A child could've shot someone right in front of 'em and none of the cops around here would've done anything about it, we were just trying to help-"

"Must I check your hearing?" the Slayer leered, "who is 'they'?"

"We don't know! We don't know, that's- that's what we were investigating . . . they use symbols from an old language we couldn't in library books, so . . . we had to order some from online, mostly rare stuff. I was gonna come back here once they came and we'd start reading about them, maybe figure out what they mean, but now . . . they got to him. I know they did. They got to him and now they know I know too. They're going to come for me, they're going to send that . . . thing."

Vergil grabbed him by the collar and drew him close as his pupils shrunk to near nothing and the flesh around his face warped, "what thing?"

The man's eyes widened and he gasped for air, terrified of the Slayer, "it's- it's not-"

Vergil repressed the urge and cracked his neck back, glaring at the man more human, "finish that sentence."

"It's not human. James told me- he saw it before he vanished, he was seeing a-" the man stuttered and trembled, "a bleached faceless thing with a crooked smile, malformed like some old clay. It is . . . the end. And he saw it just before he went away. It's going to come after me. It's going to come find me!"

"I still need an answer, mongrel," the Slayer growled.

Lady's hand touched his shoulder and he glared at her, less than human. Her gaze snapped him back into place.

"Alright," Lady crowed, "that's enough."

He nodded slowly, and he let go of the man's shirt.

"We're going to help you," she said, "we'll make sure it doesn't find you as best we can."

"Where can I go? What'll I do?" the man asked.

"You can stay with us, we've got a safe house," Lady said.

Vergil grumbled, and after a short exchange of looks with Lady, he relented, "hm, very well."

She smiled. Of the matter at hand, she grasped the files on the desk, shoddily organized and found them to be mostly notes separated into different topics. The top one was a file that seemed to be hastily shoved into place atop the others, and she decided to open it. Held within were a number of pictures of various objects and environments, odd angles and bad lighting, though the central subject of them seemed to be missing completely. It seemed as though he'd shot photos of virtually nothing.

"Looks like our man James here is a photographer," she said.

"That's- those are photos," the man fumbled his words, "those are photos of the thing."

She stared at him, confused and worried. An invisible creature that stalked its prey . . . invisible to even a camera's eye?

The man and the Devil Hunters went forth to Devil May Cry and came upon safety in isolation

The man took a seat in the lounge and held his arms together.

"So, what's your name?" she asked him.

"Ernest," he mumbled.

"What'd he say?" she asked.

"Ernest." Vergil answered.

"Gotcha, Ernest," she replied, "can you tell us more details about what happened here? You mentioned some books you'd ordered."

"Not me," he replied, "James was the one who ordered the books. I came by his place three days ago and they'd been dropped on his front door, gate unlocked, the whole business. Called him, left him a message and told him about it, thinking maybe he'd gone out and just forgot or somethin' but . . . he hadn't."

Vergil looked through the files they'd taken from the scene and plucked them dry for information. He came round from his desk with the open file and placed it in front of her. There she saw a dark picture, fogged and dreadful, of four figures wearing black cowls. Outstretched with their hands, they appeared to be reaching toward a large stone, but it was too obscured between to tell quite what the stone was. The date of the photograph was marked two weeks prior.

"I can tell you what we do know." Vergil continued said, "According to what he has here, the both of you were investigating a cult."

"Well," Lady grumbled, "shit."

She remembered very much so the last time she'd encountered a cult. It hadn't gone well.

Ernest glanced at the photo and seemed to become spooked, "he didn't show me that one."

And he felt the threat rising, the memory a torn vision of truth

James glanced upwards, his mouth dangling open and loose. His eyes fixed themselves on something.

The wind howled as Ernest gazed back at the window behind him. He could see nothing but the front yard.

"What's wrong?" Ernest asked, breath bated.

"Oh god," James stammered and coughed, "what is that?"

Ernest looked back at his friend, "what?"

The man's breath quickened, "Oh god, what is that?"

In an instant, he jumped back onto his couch.

There was nothing there, nothing to see, no face or shadow, not even an odd presence. He came to his aid and shook his shoulders.

"James, take it easy," he said, and stopped shaking the man, "there's nothing there."

Silence reigned supreme within the office

The story struck them with odd similarities to the event of that night. Death crept upon the ones chosen and they were stalked for days on end till its cold hands took the life that had been marked.

Ernest gazed down at his hands, trembling ever so often.

"He often told me he saw it outside his window before he went to bed," he glanced at Vergil, "started seeing it after we got a tip from an old man about some procession at night in the park. Weird shit. I never saw these people here, but James went out at night snooping around, and I guess he took some photos we weren't aware of. We didn't even know what we were dealing with. A cult? That's just silly. I don't even know what the hell I'm gonna do. What if I start seeing that thing too?"

Vergil and Lady exchanged different glances.

"Well, if that does happen, we've got an idea what we're dealing with now, so . . . I guess that's a plus."

Vergil grumbled, "we still don't have any way to fight it, but sure, why not indulge another fantasy."

"Well at least this 'fantasy' has a bit more detail now. All we need to do is keep him underground here and look up the basic details: no biggie."

He outright scoffed, "'no biggie' . . . as if that actually describes what we're up against. I don't know what this is, details or not. I've memorized every single canonical book on demons in the known realm, I've plundered knowledge sacred that no man has any right to bear, and I've fought all manner of beast that would twist your mind and break it into a thousand pieces, and I can tell you one thing. In no uncertain terms have I ever encountered an intangible being such as this. Invisibility or camouflage be damned. This 'thing' does not exist."

"Well then why the hell did we go to the library today?"

"A basic refresher, haven't you ever wanted to re-read your old favorites?"

"Ya sure didn't seem interested in reading."

"Neither did you," the Slayer replied.

She grimaced at him and rubbed her temples, turning away briefly before she returned with a thought, "okay, so if you don't know anything about this, d'you know anyone else who might?"

He straightened up and pursed his lips.

Her exasperated glare turned to stilted anticipation.

Vergil frowned and sighed, "perhaps, there may be one."

To Be Continued

Thank you for reading . . .

Thank you FDR and Guest.

...

Stay safe everyone. I hope you all are doing well.