I hope people are still here and reading this.

I'm back.

Lady and Vergil Last scene has been updated, an important matters for the two of them.

Thank you guest (Idea), for the suggestion.

Chapter 36 ~ Sweet Amber

Swiftly, he stood. A sickening filth poured off him, as sand from a bowl might do when overflowed. The darkness was palpable and the rage interminably set.

Upon the table beside him, Lady saw a jar of stained liquid, impure and within it the floating appendages once housed in his skull, the eyes where the flesh now wed itself bloody. He croaked and stuttered in place, and within, she felt that primitive fight-or-flight drive. Her hands twitched with anticipation, evil filling her senses as she felt to grasp for her weapons, perhaps her pistols, her knife, or the sub-machine gun held on her thick thigh, sweat dripping down her brow nervously as the chill of something otherworldly crept across her spine. She'd felt fear seldom across her lifetime, and in the absence of reason, this moment was as fear-filled a moment as possible.

"Ofer wínræoed sóþcyning, windumær weorfere," the man mumbled, the words near unintelligible on account of his garbled voice. His postured declined, convulsed and then rose to a mighty presentation. He was as a bear was to a jackrabbit, fearsome and frightening, livid and authoritarian. Though sight was no longer an ability that graced him, she felt her heart suddenly grow frigid, the soul within frozen by his menace.

"Ernest . . . buddy, you care to translate that into English?" she said half-joking, unsure if he was even human anymore.

The man seemed to have forgotten she was there, for a moment, and she stood silently observing him as he hid inside himself, searching the shell for reason and rhyme, but finding none, so it seemed.

"Come on, talk," Lady said, breaths bated, "say something."

Ernest reached with his hands, a smile grew in his face.

"Ic bió hérbeufan mædencild, Ic bió hérbeufan ond éow aldorbana sy geleoren. þes gruf ond thire hondes shal be thei laste terrene globen jou'll harb'r," he spoke in a dead tongue, a strand at once both familiar and yet foreign at the same time, striding in addled doses toward the woman slowly.

"Nope, don't like that," she said, and her hand gripped the handle of her sub.

"You solve shathe suffere neever fine en broten yond Brintr ond Liever, Ic ben heer when thai were bothe afot, Ic wille be heer as I sayd."

His speech grew, though it still appeared broken and mispronounced, he seemed to be growing closer to English. She had picked up words here and there, but it was still something of a mystery, the pronunciation was all wrong, like a man of old Saxon seeking to speak the modern tongue. It all seemed like an incoherent mess. She grew angered and brutal, and her other hand grasped her pistol. The movement wasn't taken kindly to, and the possessed man's next action came swift, without warning as he lunged within a second, inhumanly fast.

Swiftly the knife cut her jacket and through her arm's skin, just on the surface. It stung bad and she was shocked by the speed, almost too shocked to react to what came next as the man's fist came for her throat. She dodged backward, stepping backwards quickly, almost off-balance as his hand hit the air, and he rose both hands, knife coming downward at her chest. Without time, she put her hands forward and grasped the blade. The metal cut her fingers, and she winced but held on, her feet pushing into the ground against the assault. Holding him back, they struggled, struggled, struggled, till she broke him sideways, throwing him off her into the wall.

Her fingers stung but they were still usable, not crippled. In a half-second, she drew her pistols and shot at him, and the man cracked backward mangled briefly, and he leapt up the wall behind him, crawling up to the corner as she showered his trail with bullets, seeking death but never finding the mark as he roved like an animal, a beast of olden nature galloping across ceiling and down the partition.

Like a killer kid with a switchblade knife, he moved out and sliced through the air at her throat, Lady's gunshots riddling the steel and his shoulders as he went.

She rolled backwards when it failed to halt him lurching, and to her feet she sprung, in the foyer now, awaiting his ghoulish swarm.

Ernest's hair fell from his head in patches and he came to prowl slowly after her, stalking the floorboards spellbound as a mutt to its bone. Grimly grinning his ghastly blood-soaked smile, the man snarled at Lady incomprehensible things, words that twisted and warped and stung and cried, howling viciously deranged. She kept her weapons trained and her feet in strong defense, her ears trained to hear a pin fall, and they soon heard the pitter-patter of newcomer's steps.

"Is everything alright?" Patty chirped as she peaked from the other room.

"Everything's fine!" Lady yelled back instantly. "I just dropped something, keep looking for the cues!"

Ernest growled at her, "Ic pref'r mine sylfre distaff young."

She grew angry. The man lunged again, and swiftly she turned on a dime and lifted her leg. Like a gazelle, she extended outward her boot and swung it full-circle, axing brutal the man in his face. He spun into the wall and collided swiftly, falling to the ground below and she felt accomplished, though a painful cut had been left in her upper thigh. She placed her wrist over the wound, not daring to let her pistol go. He rose again, left eye socket torn open from its stitched repose.

"Holy shit!" Tony yelled as he emerged from his room and saw the gruesome sight.

Ernest grabbed him by the throat, lifting the Italian man by a foot off the ground. Franticly, Tony punched and clawed to get free of the man.

His left fist struck Ernest's other closed eye, but to no avail, and he choked "h-help me."

Lady shot out the joint of the man's arm and, immediately, it dropped her friend. Scrambling on the floor backwards, Tony swore as he coughed, "fuck!"

She held Ebony now, grip clutched tightly in her hand. Patty came again, frightened. Ernest saw her and grinned, and he stood over her menacingly.

He raised his hand to her pale gold hair, but a knife plunged itself through his palm. Ernest recoiled back and Lady bashed the gun across his face, forcing him back.

The girl ran to a beckoning Tony, eyes stricken with fear.

"Come to me, come to me!" he yelled.

"Leave," Lady shouted, eyes focused on Ernest.

Ernest hissed and she hurled out a kick at his ribs. He fell back behind Vergil's desk and grasped the wood's edge. Inhuman, he surged back up and leapt across the desk after the girl, screaming blood. Lady threw herself at him, tackling the man to ground through the glass table near the chairs; her hand tightly wrapped around his throat, choking the life from him as hard as she could squeeze.

She looked up at them, who stared back out of shock.

"Go, now!" she screamed.

Tony bolted through the door, Patty raised up in his arms as she struggled. Ernest screeched and threw her off of him by force, hurling her at the desk. Lady slammed on top of the wood and her vision blurred for a moment, dizziness afflicting her head, nausea beginning to rise, though the adrenaline started to kick in. Lady pushed herself away from the desk just as his fist came down. He lunged after her and she broke left beside him, grasping the back of his shirt and forcing him forward. His face crushed in against the wall and she pulled him away, dragging him back towards the furniture. She threw him against the chair and he tumbled over into the broken glass beyond it.

Grasping the dented knife he'd left behind on the ground, he stood to his feet, haggard but drawing in for the kill.

He stabbed forward, Ebony's bullets crashing through his shoulders and rendering his ferocity moot as she grabbed his wrist, tugging him past her. Holstering the gun, she grasped the knife still stuck in his hand and wrenched it out. She twisted his arm, held him in place, cut the inside of his bicep from behind, and then stabbed downward into the shoulder. It wheezed and growled, growing less human as the thing within Ernest became worse and worse affected.

She drove her foot forward and shoved his ass away.

Turning, hand grasping shoulder, it screeched hatred at her.

"Come get some," she said.

None more speech came but the hisses of a creature, tendrils bursting from its eye-sockets, skin parched of life, grey and cold. Taking one step back, Lady reached her back belt and rested her quick draw hand on her new weapon. This was no longer a man. Just the way she wanted it. No feeling ran through her, save for death. She was trained for this, and so she would kill again. Now, it was only routine. He went down on all fours, and he moved similar to a spider, crawling fast and jumping back to the wall, galloping as she pulled Dante's old guns and blitzed the walls, firing at the beastly being till he reared back and lunged past her, bullets leaving steaming holes. She rolled to the side and felt her shoulder was bruised. The man crashed into the bookshelf. Books, photographs and glass went flying as the wood teetered but stayed standing, its head battered but no worse for wear.

It staggered and sputtered broken words from the lord.

She aimed at his face, but he got moving again quickly. She stung his side, but the body-shots were minimally effective. Wasn't long till he was on the side of the wall again, avoiding fire, leaving behind bloody handprints as he zoomed toward her and pushed her back to the ground, those tendrils growing demonic eyes now as it leered over her, screeching, blood dripping from its mouth. She unloaded more shots into the man's groin and it howled, knife stabbing into the floorboards beside her face.

She punched at his throat and worming her leg up, she pushed him up off her, kicking up back to her feet with those glistening muscles.

It threw out its arm and she smacked it away, striking his face subsequently with the barrel of her gun. Her heel cracked his ribs, Lady's thick thigh bulldozing her leg forward like a truck. He hit the bookcase again, lower back aching. It wasn't enough. Ernest remained a lively fellow, desiring to sever her heart from her chest if not her head.

She aimed at his tendril and shot him in the eye. A sickening pop sent blood spraying outward and he screamed, clutching the wagging appendage in his soaked hands.

Another shot tore out his knee and he fell. Footsteps quickly made their way towards the shelf, and with all she had, she grasped the bookcase by the side and threw it down on his back. The wood crushed the creature down and bones snapped under the heavy weight. Vergil liked his wood furniture antiquated. It hissed aloud, unable to move, timber digging through flesh to the bone. Lady glowered down at the pathetic thing and smashed her boot into its head. Ernest bellowed even louder. She didn't figure there to be enough of him left to register pain anymore.

"Stay down, creep," she said.

And then her blood froze over as its eye peeked out from under the shelf and stared at her, and it spoke english for the first time, "You do not know."

His weeping ceased, "You do not see."

His head tore through the wood above and smiled, "and you do not fathom."

The wood splintered apart, an unseen force taking Lady off her feet and across the house. Her back hit the wall like a stone against metal. She fell hard, wind knocked out of her lungs as the creature stood, musculature more hulking, clothes ripped and torn, skin red and raw and twitching against the air. Teeth grit, she stood as best she could, still holding Dante's old pistols by some miracle of faith. She took hold of Ebony and lined up a shot, the possessed man staring and grinning at her as she fired at him. The shot was clean, striking him hard in the face. His teeth flew from his mouth, bashed out.

And there he still stood somehow.

"Still standin', eh? That's too bad," she said.

For a second her eyes drifted to the missile launcher that was placed near the door of the closet. If she could reach Kalina Ann, maybe she can kill him. A thick trail of blood surrounded him, marring each footstep as he slowly moved toward her. Lady relaxed her grip and kept herself calm. Hitting the wall might've hurt somewhat, but that was only fleeting in grand scheme of things. No time to make mistakes, no time to die. Evil as a Black Widow, it lunged. Lady darted forward and slid on the ground mere inches away from his only working arm. The man slammed into the wall and smashed through it like cardboard, the foundation cracking.

"End of the line," he heard her shout.

Ernest turned slowly towards her, arm stuck through the wall as helpless as a magpie stuck in tar. He heard the click of metal and squelching scream of release as ammunition was forced forward.

Vergil stepped towards his front door, determined to save his love from whatever foul devilry Manah had spoken of.

His eyes conveyed rage, though in truth, this only masked worry.

He put one foot on the bottom step.

The glass of the front windows shattered to pieces, shrapnel and flames bursting from the building, the hinges of his front doors breaking on impact as they were kicked open by force, hell spilling outwards in fear and gas like lies from a thief's mouth. The stench of iron flooded their noses as Vergil and the Devil hurried inside. Manah followed his every step, a grim expression painted his face. They saw blood spattered the wall, smoking and searing into the building's own flesh. Small fires burned the edges of scorched carpet, glass and wood and metal remnants littering the floor like nobody's business, and the afterthought of corpses laid barren in the space, one a twisted malformed presence of dead flesh, and the other, the unmoving form of Lady.

"Lady!" He called out to her, running as fast as he could to her. She was torn up bad, smoke and dust and dirt matting and stuck and stained on her skin. Cuts and bruises filled out the rest of her, a nasty leg wound caused by a metal scrap that rebounded back into her thigh. Her head was hung down, seemingly lifeless as though robbed of breath and life. He kneeled beside her, panicked and angry. He reached out his hand and touched her chin softly, raising her face to look at her eyes.

"No," he muttered.

"Guess I kinda wrecked the shop again," Lady said, faded, but still alive. She coughed and whispered back, "I'm sorry . . ."

"It's okay," he told her. "I've got you now."

He held her hand in his and cradled her head against his shoulder. Manah slightly removed his horn-rimmed spectacles, watching the woman close her eyes for a moment. He sighed, knowing was only a temporary flux of emotion. He could feel the power of the blue flowing within her, traces of that magic lifeblood that still remained. Vergil had brought her back from the brink at least once before. The Devil-boy held his hand over her head and chanted aloud, 'Per potestatem in me, sana eam vulnus.' Outstretched over her, he laced the brilliant glow summoned within his palm across her body from his hand, and slowly it washed away the injury, the pain, the dirt, the tide, and rebuilt her body anew, piercings disappearing, cuts closing, blood restoring, altogether imploring her to wake again, to be in this world and not the next.

And her eyes opened, feeling newly freed.

"Stay with me . . ." he said.

Manah took time to examine the torn heap against what used to be the wall separating a lounge from the foyer. Pity. He liked that one. His arms were still trembling, but it was only faint movement, autosomal, involuntary reactions. It's body had been blown apart, damaged greatly to the point that he was sure more of it was on the walls and the floor than what remained here. The chest had been ripped open and deflowered, left brutally malformed by human weaponry. He grimaced and chose to touch the corpse, with his hands opening the man more: more broken ribs, but no heart.

Undeniable testimony.

Argosax had returned. He gazed back at the slayer and his woman, together stuck in a trauma-tinged embrace. The child and the Italian man seemed to be doing well, at least.

Lady exhaled the last of her pain as she rested against the wall.

"What a fine mess this day turned out to be," she said.

He laughed and they kissed one another. Manah rolled his eyes as he looked back at them.

"You have any idea what I just killed?" She asked him.

"Yes," Vergil answered her. "An old spirit possessed that man and turned him loose."

"Oh," she said. "You know who's doing it then?"

Manah nodded his head, "Yes. It can be only one demon. The Demon, to be precise. And you've not killed it, I assure you, my Lady."

Something Changed in Lady's face for a moment.

"I don't mean to be negative," the beast said. "But this was only a mere extension of Argosax. A tendril you've lopped off. He still breathes outside our universe, begging to be let back in by the next idiotic fool who seeks to worship him."

"I suggest then that you and I leave tomorrow," Vergil replied. "There's a cult in this city, slithering about in the sewers, and I simply won't have that."

"Sorry," Lady spoke aloud. "Um, who's 'Ar-go-sax?'"

Manah rubbed his temples for a moment, and he shivered suddenly, "long ago, before even Sparda drew breath, before the dawn of this world's time, another reality existed in its place. It was pain and suffering, or so the legend goes, and all that misery collapsed under itself, condensing into a black throne upon which sat the cosmic child . . . Argosax. He was a God in that time, or a being we most commonly attach that word too. He ruled the universe that came after from that throne, spitting darkness, chaos, hatred, an Anti-God in all senses. He wove the remnants of misery across many worlds, across all existence, ensuring anything and everything would know pain for all time. He birthed the demons as living embodiments of these torments, beings such as you and I."

"Spooky . . ." Lady quipped.

"What became of him, if he was so powerful?"

"Through that spread, he grew weak and frail. Conquest changes all things, even undeath, and soon, he became unable to lift even a finger to govern his misery, and he was left to his throne to sleep, sitting lifeless upon the cosmic chair in the void, rotting away to nothingness. Other leaders came and went, the last of which, Mundus, no longer draws breath. His remaining dynasty has triggered war within Avernus itself. Tis the reason that no demon has stepped foot on earth since, and yet there still remains the shadow . . . Argosax's shadow."

Lady held Vergil tighter, her face buried in his chest.

"Of course," Vergil groaned. "There is always another puppet master behind the puppet master."

Manah smirked, "Always and forever."

The beast touched the tip of his hat, and his eyes glittered red for a moment. He clapped his hands together and the corpse vanished from sight, as did the destruction it wrought, the office restoring itself in one second to what it was before. Vergil helped her up on her feet since she still felt a bit dizzy.

"I forgot you could do that," Vergil said.

The front doors, restored, opened slightly. Gold locks shimmered in the doorway.

"Is it safe?" Patty asked.

Lady heaved a long sigh, "Yeah, everything's okay."

The guilt still sat inside his head.

Vergil extended a hand and beckoned the child, "Come here."

The smile was absent from her face. She took a breath and came forward, seeking comfort as usual, and there she felt it. The routine felt good, it was a pleasant exchange despite mutual unease. If at all he could ease that fear for her, he would take the opportunity. If ever there was a time for him to feel anger, it was now, and yet he didn't. He grown used to the feeling now of threat lurking behind each corner without an end seemingly in sight. Resignation was a gift given by the other halves it seemed, certainly Dante's.

Patty snuggled in, "You're the only person I know that gives great hugs."

Vergil chuckled lowly, "You wouldn't think it from a glance."

She felt almost like melting till he spoke again, "but . . ."

Patty looked up.

"-I think you need to go back to your caretaker," he said.

Patty's face broke. Sadness filled her eyes as she protested, "No."

Manah grumbled to himself as Vergil looked down at her depressed.

"No!" she yelled, "No, I'm not going back!"

"I know," he replied.

She buried her face in his chest, his eyes emptily wandering across the wall for a moment.

"I'm not leaving," she repeated.

The beast let out an audible sigh as he heard the child speak, "It isn't anything personal, young one."

She stared back at him silently.

Manah spoke matter-of-factly, "He speaks of your betterment, not your harm. Follow what your father says and remember that he loves you."

Patty stood still. She couldn't argue. She couldn't speak to any contrarian point whatsoever. The Morning Star was exactly correct in his few words, and with her ears, she'd listened and agreed. As much as it pained her, she agreed. The world at large was still dangerous, and the world surrounding Vergil was even more horrible, blackened and torn by demons and fire. The hope of staying died— so it goes— and so her shoulders fell.

Tony wondered to himself as they'd talked how he'd become entangled with such a crowd. Oddly enough, he'd grown to like these people.

Patty tugged on Vergil's sleeve, "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep, again?"

The slayer smiled tired. To place her in bed, to ensure she wouldn't grow cold, hold her hand and give her strength; he couldn't help but curl his lips ever so slightly. He remembered he once treated his sibling the same way. Checking the closet for monsters . . . never knowing if there might actually be one. The thunder was only the sky and nothing more, nothing to be afraid of. What days memories bring back.

"Of course . . . " he said.

The summer night was luminous, the full moon glaring brightly through the starry sky

Silver beams, entering in pristine silence, igniting every point, shined through the window like strands of silk in a fair maiden's hand. It wasn't enough to scour the gloomy darkness that had filled that room so much longer than she cared to admit. Her eyes bathed in it, the moon's love glistening sight to her otherwise muted eyes. She stood near the window, watching in silence. Meanwhile, the jukebox played slow music, tenderly daring, slow dancing in the dark, slow movement in the heart. She was certain it wasn't loud enough to bother the sleeping.

Manah sat outside lounging upon the roof. He doesn't sleep.

Lady enjoyed the night time breezes, the birds. She hadn't had the chance to relax at the beach as had been her routine prior. She missed the ocean's gentle rolling, the waters that flowed on her skin, the sand in her toes. Her breathing was stymied, feeling tired as she sat thinking of her recent near-death. She'd grown used to the feeling, spending her life and almost dying so many times, the cold clutch of lifelessness always around the corner were it not for last-minute salvation. She sank by the window and rested her back against the wall, laying herself down, knees clasped to her chest and her head hung down against them. She didn't feel like doing much of anything.

Footsteps came walking through the door inside the office, familiar boots graceful and direct. She looked up at who it was.

Vergil's blue eyes were so calm, though twinged by sadness. He sat down beside her and stared at the ceiling silently.

She looked back at her knees and sighed, followed swiftly by his own verklempt groan.

"She's off with her mother now," Vergil said, looking away blankly.

"Good," Lady said, exhausted, equally distant. "That's good. She'll be safe that way."

"That's the hope," Vergil replied.

"I mean, you can't blame yourself for that," she said. "There's no way you can explain to someone that young why they've got to put distance between themselves and people like us."

He sighed again and scratched his neck.

"You're okay, right?" he asked.

She stared at him lazily and nodded her head, "yeah."

"Are you sure?" he said. "You are well?"

"Yes."

That didn't quite satisfy. It bothered him for some time. There is a clear problem here, between them.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"Uh," she said. "What do you mean?"

Disappointment flushed his eyes, "you always worry about me. You always have to comfort me. But what about you? We're partners, aren't we? Don't you trust me enough to let me in?"

She smiled at him, "I don't wanna drag you down, silly."

Her humor often seemed able to bring him out of any funk.

"Well, drag me down," he said with a chuckle. "I want to be with you wherever you go."

At those words, she picked up his hand in hers and held it tightly. She was sweet on him, sweet as amber.

Far east, winds forebode a coming change. A demon gasped for air, throat clutched tightly within the lithe woman's hands

Lucia on the rooftop of a common townhouse, packed in tightly with rows of other houses and brownstone structures.

"Speak," she threatened. "Or I'll send you to a place no one can save you from."

The apparent human seemed to be in his mid-thirties, male, and he wore a modernized tunic marked with a strange symbol, an altered pentagram within which were teeth and eyes woven from language. He cried out and struggled to breathe, ruthless bashing at her forearm, but to no avail. He choked and sputtered, pulse slowing, and when he was good and drowsy, Lucia loosened her grip slightly.

Within seconds, his eyes shifted pure black.

"You cannot stop this . . ." The man spoke, "we will rise in his name, and the blood of god will cleanse us all of our sins."

Lucia growled and let let her hand loose completely. The cloaked man fell some forty-five feet and smashed his spine against a car roof. He exhaled his final breaths as she looked down on him.

She froze in that spot for a moment. From his mouth rose a black wail, smoke-trails following a dark cloud that bled evil into the air, fear replacing confidence, and fear slowly giving way to depression, all brought about by that sickening mist, poison and ragged. It was an omen that soon returned to its master somewhere. The wind had grown even colder and frigid, though the chill of winter had left them. Vergil had to know of this, what she'd seen and heard.

And then, it came to feel as though eyes were watching her, staring at her red hair and those tall legs, her statuesque pose.

Lucia looked all around her as far as she could see, but there was nothing to be found. She closed her eyes and heaved a long breath. It had been a rough day. She snapped awake again, car alarm still blaring, and swiftly she disappeared, leaving behind the sight and its lonely corpse for fresher leads. Every step she made on the way home echoed subtly, as though another step were walking with her. Ever so often, she gazed back, the street as empty as could be, nothing at all present to be worried about, and yet she'd walk and sooner or later would come to the resurgent friend walking with her, synced to her every pace. Her heart stayed restless and paranoid.

A dull sensation engulfed her arm, a numbness that caught her attention as pins and needles creeping across her skin.

The brand on the back of her neck stung itself to her attention, searing pain through her nerves without mercy. A gloved hand back on the nape of her neck and she found blood on her palm.

Lucia stumbled forward, unaware her knees were failing her, and she fell forward to the ground.

And she whispered aloud, head against the ground, ". . . what is this?"

To Be Continued

Thank you for reading everyone. Hope you had fun with this one :)

Hey guys, just wanna let you know it's gonna be awhile before the next chapter, so for now I'll be going back to the early chapters and polishing them, so I'm asking for patience if at all possible :) thank you

Thanks MetalOutlaw :)

...

Yeah, this is a reimagining of the game canon btw, just as a quick response to some recent thoughts in the reviews. I've been mainly just doing my own thing with it and working with my beta-reader to make interesting stories out under-utilized plots and characters in ways we found entertaining or interesting while staying true to DMC at its core.