Okay, here we are again with another update. Bit of a sobering chapter I think so if you're feeling depressed or teary or emotional it's best if you don't read this. It MIGHT make you cry but then again it might not. Whatever. ANYWAY, I've realized that I haven't been doing a disclaimer for every chapter so this time I'm going to.

Dante and Trish do not belong to me. However, Lorelei, Remy, Reiko, Augren, Zantroand anyone else who isn't mentioned in either of the two Devil May Cry games do belong to me so don't take them without asking for permission from me.

Thank you.

And now, for the chapter. I enjoyed writing this even though it took me ages and I have to thank my Mom for helping me with the idea for this chapter. Thus, this chapter is dedicated to her.

This chapter was written to Zone of the Enders the 2nd Runner – Beyond the Bounds. Don't ask HOW I managed to create such a chapter while listening to such a happy sounding song.

Enjoy!

Chapter 8

Dante worked calmly and steadily through the several books he had out. Not one of them had said anything else that was remotely useful. He growled with annoyance and then chucked a book over his head. He was greeted by an angry yelp and a loud thud.

'Dante!'

'What?'

'When will you learn that you could hurt someone when you throw books around like that?' Dante shrugged and carried on reading. Trish stared at him and her eyes narrowed with anger. 'What are you looking for anyway?'

'Dragons.'

'What about the Harpies?'

'You can look for that. Let me work on the dragons.' Trish sighed and stared around before picking up another discarded book. She blew the dust off it, and straight into Dante's face, sending him into a flurry of sneezes.

'TRISH!'

'Heh, sorry Dante.' She watched with a smile as Dante settled back into his chair, arms folded behind his head, acting like a pillow, closing his eyes. She frowned when she saw the look that was on Dante's face. He looked exhausted.

'Dante?'

'What now?' He snapped.

'…You…look awful.' Dante opened his eyes and glared at Trish frostily, actually causing her to shrink back from him.

'Thanks.'

'I was just saying…' She sighed and turned away from him before walking upstairs. Dante's eyes shot to the clock. It was only seven in the evening. He still had too much time. He felt sick with boredom, sick with worry.

The search was continuing to be fruitless. It was like trying to catch the sun, and trying to hold the brilliant light of the sun in your hands. It always seemed so close, but yet, was impossible. Dante sighed with frustration. Why did he have the horrible feeling that the answer to his problem was right under his nose? Why? And if it was under his nose, why couldn't he even think of what it could be? How could he be expected to fight a dragon if he had no idea how to go about it?

---

Upstairs, Trish heard the door slam. She narrowed her eyes but said nothing, only continued to read through the book of Greek Mythology she was balancing on her lap while eating chocolate, something that Dante seemed to disapprove of ever since she got chocolate smeared on one of his precious, but unused books. It didn't matter to her at all what Dante chose to do in his spare time, which often took the form of four or five peaceful days.

Peace. It seemed to be a thing that Dante did not care much for. Indeed, when there were no demons hunting in packs or a single demon that was threatening to rip someone's throat out, Dante became bored and almost -dare she say it? - fretful.

Trish sighed as she realised that she had been reading the same sentence over and over again. It was only then that she knew that she too, was sick and tired of studying. Curiously, she looked at the sentence again, which still hadn't sunk into her mind. Harpies lust for power. Harpies torment those who do wrong. Interesting…not. It wasn't even as though it was that important.

She sat back and stared up at the ceiling, feeling oddly at unrest. Her mind swirled around those two sentences. Harpies torment those who do wrong…Was this why the Harpies hate the vampires so much? Reiko had said that the Harpies had suffered a death due to one vampire's sudden, uncontrollable bloodlust. None of the books agreed with this however. None of the books even knew that the vampires and Harpies were out for each other's blood.

Yet…one book had said that vampires lived in the darkness to show that light and God's purity meant nothing to them. They lived in the dark, to shun the light and all goodness that was born of the sun. So, if Harpies were holy beings, they would want to kill vampires due to their betrayal.

Personally, Trish thought that the idea was a whole load of bull shit. Remy was in no way cruel, and never shown any malice or any spark of evil towards either her or Dante. And as for Reiko? Well, he had had a few incidents where he'd been turned into a raving beast but that was only because he was trying so hard to keep his humanity. He'd appeared to have learnt from his mistake however, and was now more and more able to keep control. To call him evil and revoking God would be like calling a newborn baby dangerous.

Trish sighed again, not knowing what to make of her thoughts. They seemed so unrelated to everything that was going on. Why was she trying to bring up her own conclusions? Why was she trying to link the material in two different books. Books barely knew anything. She trusted Reiko's story. It seemed to show the characters of the Harpies. They seemed incredibly savage and ruthless.

That much was obvious. Reiko would have already been able to figure that much out. It appeared as though her search for any information about the harpies was just as fruitless as Dante's search for information on dragons. The problem with Dante's search was that there was plenty of information on the beasts, just no information on how to kill them easily without putting yourself at risk. The problem with her search was that there just didn't appear to be enough information for her to gain anything.

Her eyes slide to the clock idly and then slid down to the rest of her chocolate bar. She absentmindedly munched at it, not caring that there was a little blob of it's caramel centre on the cover of the book. She blinked and her eyes flitted to the clock again. Eleven at night.

Where the hell was Dante?

---

Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia…

Dante swore under his breath. Of all the books he'd been reading at Devil May Cry, the only word that had stuck in his brain was that particular word. The fear of long words. Ironic. He narrowed his eyes, feeling irritated. A fear of long words didn't have anything to do with what he was looking for, and yet that was the only thing remotely of interest he'd been able to find.

It was for this reason and this reason only that he hated researching. It more often then not proved to be a complete waste of time. Whatever…after a hard night of studying, he was going to the pub to drink himself into a more cheerful mood. Or possibly aggressive. Whatever the mood, it would suit him just fine. He could do with going home and tearing something apart. Preferably a demon but if not a demon, well, he could always smack about a punching bag or something.

The first thing that hit him like a sledgehammer was the smell of alcohol as he sauntered into the pub. Loud voices, all holding the same British accent made it's way across to his ears. Somewhere, someone belched loudly shortly followed by applause and whoops. Dante wrinkled his nose minutely. They called that a burp?

He sat down at the bar area and ordered a pint of Lager. The voices around him rose to a crescendo and Dante found himself with a headache. Maybe going to the pub hadn't been the best idea…He blinked slightly as a relatively overweight guy smelling of sweat sat down beside him. It was at that point that Dante had had enough.

Don't get him wrong, it wasn't that he didn't like people who were overweight. As a kid, he'd been pretty podgy with his love for chocolate. And it wasn't the fact that the man stank either. God knows, he was probably lifting heavy things all day, especially in this heat. Anybody could work up a sweat. It was the fact that he felt crowded. A crowded Dante was not a happy Dante, nope, no way.

He struggled slightly and managed to retain his composure. He found the money he needed, paid for his drink and spun around in his seat so then he could keep an eye on the crowd's of people. His claustrophobia seemed to increase. Then he remembered it was a Friday night. Of course…no wonder why it felt as though the whole world had managed to fit itself in a tiny pub. He rolled his eyes heavenwards as he heard another "huge" burp which was hailed with another bout of wild applause but then tensed. Was that a demon taint he had just felt?

He got up after only one pint. Sure he liked to drink but Dante knew that when demons were on the prowl they wouldn't take any pity on a drunk. Before he went out of the pub, he let out a tremendous burp, which seemed to echo all around the pub. The guys in the back of the pub were too drunk to notice it was him, but all the same, they exclaimed and whooped excitedly.

'Oi, that was a goo' one.'

'Yeah mate, didn't know you could do that.' The guy the other two were talking to only looked confused.

'I didn't.'

'Hey? Then 'o did?'

Dante left.

---

He paused once he was out of the pub. The fresh air served to clear his head from the alcoholic fumes and he took in a deep breath. He started to walk along the street, his sword covered by his trench-coat, his guns also covered. He paused again once he felt the strange taint. How could he have thought it was a demon taint when it was obvious that he had never felt anything like it before? He moved towards it, unsure and for the first time in a long time, worried.

The moon glimmered palely in the night sky, and dizzying myriads of stars twinkled overhead. On such a beautiful, peaceful night as this, it was hard to try and think that there was something amiss. He suddenly came to a sudden halt as he came upon a surprising sight.

A small child stood in the middle of the road, clutching onto a battered teddy-bear. There were no adults in sight, save for himself. The boy looked terrified and he seemed to be able to do nothing but stand there shivering, dressed only in a white T-shirt and jeans. Dante frowned and walked towards the boy cautiously. Hey, he was a demon killer, he dealt with the unexpected nearly every other day. If the boy suddenly turned into a fourteen foot demon, he'd be prepared. However, the boy didn't suddenly transform and simply stood there, staring up at the demon hunter with wide green eyes.

'Kid, it's a bit late to be playing outside, don't you think? Where's your parents?' The boy said nothing but blinked up at him slowly, as though struggling to understand what Dante said. 'Are they in there?' Dante motioned to the pub he had just come out of. The boy shook his head.

'They're a-a-asleep.' The stutter was all Dante needed to hear to know that the boy's parents had died, and that the child was attempting to lie to himself. Despite this, he had a sudden urge to try and help, to try and find out what was going on. It was a gut feeling, one could say. That he knew that the deaths were due to something out of the ordinary.

'How long have they…been asleep for?'

'An hour…' Dante frowned and momentarily forgot he was talking to a kid.

'Didn't anyone see it happen? Did you see it happen?' The child nodded and to Dante's concern and irritation, his face crumpled up and he began to cry.

'Uh huh….it was b-b-big.' The child used the word "big". And the word "It". This was no human who had done this. Probably a demon. Now, how to gain information on what kind of demon this was?

'What colour was it?'

'B-b-blue.' Blue…hm…it could possibly be a Msira. The boy however, had started crying loudly and mumbling incoherently. One word caught Dante's ear and his eyes widened.

'What did you say?'

'Blue!'

'No no! After that!'

'D-d-…' Dante's stomach clenched with anxiety. Demon? Devil? Oh God, please let it be a demon. 'Dragon.'

Dante felt his heart plummet to his feet. Great. Just what he needed to hear. The dragon had arisen again and had killed another two people. This had to stop. He had to stop this dragon. But how? Was Alastor powerful enough to do the job? He did not know. He didn't even know what kind of attacks he should use, or where the Dragon's weak spot was. If he had to fight the dragon, how was he going to go about it? He'd probably die in the process. He gave himself a mental shake. No. He shouldn't start thinking that. If he died, who'd fight the war? Reiko could very well lead an army by himself but he knew that the army did need his strength. The army would be more willing to fight and follow the Son of Sparda rather than follow a vampire.

It sounded arrogant, but it was simply the truth. Then again, Reiko had fought off not only Mostro but Nelo Angelo as well. Surely that made him a respected figure? He was a head vampire as well. He could command a lot of respect and loyalty. Reiko could very well do it. However, that was only if he died. Did he really plan on dying tonight? Not really.

The boy was staring up at him avidly. Dante's mind continued to whirl. The dragon had been awake an hour ago. How could no one have heard? How could no one have seen? Surely someone must have heard something. Maybe they had…maybe they died too? Never mind, he needed to act now and see whether he could actually kill this thing.

'Where did you see the dragon?' The boy wordlessly took Dante's hand in his own chubby one and led him off. Dante allowed himself to be tugged away. The two made something of a strange pair; a normally dressed little boy holding the hand of a red-clad man who seemed to be hiding something bulky under his coat. Dante's face was grim, but in contrast, the boy looked trusting and happy, as though he'd find his parents magically awake by the time he and Dante came to the scene of their murder.

---

Dante soon understood why it was that no-one had seen anything. The pier the child had brought him to was entirely deserted. Dante saw immediately that the only people around were them. The attractions were closed, and it appeared as though the food vendors had packed up and left a long time ago. He scented the air, and was surprised to notice that he couldn't smell the scent of old fries or hotdogs. Instead, the pier reeked of death and abandon. Closer inspection proved that the various attractions that the pier had once held to offer had been out of use for some time. Why?

'They say it's haunted,' said the boy suddenly. Well, that was his question answered at any rate. Dante frowned.

'What?'

'Someone died here a long time ago, and anyone that comes here gets into deep trouble.' Silly rumours were often very effective. There may have been those who had laughed at the rumour and had come here to hang out here, but there was no sign of them anymore. Dante looked around, and found himself believing the tale. Why else would it stink so much? He strongly suspected that there may have been some demon activity around here, and that there still was? Why hadn't he felt it before? He didn't have the time to think about it. He would do his thinking later on, when he was back at Devil May Cry. If he got back to Devil May Cry.

Again, he gave himself another mental shake. Since when had he started acting like a chicken-shit? Since never. Why was he breaking apart? He had to pull himself together.

The boy soon began to walk forwards, closer to the pier but then came to a stop. He blinked, as though surprised and then began to cry. Dante came up to see what it was he had found. Two severed heads stared up at him, resting in a pool of blood, eyes wide, faces grey, mouths open. Blood-soaked hair. It had the appearance that something had chewed at them. Indeed, there were splinters of bone sticking out through the hair in several places. He shuddered and slowly looked up.

'Why did you come here?'

'We were walking along the beach.' Dante understood. The family must have been walking along the beach when they saw the dragon. They must have run to the pier looking for cover. He slowly looked down into the water and felt sick to see the waters were darker around the wooden legs that helped support the pier. The beach was obviously too close to the pier for the comfort of most people, and so it was that they had been the only ones there. Dante's eyes settled upon the sea and he noticed that there were no ships out.

The boy suddenly began to whimper again and Dante frowned and turned to look at him. His heart stopped for a split second before it felt as though it was lodged in his throat, stopping him from breathing, stopping him from thinking clearly.

The dragon had arisen again. It glared down at them, eyes yellow and wild, deadly, venomous in all of its ferocity. The boy started screaming, and Dante watched, as though hypnotised as the dragon's eyes switched onto the child. Dante suddenly felt himself springing into action and plucked up the boy and ran as fast as he could, back along the pier.

The dragon roared and lashed out with its tail, smashing the pier and sending part of it sinking into the sea. Dante changed into his demon form and started to fly. It was no good; the dragon had stopped its thrashing and had started the chase. Despite the red that clouded his vision, Dante realised that the only thing he cared about was his and the boy's safety. For once, the demon did not wish to kill, only to flee.

He knew even before he looked back that he had failed in trying to outrun the beast. He could feel the hot stale breath against his back, and all too late, he felt the claws ripping into his body. He fell heavily to the ground, the boy falling out of his arms and rolling away from him, still clutching onto his teddy-bear as though it was some precious jewel.

The power faded, and Dante stared in horror as the dragon surged forward, ignoring him completely. The tail obstructed Dante's vision, blocking him from getting to the child. There was a high pitched shriek and then nothing.

Dante was silent and the dragon still appeared not to notice him. It turned around, blood dripping from its mouth and went back to the sea, as though nothing had happened. Dante turned his head so he was peering over his shoulder and watched the dragon numbly as it submerged smoothly, barely leaving a ripple, as though it had never existed.

He turned his head again, and began to shake, devastated. In front of him lay the battered and now ownerless teddy bear. Almost mechanically, he picked it up and stared down at it and then turned to look at the sea again, tears in his eyes.

He couldn't believe it.

He'd failed.