The same road, four hours later.
Police sirens had been silenced about an hour ago. After properly photographing the body and flagging sites of evidence, the 20-year-old man's body was put into a bodybag and in the process of being removed. From the back of a small crowd of hysterical family and weeping friends, a young man leant against the old bakery and observed the chaos with amused eyes, a cigarette poking out of his mouth. He'd arrived barely 10 minutes ago, seeing the scene on the way to his hotel. From his position he'd heard the theories; dog, bear, wolf, psycho...
He shifted slightly, to relieve the sword he had concealed on his back from digging into his spine. From the corner of his eye, he caught the shadows of people whispering to each other, then bleeding back into the darkness. One caught his eyes, mouth closing fast; hiding something. The man grinned.
Vampires. Not the top of the food chain, as one might think.
He watched the bodybag get wheeled past him, and turned his head sharply when he caught the scent on blood; sharp. Metallic. Almost lazily, hunger stirred in his stomach - one he didn't feel very often - which he instantly snuffed out. A fresh wail made him wince slightly at the impact it had on his ears. Mildly irritated, he saw a mature woman of about 50 being led from the scene by a police officer. Obviously the boy's mother. A tall, thin Italian man followed her closely behind, hands on her shoulders and looking sorrowful. The father.
The man took a long spiteful draw on his cigarette, a small pang of jealousy had been snapped. Doubtless, if something like this had happened to him, his father wouldn't regret his death - he'd be more disappointed than anything else. His son was supposed to be a warrior... untouchable. His father had never been able to understand his wife's cautious, soft nature... something that had led him to kill her in the end. That was why, when given the chance, the man had killed his father. Ironically, his father had been proud of him - congratulating him only moments before he'd died.
The man snorted, closed his eyes and exhaled the smoke into the cold night air. Pulling himself out of the dregs of self-pity, he turned around - dropping the cigarette onto the ground and grinding it onto the road where the sparks danced and glowed for a split second... then died. He headed back to his hotel, stopping momentarily when something on the road caught his eye and he paused for a moment.
Claw marks.
He continued walking, as if he'd noticed nothing... but he had. The marks had only confirmed something to him - that the kill was the work of a Lycanthrope.
A Werewolf.
Pulling his black coat closer to his body, he wondered dryly if the Lycans were still hanging around aboveground. He doubted it. After a kill like this, with so much publicity, they'd probably disappear for a while in whatever sewer they scraped a survival from. In his mind, they were barely better than Vampires... only because they were stronger.
He waited for a car to pass, then ignored the "Don't walk" sign and crossed the road. As he stepped onto the footpath on the other side of the road, he felt the familiar burning of eyes on his back. Opening his predatory senses, he smiled to himself - apparently not all of the Lycans had gone underground...
He didn't turn around but kept walking, using his senses to monitor the track of the Lycan tailing him. He turned down a deserted cul-de-sac, not the right direction to his hotel... but he had a little pre-sleep entertainment in mind. What could be more fun than beating the sense out of an overconfident Lycan?
Seeing that the cul-de-sac was empty of life, he stopped and waited, his back to the street. He didn't need to see to know when the Lycan had followed him down the cul-de-sac.He listened to the clicks of wolfish nail change into the tread of boots. He focussed, his senses so sharp that time seemed to slow.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Come on. He urged it playfully. The Lycan rounded the corner into the cul-de-sac and froze. The man heard the intake of breath as the Lycan realised they'd walked into a trap. Surprised as they were, the Lycan's footing was awkward and it's balance uneven on the wet road.
A mistake.
Black coat flaring, the man ran to the left - across the brick wall of a cafe - and shifted. Thousands of years of evolution and adaptation had fused with his human DNA, creating the ultimate unholy killer. Lightning coursed down his body and his skin thickened, blackening and glowing with a hellish red.
The Lycan shifted - a huge black wolf leaping backwards onto a wall behind it like a canine spider, inches away from the Demon's sword. It snarled, baring its teeth, though wary. In the city, Lycans were on the top of the food chain... right below Demons. To a normal Lycan, this would mean nothing... but for some reason, this one seemed cautious. The Demon knew at once that something wasn't right.
"What's the matter Fido? I thought you wanted to get closer to me." He laughed, leaping onto the wall. Suddenly the whole battle was in perspective again - to them the wall was the ground.
Anyone walking past at that moment would have been transfixed in wonder at the two strange creatures locked in combat sword and claw on the brick wall. Perhaps they'd have tilted their head, wondering why gravity had suddenly... gone.
A massive clawed paw smacked the Demon's head and sent him slamming into the road. The Lycan leapt down after him, claws gorging into the road under it's immense weight. It was roughly the size of a large bull... which was relatively small for a Werewolf. Another thing that struck the Demon as strange; why would a smaller Werewolf attack something clearly more powerful than it? Was it brave... or simply stupid? The possibility that this was the Lycan that had killed the young man earlier surfaced in the Demon's mind. It was highly unlikely... but plausible.
Leaping to his feet, the Demon twisted to the side - breaking one of the Lycan's arms - and threw it into the wall. The arm healed instantly, and the Lycan shifted to leap up again... however, stopped by the Demon's sword at its neck. A silver sword. The Lycan brushed the blade for a fraction of a second then leapt backwards, it's skin hissing at the touch of the silver.
"So," The Demon shifted back into his human form - spiked white hair, icy blue eyes and slightly tanned skin. "Are you going to tell me why you were following me? Or do I have to beat it out of you?" He smiled... well, devilishly.
The Lycan's huge eyes blinked and it growled, the sound rising from deep within its throat. The Demon frowned; the Lycan's fur was too long for a mature adult - it hadn't even shed for the first time yet, which was usually after about two of three moons. Not only that, but it's golden eyes were flecked with glittering sapphire blue... still recognisable human-like. He stepped back from the Lycan.
"Babies. They're sending me babies." He sheathed his sword and turned his back, "I'm not going to even bother."
The Lycan snarled and leapt at the Demon's retreating back. The Demon jumped, backflipping over the angry wolf and smacking a boot again its head. The Lycan's head snapped to the side. It was carried against the opposite wall of the narrow cul-de-sac by the force of the blow. Its neck was broken, but the Demon wasn't worried. Naturally, the injury healed, but the wolf stayed down.
"12... 13?" The Demon crouched down beside the huge wolf. The human/canine eyes blinked again, full of fury, the yellow glinting between small rivers of blue. The Lycan was thinking, the Demon could tell. The huge black head looked around. The Demon fastened a powerful hand around the wolf's throat.
"I'm alone... and I don't like being followed." He growled, "Now tell me; why would your clan send a child against a Demon? I can't be that infamous that your clan would send the most expendable one of them to test me out." The Lycan bared its teeth, then spat,
"I'm not a child."
"Oh really, and how old are you?"
"20." The Demon laughed, then let go of the Werewolf,
"Sure. I'll tell you what; I'll spare your life this once. I'm in a good mood." Despite a turned back, he heard the Lycan leap to its feet. "Jump at me again," He said dangerously, "And I will kill you."
"Haven't spilt enough blood tonight, Virgil Sparda?" The reply was decidedly more human, and venomously sarcastic. Virgil raised an eyebrow and looked over one shoulder. He frowned, turning back around to see that the Lycan indeed hadn't been lying after all. She was barely younger than him, dressed in a deep blue coloured coat. Considering the temperature in Vatican City at night, he wasn't surprised.
The girl straightened, completely human and rubbing a red mark across her neck - the remnants of the broken neck he'd given her barely a minute before. A ornate steel cross around her neck rattled against a string of black glittering beads - Rosary Beads. So she was from the governing clan of Vatican City. The Clan of Lupe Carnyx was the only clan that was rigidly Catholic; pointless in Virgil's eyes - what was the use of religion amongst animals?
"As far as I'm aware," He said calmly, "the only ass I've kicked around here has been yours."
"Liar!" The Lycan leapt for him, stopping suddenly when he put out a hand to stop her. Her shoulders stopped before she touched him but her feet, however, still travelled on the wet road and she skidded to a stop at his feet. Virgil looked to the heavens and sighed,
"She's thrown herself at my feet. The clan has sent in a clown to kill me." A booted foot suddenly smacked him solidly on the chin - who'd have known she was flexible? Flipping herself upright, her cross and the beads tinkled around her neck.
"How could they? You pretty much exterminated them, didn't you?" She brushed his arm to the side and dealt him a staggering hit to the side of the face. He recovered quickly though, snatching her ankle as she tried to kick him. He swept a foot under her and she ended up on the road again, at his feet, his sword stopped her from rising this time. Her blue and gold eyes glittered,
"Go on. Kill me. Just like you murdered the rest of those poor bastards."
"What are you babbling about, Werewolf?"
"Over 300 of Vatican City's Werewolves are dead, slaughtered alongside the same amount of mortals." Virgil crouched down beside her,
"So somebody killed 300 mortals... if that were true, why haven't I seen it in the newspapers?"
"Because, Demon, it happened four hours ago." Virgil let her draw herself slowly to her elbows. "I know the signs of a Demon attack, and you're the only Demon I've seen stalking the streets tonight." She glared at him accusingly. Virgil brought the sword to within a hairsbreadth away from her neck and smiled,
"Keep throwing accusations around like that and I may get offended... then I'll be the last Demon you see stalking the streets tonight, or any other night." He grabbed her arm suddenly, and yanked her to her feet, "Actually, I'm feeling like a little detour, Werewolf."
"You like to view your handiwork?" His eyes flashed and he tightened the grip on her arm, pulling her closer,
"I'd shut up if I were you... and I wanted to keep my arm." The Lycan wasn't moved. She brought her face closer to his,
"If I find out that it was you that killed my clan, I'm going to grind your Demon ass into the ground." She growled.
"Right after you've thrown yourself at my feet again?" She let the taunt slip,
"Are you going, Demon?"
"After you, Werewolf."
St. Peters Square was a bloodbath. Bodybags lined the sidewalk and sheets at various intervals covered the bodies that were still yet to be identified. Virgil and the Lycan were on a roof overlooking the Square. The Lycan looked sideways at the half-Demon. Very quickly, her suspicions wandered again, like they had when he'd Devil-Triggered. She was sure of what she'd seen in the Square... what had stalked her throughout the streets of Vatican City and left her for dead.
The Devil form of the Son of Sparda had not been it.
The wiped the drizzle off her forehead. She hated the rain - almost as much as she hated Demons. Demons had been hated most of all by all members of her clan; they were Unholy. Evil. Just looking at her pack-mates on the huge stone slabs of the Vatican step renewed the hate. She'd seen the Demon tear into her brothers and sisters. With her Lycan eyesight, she could name them all from the rooftop; Mary, Paul, Benedict, Sarah, Peter... and Pius.
The half-Demon's hair had fallen into his face, damp with rain. She watched him brush it back from his face with a predator-like calculation. It was almost spiked at the back by itself. Pure white... no, silver. She reprimanded herself; a Demon with white hair? What was white about a Demon? A sharp pain in her foot made her half stand, however she was stopped suddenly by a hand landing heavily on her shoulder. Virgil's eyes were still on the bloody scene below as he increased the force on her shoulder so she sank back down again.
"Going somewhere?" He asked.
"Shifting my weight so my foot doesn't fall off actually." After a moment, the hand on her shoulder slid to the side, allowing her to turn and sit with her back against the wall of the rooftop garden.
"These people were killed by Lycans." He spoke more to himself.
"That's bullshit." Virgil turned to face the Lycan. Face infuriatingly calm, he asked,
"So you have more experience than me in these matters, I presume?"
"I doubt-"
"Then how," He stepped off the small wall circling around the edge of the building, "could you possibly know whether or not this mass murder of mortals and mutts was not the work of another Lycan?"
"Because I saw it." The half-Demon gave another smile; one of the cheerful-and-I'm-going-to-kill-you-later smiles, crouching down beside her. Suddenly, he grabbed her by the throat,
"You said 600+ mortals and Lycans had been killed. You didn't say anything about witnesses."
"Who said I was a witness?"
"Then what are you?"
"A survivor." He put a hand over his eyes and let go of her. She fell back against the concrete garden edging, rubbing her neck and glaring at him.
"What would you care, Demon? You don't strike me as a dealer of justice to evil-doers." She spat.
"I'm simply interested. I'd like to know about something this powerful," He motioned to the blood-covered Square, "on my turf." He went back to the edge of the roof. The Lycan yanked him around again.
"Your turf? This is our territory." She touched the silver cross at her neck. It had the form of a wolf twisted around it, howling. He smiled,
"Your territory? You and... Who? Last time I checked, your pack-mates were dead."
"You're not getting it without a fight." She growled. Virgil laughed,
"And I suppose you're going to fight me?"
"If I have to."
"What are you going to do? Throw yourself at my feet again?" She snarled and tried to hit him again. He swept the arm to the side, catching her wrist and twisted the arm behind her back. "How many times must we go through this?" He sighed and twisted the arm harder behind her. She hissed in pain, sinking to one knee. Moving closer behind her, he whispered in her ear, "You can't beat me, Werewolf. Don't waste your time."
"I was one of the best fighters in my clan."
"And look how they ended up: Pigeon food on the steps of St. Peters." She flipped under the arm, kicking a leg around his left knee - flooring him,
"I hope whatever killed my clan rips you limb from limb." She snarled.
"I thought this was all my doing?" He got a knee under her and kicked her against the garden again, where she stayed - a safe distance from him.
"It's always nice to know I'm appreciated." He smirked and went back to looking off the edge of the roof. After a while, he stepped back, "I want a closer look." The Lycan laughed,
"You're going to waltz right past the police officers and tamper with evidence?"
"No. I'm going to waltz right past the police officers and find out what really did this... and kill it." He looked straight at her, "And you're going to help me."
"And why," She said poisonously, "would I help you?"
"Because," Virgil drew his sword again, making the scraping of the metal ring on the rooftop, "What you need to understand is; the only reason why you're alive right now is because you're of a use to me." He spun the sword in one hand lazily, "If you were to not help me, then you'd no longer be of any use to me, and what that means is that you'd be seeing the rest of your little clan sooner than you first thought." Lightning-fast, he swung the sword, cutting through the rain. The Lycan flinched as it whistled past her head; missing her by centimetres. The half-Demon sheathed the sword with a smile. When she opened her eyes, two red roses fell into her lap, lopped from the bush behind her. She picked one up and turned it in her hands,
"So I'm your prisoner." Virgil shrugged,
"Informant, prisoner, hostage... call it what you like." The Lycan snapped a thorn off the rose's stem. And another.
"So what's it going to be, Werewolf?" Virgil asked. She gritted her teeth, snapping the rose's stem in half violently.
"What do you want me to do?" She asked through her teeth.