Third Chapter of Interview with a Devil~
Thank you for the wonderful reviews, I hope I can entertain you well enough with this little story
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I do not own the Canon Characters, nor do I own Devil may cry.
The heavy rain recoiled against the window, creating a soothing and calming sound that could lull anyone into sleep. It has been raining for good five minutes now and Eliot was just glad that they reached her home before the storm had begun. What luck she had today. Although, she was still uncertain about this Alexander character, he seemed too shifty for her tastes but he appeared very serious when he said that he knew about Sparda.
First things first.
She had to know if this man wasn't just some charlatan. Anyone could make up some stories about the good ol' Sparda. Really, anyone.
She sorted out her belongings for the interview, the tape-recorder, the pencil and her notebook and then attended to Alexander who looked at her with silent anticipation.
"Alexander, I need to know something first before we begin." Eliot said; her voice dry and flat as she went on.
Alexander's forehead creased but he waited for her to ask her question.
"If you are just making those stories up and waste my time, if you'd happen to be somebody who wants to wind me up just for the hell of it, I will tell you to get out now and take your leave. I take my work very seriously here Alexander and I ought not to fail my schedule. This work needs to be done within two weeks or else I'm in big trouble. My boss is already an impatient man and it is a miracle that he actually lets me write about this urban legend."
Alexander huffed shortly before he switched his legs and crossed them differently. One arm rested on the armrest as the other tapped his chin thougthfully.
"Well what are we waiting for then?" a shrewd smile.
Eliot blinked at him with bewilderment, surprised that he was actually so eager to participate. It was really not that kind of response she pictured but….it was surprisingly refreshing.
He seemed excited and eager to share the tales he had in store for her. Even….if some parts might not be true or completely far-fetched….but then again, something told her that there was something true to all this.
"I hope you are not lying to me while I interview you."
"You have my word, as true as I am standing here." He said with sincerity as he placed a hand on his chest, making it clear for her that she had nothing to fear…..yet…
God, I hope I know what I'm doing. If this turns out to be a complete pratfall then I'm done for…. Goodnight Eliot.
"Okay.. good. Then I think we are settled. Okay, Alexander, my first question would be: Where did you get the information about the legendary Sparda? Did you learn it from a book, did you hear it from an old folklore or did you study this subject by research?" Eliot clicked on her tape-recorder and began recording their little conversation. Her eyes twinkled with burning inquisitiveness and hunger for knowledge but she managed to restrain herself and keep calm.
Alexander's POV:
"Well, I've been occupying myself with the dark knight for quite some time now. My mentor taught me a lot about his history. He was a scholar but sadly he deceased many years ago, leaving me as the only one now who bears some true knowledge about him." he answered her first question to the interview. It was the most generic question he could have hoped for but it was a good start.
Patiently, he sat there as he inhaled the old dusty scent of her apartment. He knew it was old and a bit worn off….this girl had not much money to pay for renovations but somehow it added all to its nostalgic charm.
Or what the humans call it.
He had a thing for old things….and possessions. The technology and everything in human society was evolving so fast that he had lost track so he stopped trying. When it came to fashion, he never really cared about the latest craze. He only dressed himself in what suited him mostly.
Stop your digressions….
The male sat up and straightened his broad back against the chair-back, the wood creaking slightly from his weight. Truth be told, Alexander was a lot heavier than he looked.
But thankfully, the small harried journalist did not seem to notice.
He watched her write all her notes down on her small notebook with forbearance. When she finished, she looked back up to him, anxiety adorning her face just like a prying little kid that wants to know the end of her bed-time story.
"And how did he retrieve his knowledge of Sparda?" Eliot said.
"Well, he had the journal of him. Some say he wrote the book after he had interviewed the Devil himself. Quite a story that could spook anyone," he paused, seeing that Eliot wanted to question about the journal, but he continued "But sadly, the journal has been destroyed many years ago, making me the only sufficient information source. All of his memoirs, thoughts and stories are now stored in here." He tapped a gentle finger onto his temple, signalizing that everything she wanted to know was locked safely in his sharp mind.
"My mentor was a very eloquent man…very honest and truthful, had a lot of honor. He was a good man. I have to admit that he rubbed off on me quite a lot." He chuckled.
"Interesting.. very interesting." Eliot commented in a low voice as she once again scribbled all the important parts down. She placed the pencil on her desk before she leaned back in her chair, loosening a bit up from the tense atmosphere earlier. Perhaps she was getting accustomed to him….which was good….or bad. Depends on how you view it. But in Alexander's case, it was rather both.
"I'm really sorry about your mentor. I really am. It's a shame that such a good man had passed…and leaving you the only one who knows about such things." Eliot's voice held genuine sincerity and compassion. Alexander couldn't help but feel a bit fascinated by this. It has been a long time since someone had shown him such sympathy despite her being almost a complete stranger. Such kinds of traits were a rare thing in a human, he could tell after all. He had enough experience in these kinds of things. She really began to intrigue him more and more.
"Thank you Eliot. It's very kind of you."
Eliot gave him a nod and then returned to her notebook until Alexander stopped her "Why write everything down? Don't you have a tape-recorder? I mean, it would surely take a very long time to gather all the information on paper while I narrate as I go."
Eliot's POV:
"Why write everything down? Don't you have a tape-recorder? I mean, it would surely take a very long time to gather all the information on paper while I narrate as I go."
Eliot's hand dropped slowly to her lap. He was right. She had her tape-recorder going…but she was so nervous since you could never be too sure. However, Alexander had a point. It would take too long. He surely had a lot of things to tell and she was eager to hear it.
"You're right. My apologies, but you can never be too sure," a nervous giggle "But back to our interview. If the journal holds all the information, than surely you know the beginning of the story, right? Can you tell me about the origin of Sparda?"
For a moment, there was complete and utter silence. Only the rain roared from the outside. The outside streetlights that shun into her office were bright enough to cast shadows on them and the raindrops, covering Alexander partially in darkness. Alexander seemed to be thinking….hard. She figured that he was flipping through some pages of his inner memories to get the information she asked for.
It took him quite some time but Eliot was patient. She had patience now that she knew that he might have something useful for her. And perhaps even more.
Let us begin.
"Hmm….it all started long ago at the beginning of time….when darkness ruled over the mortal realm…"
-Begin of the story-
Once, there was only darkness, ruling over all three realms combined. But it was not only darkness; it was also chaos and destruction, one of the most primal forces that have ever existed, and the most powerful one. But there had to be a counter-balance to it and so there came light, beating back the shadows and scarring them off into their deepest pits of hell. Demons and creatures of the damned alike grew weaker from the brilliant radiance of the light. And the darkness took not kindly to it. The very entity of darkness became angry for its power was slowly failing. The darkness knew that the day would come where the mortals would be in control, the day where he would loose his power completely so it had to create a vessel, no, a successor that would be stronger than itself.
The entity turned to a female demon. A beauty that once used to be a mortal… or maybe something else, no one knows for certain. They conceived an heir, an embodiment of his power and hers. As the darkness subsided, a high demon lord named Mundus took over the throne and reigned over the demon world for many millennia, nearly a million years.
Their offspring's name was Sparda.
He grew up without his parents, let alone knowing them. He only heard stories whispering and echoing through the deep shadows. Already as a child, he was strong but sadly not strong enough. He seemed to be never strong enough where other demons succeeded in which he failed.
When he was old enough to stand on his feet and speak for himself, he took more on a humane appearance rather than a demon's which he inherited from his mother. His hair was fair, his eyes a clear blue, some say he was an Angel but he was far from it. Only his aura oozed with demonic fire. A lot of them avoided him for his predecessor disappeared from existence. It was a sign of weakness. A thing he could and must not have. It was dishonorable; even pitiful to be weak as a demon. It put shame on to the unfortunate and they always would end up the most suffering. Sparda however always somehow prevailed. He had to. He had no other choice. The demon realm would not accept any sorts of deficiency.
Even if he was weaker than others, he had great endurance and showed others his useful potential.
Sparda always did the lesser work of higher beings of his realm.
And it irked him, a lot.
And back then, he didn't even have a name.
But he had some luck. He had a mentor, an old and wise demon. He was unlike the others. Not the typical one that usually was out for blood and destruction. No, he was a quite type, mostly kept to himself and only helped his brethren when needed.
He saw the ill-fated boy and took pity on him which was very uncommon.
His mentor called himself Agares. A name he had chosen for himself and for him only. He saw himself as one of the most intelligent of his kind, despite his rather weak appearance. In his true form, he looked like an old human man with a long white beard and long white hair to match. His fingernails were long and sharp like deadly talons. The only thing that truly marked him as a demon was his eyes. They glistened in a fiery golden shade and the pupils were slanted, a common thing for a devil. He always wore robes in different colors, sometimes light and white colors and on some occasions dark. His appearance conveyed his wisdom for the most part….so did his age. He was even a bit older than Mundus himself.
Agares spent most of his time in the library of hell. Well, library was the only word that could suit this place. Actually this place was like a memory-storage of every demon that had existed. Agares was a servant of Mundus himself. He worked for him as a certain memory-recorder, or as a secretary. He took care of the paper-work and the organizing, ranking and everything else that seemed very important but never recognized.
Everything that was or will be would be saved in his own little storage.
He loved doing his job; it was the only thing he was good at. He would have been killed long by now if not for his excellent organizing skills and intelligence which some devils were lacking greatly.
He knew every demon, from the lowest tortured soul, to the highest lords of hell.
But there was one demon he did not know. He didn't even have a name. He only knew his origin as did everybody else. He was an outsider, an outcast just like Agares himself.
He took interest in the boy and offered him apprenticeship.
Agares's POV:
He sat quietly in his library as always, a candle light standing on one of his dusty old desks that were adorned with demonic images and ornaments, making it all appear even more sinister. No lights were lit except the little candle of his that flared in an eerie blue color. His silver white hair reflected the light of the flickering flame as he sat there unmoving like a statue, skimming through his latest work about Mundus. Lately, he had the honor to update his biography and record the latest victories over the realms he had conquered. Even though the brilliance of the light had weakened the demons, Mundus kept strong managed to hold his power over this and the mortal realm as well. He was a great demon king, even greater than the embodiment of darkness.
His long slender taloned fingers brushed over the soft smooth surface of the pages that were full with encrypted Hellion, the language of hell. Soft murmurs escaped his lips as he read every single word with undivided attention, scanning for any sort of mistake he could have made while writing his work. The candle-light made him appear even older and uncanny than he already was.
The elder demon sighed as he placed the heavy book onto the desk, dust flying all over the place from the heavy impact. He was tired….so very tired. He had been working on this for weeks now and still he wasn't done with all the new occurrences. But he had no choice. If he'd quit now or show any signs of negligence, he would surely get scowled and punished.
He had enough of these in his miserable life….he could surely do without them.
"He is so full of himself. Atrocious and puerile at the same time….and so easy to anger. Why did a child have to warm the throne?" he huffed heavily "But I guess; I could count myself lucky to do all the work he doesn't feel like doing."
A sudden stack of books that fell over drove him out of his deep thoughts. The elder man snapped to the direction to where the racket had come eyes were keen and sharp, a suspicious scowl darkening his aged and lined features as he tried to find the sudden intruder.
"You are very unwise to disturb an old man in his peaceful studies. Old demons like me often turn out to be the most powerful ones and their wrath is not merciful." Of course it was a bluff. Agares was not a strong demon but he had certain experiences that helped him more than once in dire situations.
There was no response….
A moment of deafening silence grew prominent. It was almost too quiet, even for his tastes and he was a man that preferred his solitude.
The azure flame flickered unevenly for a small moment when he saw a brief shadow pass from the corner of his eyes. "I am not in the mood for these games. Come out now or I'll have the Hell Vanguards escort you out of these quarters." He warned but still no answer.
This actually sparked his icy temper and with a wild gesture of his hand, the blue flame grew into a large darting flame, illuminating the dark and bleak corridor in front of him.
Not much to his surprise, the light revealed a small, scrawny physique standing on the left side of the large bookshelves. It was a boy that got partially covered by Agare's long stretching shadow that shrouded his appearance partially.
Only a boy.
He should have known that there was no threat to begin with. However, he was rather intrigued that this young demon had the form of a humanoid. Only the ones with enough willpower and spirit could change their shapes and appear beautiful.
"What are you doing here, lad? Don't you think it's a bit late for playtime? This is no place for a little fledgling such as you." The librarian took a moment to step closer and get a better look of this child.
He seemed to wear rags….nothing special, the uniform of a lesser demon or servant.
His skin was milky and almost flawless, glowing beautifully from the blue light. His hair was short, messy and shined in a brilliant silver white. His lustrous locks only confirmed his assumption that this demon was a young one. The look on his face however was grim. But he also appeared frightened since Agares had caught him in the act. "Trying to play some pranks on an old fool like me? You're not the first one to try so, let me tell you." Agares said with stern features.
The boy only stared at him wordlessly before he wanted to turn and run but Agares was quicker this time. His hand shot forward and grabbed the collar of the young intruder, lifting him to the air with little effort. The boy struggled and began to toss around in his hold.
"You are pretty scrawny…..," he notified before his eyes locked with the boy's again, his hard gaunt features hardening even more "….and you are driving my patience very much on edge. Now tell me, boy, why are you here, what were you doing?"