"No! Please…p-please! I beg of y-you sir! P-please don't!"
He looked down upon the pathetic wretch quivering at his feet. The victim was a middle-aged man, around thirty years old, and he was only making matters worse for himself by begging.
"Then tell me where he is…" The calm voice of the captor sounded, the bleeding, shaking man raising his eyesight; pupils bouncing with nerves as he surveyed the man above him. It was not the captor's looks that frightened him, in fact, he was an exceedingly handsome man. It was the way his face never started, never changed. How those eyes burned into him, icy blue manipulated by ferocious fire. As he looked down upon him, his visage did not even quiver in movement, nor did he blink. He was just like some divine sculpture, yet so cold and heartless, that he was almost glacial.
"But…I,…I don't…" the victim whimpered, scarlet liquid seeping out of his mouth as he released the words, bloodshot eyes blinking painfully. But he screamed horridly as the gun cocked, shaking his head like a mad man as the pistol's nose met with the skin of his fore.
"That is not the correct answer, sir. And I am afraid you are running out of chances…one last attempt to speak the truth. Where is the boy?"
The victim burst into tears, miserable as his sorrow had no affect of pity on the hand that levelled the gun. The cold metal of the cocked pistol remained clad to his head, and he cried out as he heard the barrel rattle, the gun's broadside having been smacked hard across his face.
"You are testing my patience, sir. Do not pull my rope taunt. Now, tell me where he is, without crying like a stupendous child. Save your tears for someone who cares…for I promise you, if you continue with this charade, I will run every bullet that this gun possesses through your head, and your wife can come home to find your corpse. Do you truly want that?"
The victim shook his head wordlessly, saliva and blood escaping his mouth as he gawped at the ground in despair.
How disgustingly human…
"I didn't think you would. Now spare me your insolence, and tell me where he is."
The victim sat silently for a few seconds, rocking backwards and forwards, the gun's nose following his movement.
"I…there is a woman…his lover." the fallen man whimpered, eyes widening.
"And?"
"S-she lives in Fortuna…at the a-address written on the p-paper laying on that d-desk…" he whispered, pointing over to the far end of the dark, dense room they were in. The captor lowered the gun calmly, striding over to the wooden desk in less than two steps.
He gazed down at the paper, taking it into his unfailing hand.
31
Opera House Street
Fortuna City
He considered the simple words on the paper deeply, his eyes gradually meeting with the image of himself in the mirror propped up on the desk's surface.
His face…his eyes…his skin…just like his brother.
"Fortuna…and this is his lover's address?"
"Y-yes."
"And you think he shall be with her?"
"Y-yes!"
"Liar…"
"Wh-"
But before the bloody man could finish his word, a bullet was released from the barrel's clutches, and with great speed, it broke through his skull, embedding itself within his brain.
The victim collapsed, and the blood from his shattered head began to pool, creating a shallow, crimson lake.
The captor did not flinch. He had not even turned to aim as he had pulled the trigger. In fact, he was still staring at himself in the mirror, the dead man so close to him already a forgotten waste.
He looked at the pistol in his hand, loath-fully.
"Vile arm…" he hissed at it, throwing it across the room so that it clattered against a shelf, before landing beside its original, deceased owner.
He hardly noticed the shelf's contents desert it, scattering the ground with books and ornaments.
He continued to gaze at himself. Hate was indeed a deep, woeful emotion, but it was something that he was actually happy to bear. Hate made his drive roar, made him want to continue and never give in. Which he wouldn't…not without closure. And he swore too himself that he would never use ammunition as his arsenal again, especially once he found his sword. He was unsure on when that would be; but hopefully, his efforts would speed it up a little.
He caught sight of something in the mirror's edge, making him squint and start twice. A reflection…of a book cover. He turned, looking down at the object near his feet.
Notes. It read.
He swooped down and picked up the small book from the floor, the emerald cover, engraved with gold, now stained by the victim's leaking blood.
It seemed to be a diary, and as he flicked through the pages, he found one particular piece of information that could have made him smile…if he were not so wrapped, that was.
It read: Fortuna castle. Agnus's chamber. Below the Angel Creation. Order in possession of the key, Yamato.
So it was true. The man whom he had just murdered had been a member of the Order, that was, before the Order had been recognised as a sham. But that was all that he knew, and he was not particularly bothered about any other information concerning them. He only wanted one thing…Yamato. Though he knew that the information he had found was old and frail; in other words, the katana was no longer in the Order's possession…but, it had been, and he wanted to know why.
He considered what he should do. He could carry on to Fortuna, and find that girl. Or maybe, he would do that later instead…
For now, he decided to try and find a way to unfold the mystery concerning his weapon.
Shaking his head at the corpse, he ripped out the paper from the diary, folding it and slipping it under his vest for safe keeping.
He only took one last glance at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his silver hair, making sure that it was combed back.
But, before he left, the fully regained Vergil Sparda punched the mirror with all the strength that he could summon, savouring the imaginary thought that he had just smashed his fist into his brother, watching the uncountable pieces of glass fly through the air, like a million members of Dante's fibre…
Lady's hands released their hold on her motorcycle's handlebars, leaving the throttle alone. She sat up straight, balancing herself and her bike with her left leg, her foot dug snugly into the snow.
She gazed upwards, at the building that stood in her way. Gothic features, and dark outlines of perfectly symmetrised towers made the huge building into a castle, deeply and darkly engraved into the night's canvass. The full moon flourished the snow below with a cold shimmer, but still, beautifully.
The mission should be easy, she thought. A walk in the park. All that was needed was to get in, inspect Fortuna castle, kill whatever wandering demons they could find if there were any, and then get out.
Simple, really.
She turned her head to the side slightly, as she heard the sound of another bike coming up behind her, the engine ceasing to growl as it stopped.
She gave it three seconds, tops, before Dante would complain.
She was right on time…
"Damn it, Lady, why the hell didn't you tell me that I had to drag my bike through the snow?" He had already dismounted the bike, and he strode over to her while he spoke, half seriously, yet almost comically.
"If I recall…" Lady prompted, flicking a long leg off her bike so that she was standing and facing him. "That bike's Nero's. Not yours."
"Oh. Right. Yea." he sighed, his face twisted into defeat. She had to admit, he could be funny…but only when he wasn't trying to be. Most of the time he was just annoying, in her book anyway.
Shaking her head, she began to walk towards the castle; one of the most infamous tourist sites in Fortuna, however, a lonely landmark during midnight hours. Especially since the shroud that had covered up the Order's scandals had been torn off, revealing their true intentions to the world.
"Don't hurt yourself there, Dante…" she cooed as she walked away. "You know, since thinking is quite a foreign thing to you."
"Ha-ha, look…" Dante pointed, turning back to Nero, who was now approaching his boss. "…Lady made a joke! How original of you babe."
Nero only rolled his eyes as he passed by Dante, trying to catch up with Lady. He had a sore ass from sitting on that bike for too long, and his neck ached from the horrible thrusts that it had endured, as Dante consistently accelerated…he was in no mood for jests.
Realising that they were not willing to join in with the game, Dante shrugged and began to advance alongside Nero.
He hated the kid on days like this. Damn, he could be so boring. In fact, when he acted so icy, he reminded him of his brother.
Unfortunately. Not to mention typically.
Nero did resemble Vergil, in a few ways. He looked like him for one thing. If his hair was pulled back, which happened now and again in battle, damn, it was like looking at a ghost of Vergil. And his voice was almost an uncanny comparison. It was hard to recognise since Nero lost his temper a lot, which meant that his voice went up about an octave higher when he yelled. Yet, Dante remembered the rare times when he had heard Vergil lose the plot, and damn, it really was pretty scary, because his brother and Nero sounded almost identical. Though, Nero's sound was much warmer than Vergil's had ever been. Vergil, being the self-centred, narcissistic, venomous bastard that he was…
Only, during the time when he and Dante had shared a relationship that was truly based on brotherhood, he had been much different. Much like Nero was now. Strong willed, yet good and selfless.
It was a shame that all of that had changed.
Dante shook his head, shooing those thoughts away. He willed himself to concentrate on the present.
The three continued to slowly trudge through the snow, making their way towards a bridge that was the only connection between the mountains and Fortuna castle. Lady trooped ahead, yanking Kalina Ann higher onto her shoulder, so that she skipped a little with the weight shift. Nero dragged his feet behind him lazily, but damn, his eyes flew open when he saw Lady's jerky movement. He just couldn't help but notice just how tight those little shorts were, hugging her rear as she went. He shook his perverted eyes away, but not before Dante had realised.
"Reality check, isn't it kid?" the younger winced when he heard that tone in Dante's voice, preparing himself for the wise cracks.
"What is?" he grumbled back without looking at him.
"Y' know…here I am, having lived out most of my hunting career surrounded by sexy gals, and then there's you…who doesn't have any experience with women, other than a catholic school girl. Very sad."
Nero growled maliciously at that; although he knew Dante was only joking, he hated the way he had just described his lover. Even if it was slightly true…
"Shut up, Dante. I'm not a dog…like you are…"
"Hey, I'm not the one checking out Lady's ass."
"Shut up!"
"So you keep telling me…notice, it aint working…"
The two suddenly stopped their quarrying, as they almost banged into a now still Lady. Passing each other an annoyed look at first, they soon understood that something was wrong.
She stood frozen in immobility and silence, one hand still holding onto Kalina Ann's strap tightly, clenching more so as she looked ahead.
"Hey, what's the hold up, babe?" Dante tried to awaken her, but still, she didn't stir. She opened her mouth, as if ready to reply, but it seemed she couldn't. Her lips pursed, as though in second thought, and again, her fingers squeezed into her palms so hard that they could have bled.
Dante followed her gaze, or at least where he sensed her eyes were looking from behind her shades. And then, he saw it too.
Near the doors of Fortuna castle, where the moon shone down into the arch's opening, he swore that he could see a figure. A silhouette of a person, likely male, glowing with a fine lustre, basking in the celestial light given from above. Though features could not define themselves, a long coat trailed behind the being in a ghostly breeze, seemingly surrounded by aura. And, what could be seen of the persons hair was silver…or perhaps, it was just the moon's illusions.
Nero continued to stare at them in complete awe and perplexity, unbeknownst to what they were both looking at.
"What's wrong?" he asked, searching the area about them with worried eyes, instinctively grabbing for the handle of his sword, Red Queen, which lay strapped to his back. His fingers brushed against its mechanism, preparing himself. As he went to grab, however, his skin caressed Yamato's handle, and he let out a scream that reverberated throughout the snowy, misty moors. It was frightful and deafening, blocking out all essence of silence for a moment in time.
The sudden sound woke Dante from his daydream, as did Lady, both of them brought back by Nero's cry.
Yet, before she could pit her full attention to the young man, she took a glance back to the castle door's…only to find that the being had vanished.
The kid was on his knees, yelling in pain, his human hand held tightly in his own demonic grasp as he stared into the skin of his palm intensely. His back tensed up as well, for he could feel the same heat that Yamato had passed onto his hand charring his coat, could practically hear the sword's pitch of squealing metal as it chimed loudly, the way it had the day he had resurrected it. A horrible feeling writhed within him, like a great snake, twisting and turning, burning to rip its way out of his torso. It was like a million white hot daggers had just pierced him, the pain starting from his hand and poisoning the rest of his body.
"Kid, you k?" Dante said, a rare, worried note edged into his voice. Lady watched observantly, as the elder put a hand on Nero's shoulder, the younger gasping as the pain slowly drained. Gradually, the kid stopped breathing so hard, his feet and legs shaking as he regained himself.
"You ok?" Dante asked again, patting Nero's back. But the younger winced at that, so Dante pulled his hand back down to his side.
"Yea…I'm fine. The sword…its-"
"Glowing." Lady finished for him.
She walked behind Nero, and surly enough, Yamato was alive with light, cutting through the shadows vividly. A kind of soft murmur escaped it, now and again tuning up and echoing around them, practically clanging against the wind's motion.
"Is there something wrong with it?" Lady murmured, more to herself than to them. Dante sniggered at her comment, approaching Nero's back, and reaching out his hand to whip his fingers across Yamato's metal.
"It's not a toy, Lady. S'not like its broke…"
He did not hesitate, but as his skin gently brushed the katana's handle, he pulled back almost immediately.
Lady noticed that he looked rather shocked, and she just couldn't help but smile. Dante…the cocky, invincible Dante? Rejected by the sword that should, rightfully, be his? Priceless…
She folded her arms across her chest, smirking slyly.
"Well, well…doesn't look like its too happy with you either, Dante. Care to tell us what's wrong with it?"
A kind of twisted, annoyed look embraced Dante's face at first, and for a split second, Lady was reminded of that time back in Temen-Ni-Gru…and Dante's twin came to mind.
She had seen that expression cross Vergil's face before, only far more intensely.
But then Dante whipped the exterior off his visage, and Lady was pulled back to the present. He was suddenly staring at her with that all too familiar sarcasm, his sapphire eyes twinkling mischievously.
"Fine then, smart-ass…" he jested, arching a brow. "I think Yamato is…calling for something, in a word. But I aint sure."
"Calling?" Nero sounded breathless, shrugging his shoulders painfully "For what? My early grave? Man, this damn sword has some problems…seriously, how can it be calling?"
"Yamato is not like any average blade, Nero." Lady informed "I'm sure you already know what kind of power it possesses, but-"
"You can say that again…"
"Let me finish. Yamato is not only the sword that Sparda used, but it is a key."
"Yea…"
"Remember what I told you at HQ kid, a long way back?" Dante butted in, knowing that Nero would understand the concept more if it came from him. "That sword is the key to the demon world, like Lady said. It was my brother's, and, well…that's kinda why he wanted it. He-"
He was interrupted as Lady's hand touched his torso gently, yet sternly.
"Never mind…" Dante sighed as he looked into Lady's face, and began to walk towards the castle again.
He knew Lady was right, for her very action had told him that she didn't think that telling Nero about their past, and Vergil's, would be a good idea. He would have to wait for a more appropriate time, or just not tell him at all.
Either way, informing Nero of Vergil's existence would not do them any good…they didn't need to dig up the past more than it had already been revealed.
And Dante did not think he could bear the memory, anyway.
Nero was trying hard.
He really was.
But he was running out of patience.
Upon entering Fortuna castle, Dante had decided that it would be best if they all split up, so that they could get their job done quickly. Lady had agreed, almost eagerly; only Nero had not been too happy about it. Mainly because Dante wasn't going by the real rules of 'split up', since he had demanded that Nero go with Lady.
This was the cause of one of Nero's signature problems.
Nero hated working with other people. It wasn't that he couldn't deal with company, it was just that he liked things done his way, and his way only. He could only just about deal with Dante because he paid him. If it weren't for the money, Nero would never call him his boss.
He made his own rules, and Dante knew it. Which was probably why he had paired him up with Lady, just to piss him off.
Nero actually didn't mind Lady all that much, but all the same, he preferred his solitude. Still, she was a rather quiet person, who never really said anything other than that which was on her mind, and what was needed to be brought up.
He liked that about her a lot…it was a trait that he too shared with her…
But what he didn't like was the awkwardness. When he accompanied Dante on a mission, he didn't care much for conversation, since Dante would usually do all the talking, and that was fine by him. However, when it came down to Lady, he felt very nervous and flustered…
Nero had never really been in a women's presence before, other than Kyrie's and Trish's. Kyrie was a very rare type of girl; when she talked, she was purely pious and true, a good person with great virtues. She would never dare to utter a bitter remark, and Nero doubted she had ever cursed before in her life. She was, in a word, utterly good, and honestly easy-going, which really helped bring out Nero's shining confidence when he was around her.
And as for Trish…well, she was just Trish. A teasy, talky, jokie, and slightly moody woman; enough said.
But Lady was the total opposite of both. She was closed, and she never let anyone see her for what she truly was. She hardly ever said anything conversational, and she kept herself to herself, glued up like the many pieces of a jigsaw. Her own problems didn't bother him, but it was that coldness…that coldness that gave her silence a frozen edge.
She was so hard to understand as a person. On the rare occasions that she spoke to him, she would be almost kind and fair, allowing him to give his opinion. But then, once she had stated all that she needed to point out, that icy coffin would imprison her again, and every kind of emotion that she would allow to show on her surface would crawl back beneath her, laying dormant under her skin.
It was like this at the present moment. She and Nero were walking down a very suburban corridor, and silence seemed to be following them like a third companion.
Nero didn't even have to know her that well to understand that she had a problem with interaction. Maybe she had suffered through a rather hard past; either way he didn't know, but the awkwardness that consumed the air about them was driving him insane…
The sudden sound of a pistol cocking peeled against his ears, and he woke from his pondering immediately.
Lady had one of her gun's in her left hand, facing a corner that rounded the corridor.
"What's wrong?" Nero asked, but he didn't really need to. His demon arm was tingling, and as he gazed down at it, he saw that it was softly glowing. That told him that something was wrong, for sure.
"Demons…" Lady crafted all of his suspicions into one word. "I'll take care of them, there wont be many. Stay here."
Nero had to double take at that, blinking stupidly. Had he heard her right?
"Wait, what?" he asked, extending his demonic arm a little in expression. However, he and Lady both noticed that his arm's brilliance was now even more vibrant…
"Stay here, Nero. Five minutes. It will be easier if I go alone…"
With that she ran, Nero's eyes adjusting in disbelief. What the hell happened to team work?
He considered going after her…
…but soon, her rapid footsteps became faint, and he realised that it was pointless to pursue.
He huffed, his platinum fringes billowing, breath making his hair fly. Calming the boiling temperance within him, he set himself down near a large window sill, gazing out at the night. The moon was at least a footstool lower in the sky than it had been earlier, and the stars had begun to dim.
He couldn't believe that she had stolen his slice of the action. And, what was more, she was completely underestimating him.
Yet another reason why he hated working with people…
He highly considered it, and the more his mind dwelled over her words, the angrier he became.
"It will be easier if I go alone…"
What the hell was that suppost to mean? That he wasn't capable? That she was better?
"Probably…" he murmured to himself, tapping his bored feet against the sleek, marble flooring.
Then again, did she know anything about him? Had Dante not told her?
He knew that he was no minor when it came to fighting. For heavens sake, it was he who had finished off Sanctus and his so-called saviour. Yes, Dante had helped…but still, he was the one that had suffered through it, and it was he who had delivered that final blow to Sanctus, with the aid of Yamato…
Speaking of Yamato, he wondered how it looked now. Whether or not it was still glowing.
Standing up from his sitting posture near the sill, he turned his head around to the glass, prying upon the dark reflection of his back. Yamato, however, brightened up the darkly cut image. It was indeed still alive with brilliance.
He sighed, rubbing the side of his head as he hesitated. He wanted to touch the sword, but the pain that had shot through him earlier had been almost unbearable.
Curiosity crept up on him though, and eventually got the better of him. He carefully moved his demonic hand to his back, making sure to grab the katana's casing, and not the sword itself. His fingers slowly entwined around the sheath, tentative as he pulled it off his back. He let out a relieved breath as he felt it touch his palm; luckily the casing protected him from the radiating heat.
Sitting down again, he placed the sheathed sword on his knee, propping the handle away from his skin.
It was very strange…how just one piece of metal, shaped into a pretty design, could conjure up such admiration within him. Of course, it was more than just any ordinary sword; but still, it had this kind of vibe that followed it wherever it went, and Nero honestly felt as though it gave him strength. Not just strength as in power; but pure, heroic, inward strength. The kind of raw emotion that really urged him on, and made him want to succeed in everything that he did.
"You sure are beautiful…" he whispered to the katana, as though it could listen, stroking his blue, demonic fingertips across the sheath.
He never expected the looming darkness to answer his statement…
"…A true work of art."
He jumped and gasped, but the sword seemed to share his shock too. For it suddenly exploded with light, the sheath unable to contain the glow that escaped it. Yet with light came fire…and in a second, he was prone to that horrid, lurid pain once again, writhing through his body, quaking the boundaries of his mind.
Nero felt himself fall, heard his limbs crash…but it was almost like he was just watching himself suffer from above. Like his very soul had been ripped apart from his body, as though his conscious now had its own twin.
Yamato left his hands, clattering to the ground and echoing throughout the corridor.
He heard himself scream, and scream…but it didn't matter anymore. Even though the pain was unbearable, sickening, revolting, intense…it really didn't matter.
What mattered were those footsteps. Approaching him. Advancing towards him. So composed, so totally calm, yet, they reverberated like thunder in his head, washing away all essence of realism.
They were now so close…so close…and then a hand appeared, snaking from above, and gently closed around the katana.
As soon as Yamato was captured, it all ceased.
Everything.
He could hear. Though he was so numb that he would not even have felt a bullet pierce his chest.
And, he could see.
But he didn't want to.
The young Nero, so lowly sprawled on the floor, could see those feet. Feet that were clad in boots, that had made such a maddening sound as they had approached him. Gradually, his gaze travelled upwards, climbing and climbing, before his eyes clasped upon a very familiar face.
A pair of sulphuric blue orbs much like his own, met his stare. White, alabaster skin quilted the man standing above him; of apparently perfect proportions. His hair, which was also similar to Nero's, was luminously silvery, pulled back behind his fore. And a long, sapphire coat hugged his shoulders, floating about his feet due to its length. In his left hand, the apparent amazing figure held the katana, Yamato, as though it were his own. The sword had ceased to shine, and it seemed that it was now at serenity with the world.
It was Dante…he was sure that it was Dante…it had to be, for he was identical to the elder. Except for the expression that was.
"D-Dante?" he whimpered, mentally slapping himself for sounding so weak.
The replica of Dante gazed at him, but his expression did not change. He answered strangely, in a manner that Nero did not understand.
"Never…" said the stranger.
Nero could feel himself trembling, and deep down, he knew that it would be futile to resist. He now understood why the sword had plighted; this man, this embodiment of a far more inhumane Dante, was its rightful owner.
Dante's words came to mind…
It was originally my brother's…
He carved the same syllables from his own lips, his heart impaled with the shock of the realisation.
"B-brother?" he stuttered, unaware of just how little sense he made.
The stranger blinked once, before he stated, coldly and fluently:
"A long time ago…but, no more."