Shows up and updates the fic no one cares about and not the one that's on a rather literal cliffhanger. Too bad.

The working title for this chapter was "Dante Sucks at His Job."

Ignoring all the remnants of destruction, Fortuna was nice. Too nice. Like a shot from a travel magazine. Even with the icy sting of winter in the air, sunlight beamed down on the cobblestone streets and fancy, old architecture. In comparison, my town looked like a hellhole, but then again, it was.

In the literal sense, so was Fortuna with that massive Hellgate looming under its surface. The city's aesthetic made a for a nice, disarming coat of paint, one that I'd had plenty of time to ruminate over because I'd been lost for hours.

Having an address didn't do me much good without directions, and too many of the streets looked the same. Either that, or I was going in circles.

Keeping at street level should have been the better option. There, I could ask people directions or at least keep an eye on street signs, but a couple problems came with that plan.

One, the people of Fortuna had good memories. After the third person's eyes widened at my approach, and they skittered away as fast as possible, I recalled that I hadn't made the best first impression. Even if he was a demon, shooting a church authority in the face in front of more-or-less the entire town wasn't going to endear me to anyone.

Two, all the damn streets had Italian names. Well, everything in Fortuna had an Italian name. Or was it Latin? Either way, it was Greek to me. Trying to keep track of which street signs I'd seen was more of a challenge when all the labels started with Via and ended with some fancy word I didn't recognize. They blurred together more and more with each street until I gave up and took to the rooftops.

I did find the residential district that way, but that was worse somehow. All the houses looked the same, sitting in neat little rows with the same windows, same paint job, and same front doors. Nothing screamed "definitely not a cult" like everyone wearing identical clothes and living in identical houses.

Compared to all the effort I went through to just find their damn address, fixing whatever issue Nero and Kyrie had was going to be a breeze. At least, I hoped so. Despite the day and a-half trip between my bike, a dingy plane, and a boat, I was fine with heading all the way out to take care of something small if that meant it wasn't something big.

I hadn't asked for payment, not that I'd had time, but I figured the kids could at least get me something to eat in return for the trouble. My gut was nice enough to remind me of what a hollow pit it was every few minutes. Even if I'd spared the time to grab something during my slog of a search for their house, I wasn't sure any of the restaurants would have served me.

Through some miracle, I found the place, the last house on the north end of its street. It could have been the far corner of the world for what a pain in the ass it was to find. The setting sun reflected off the dusting of frost, painting the whole street a blinding orange and making me wonder how an island's climate even dropped below freezing as I knocked on the door.

The only answer I received was a muffled but solid thunk. I knew that sound well enough to guess that something had collided with a wall or floor, and the resulting hiss of what was likely curses seemed to prove me right. I could tell it was Nero. No one else could have sounded so incensed at the prospect of answering a door.

So I had one kid well and accounted for. I just had to find the other, fix up some problems, get some food, and I could be back home for Lady to yell or shoot at. Maybe both.

The smile I plastered on my face faltered for an instant when the door opened. The kid didn't look like the same one I'd met a few months before. Hell must have run him over, eyes sunken with exhaustion and skin so pale I worried it might crack like porcelain. A blanket hung off one shoulder and dragged around his feet like some forgotten cape.

He blinked at me a few times as though making sure I was real; then with a growl, he slammed the heel of his clawed hand against his ear. One eye screwed shut against whatever was bothering him.

"You alright, kid?" I had to ask.

He winced, maybe against my voice. "Yeah, fine. My ear's just bugging me."

"What's wrong with it?"

"That's the problem. There's supposed to be something wrong with it, but it's been…" His hand drifted back down. He seemed to finally recognize me. "Wait, why are you here?"

If he didn't know, I wasn't sure if I was supposed to tell him. The unease I'd felt on the phone with Kyrie came rushing back like a freight train. It didn't help that he was talking in riddles.

"I was just in the area," I said. "Figured I'd come visit my favorite whatever-you-are. You could at least pretend to be happy to see me."

"Thanks." Sarcasm dripped from his mouth like sludge. "Do you want to come in, sir? Would you like some coffee?"

"Are you this sweet to all your house guests, or am I a special case?"

"I'm going to shut the door."

As I slipped in past him, he ground out a sigh of "Make yourself at home." Though he was in quite a mood, if he had the mindset to make such snide remarks, the problem couldn't have been anything too pressing.

The house looked... boring, so pristine and tidy that I felt like I couldn't touch anything. "So what was that about your ear?" I asked as I glanced over the shelves of photos and knick-knacks.

He pressed his shoulder to the door to shut it. "Is that a no on coffee?"

Looked like we were going to have a battle over changing the subject. Little did he know that I was an ace at the game.

"I don't need the extra energy," I said. "Did you say it was supposed to be messed up?"

His eyes darted to their corners. I could see the debate playing in his head before he spoke with hesitation. "I'm deaf in my right ear. Have been since I was a kid. It's really not a big deal." Tension built in his shoulders with each word, as though bracing for me to make fun of him. I hoped I didn't come off as that much of an ass.

"So it's bothering you?" I asked.

"Not really. It's been ringing, but it's whatever." He shrugged. "So, do you want, like, food or something?"

I flashed him a smile more genuine than the rest. "Like food or something sounds great."

The corner of his mouth tugged toward a faint smirk as he pushed himself from the door and headed for the kitchen. Trailing after him, I found the room as quaint and tidy as the living room. He shooed me over to a kitchen table big enough to seat six and set to digging around in the fridge.

"Is it just you here?" I asked. After resting my sword against the wall, I dropped down in one chair and kicked my feet up in another.

"Not usually, but Kyrie's staying with a friend." He scanned the expiration date on a half-gallon jug. I hoped him pouring a glass meant that it was alright because he strode over and smacked the glass down in front of me on the table.

"Milk?" I asked, one brow raised.

"Yeah, you can drink it, right? If you don't want coffee, it's that or orange juice. You're not having booze with breakfast."

I saw nothing wrong with booze for breakfast, but I did take issue with the breakfast part in general. "What time do you think it is, kid?"

While looking out the window, he cracked an egg one-handed into a pan. "Looks like ass o'clock in the morning to me," he said. "Do you always decide to visit people at sunrise?"

"Please, I don't get up before sunrise. It's sunset."

The tired glaze over his eyes didn't change, but he took a slow, steadying breath. "Guess I overslept a bit. I was up late. Well, you're getting breakfast now, so suck it up."

I held up my hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm up for anything edible if it's free."

Though I couldn't find anything wrong, exactly, he was far too off for everything to be right. His movements were so sluggish that I wondered if he could have kept up with me in a fight like he had before. Asking him anything directly felt a bit too ballsy even for me. I hoped he was telling the truth about the girl visiting a friend because I couldn't think of a way to pry at that without sounding like a creep.

I must have looked creepy enough when I realized I was staring him down like I could pick him apart to find the problem. My graceful attempt to snap out of it and look inconspicuous sent my forearm into the milk glass. Shooting out my hand, I was able to right it before it toppled over.

The kid didn't even look up. I couldn't imagine him skipping out on a reason to make fun of me, so he must have been so spaced out that he was off on another planet. Entranced by chopping an onion, he didn't notice when I waved at him, not even when I stuck my arm all the way up.

"Demons still keeping you busy?" I asked as I dropped my arm. I hoped he wasn't going out and fighting when his mindfulness of his surroundings was that poor. He heard me at least, though I did take more stock in the way his head tilted to listen.

"Very busy," he said. "Did someone hire you about the demon problem? I told them we'd take care of it."

"Demon problem?" News to me. Demons were always going to be around, but with the gates destroyed, they shouldn't have been as much of an issue as before. "You got something you can't handle on your own?"

"I don't need help," he said, tossing a glare my way. "Killing the bastards isn't the problem. It's finding them. They're all over the place. We've had a weird resurgence lately. Had to scrape together what was left of the Holy Knights for patrols to make sure nothing gets into the city."

I had a feeling Kyrie wouldn't have called me if that were the only issue. He was leaving something out, and I was going to have to prod to get it. "So the other guys are out there working, and you're napping the day away."

I met his snarl with a grin. Maybe not the best idea to taunt the kid when he had a knife, especially when he slammed it into the cutting board, through the flesh of the tomato as well as his own. He didn't even flinch, just muttered a curse before sticking the side of his finger in his mouth.

"I'm not sure you're following all the food safety regulations here," I said.

"Bite me," he said around his hand.

"I think you've got that covered for yourself."

The wound must not have been that bad because his finger was still attached, but he dug an adhesive bandage out of a drawer and wrapped it around the cut. That made my brows pinch.

"Don't worry, I won't bleed on your food," he grumbled as he slammed the drawer shut.

"How long do you expect it to bleed? Isn't your healing pretty on par with mine?"

Without realizing it, I must have backed him into a corner because he froze, tense as a coiled spring. "It's fine," he said far too late to cover for himself.

Breathing a sigh through my nose, I dropped my feet from the chair and faced him properly. "You don't have to lie to me, kid. Something's up with you."

Despite the bandage, blood welled up between his fingers and dripped to the floor as he held a white-knuckled fist at his side. "This doesn't… It's not your problem."

Maybe it shouldn't have been, but it turned into my problem the moment I got that call. "Where's Kyrie?" I asked just in case. Just to make sure. I couldn't imagine him hurting her, but I had to check.

The topic must have hit a nerve because his eyes flashed with unchecked rage. "I told you she's at her friend's place. Why are you asking?"

"Because she asked me to come."

I was prepared for him to lunge at me, but the tension dropped from his shoulders. His lips thinned with shame. "Oh," he said, quiet and defeated. "I guess it's good, then. If you're here, then there's someone who can…" With a sigh, he flicked off the stove. Though I waited for him to continue, he said nothing else.

"You're going to have to tell me what's going on because I didn't get much information from her," I said.

Turning to lean back against the counter, his worn eyes traced the lines on the tile floor. "I would, but I don't know what's going on either."

"Quit with the vagaries, kid. I can help, but you have to give me something to go on."

"As long as your idea of helping isn't lopping my head off right away."

I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed that he thought I would kill him or surprised he would admit that I could manage it. "Why do you think that would be my solution?" I asked.

"Been...forgetting things." That sounded familiar. As he spoke, his eyes clenched shut, and he pressed his bloodied fingers into his temples. "Like I was losing time. I'd be somewhere one moment and then… Then…" He drew a sharp breath. His hand slipped from his face and drifted back down to his side.

"You alright?" I asked again.

When he turned to me, his eyes were filled with dark, icy irritation that didn't look right on him. Nero was all fire when he was mad, snapping and snarling like a dog rearing for a fight. This anger was too controlled for him.

The static crackle of breaking wood sounded from another room. Before I could even glance in the direction of the noise, Nero's clawed hand shot up and snatched Yamato from the air.

It wasn't hard to figure out that I needed to move, grabbing Rebellion as I threw myself out of the chair just in time for it to be cleaved in two. The instant my sword came up, Yamato came down against it. The force of the strike made the house rattle down to its foundation.

"Kid, you really want to fight here?" I asked. "In your condition?"

His weakness was easier to see when he fought. He had to throw himself into every attack just to get force behind them, so his swings were sloppy and easy to block. "Hey, kid," I said as he kept at it. "You're going to mess up your house."

In response, he attempted a slice across my throat.

Disapproval slipped into my tone. "Kid."

Another slash.

"Nero, what are you doing?"

He didn't even open his mouth, just kept glaring at me with murder in his eyes.

If not for the tight space, I could have dodged without issue. All that kept his guard closed was his left arm held across his chest like it should have been in a cast. Trying to reason with him was getting me nowhere, so I gave up on playing defense. His next strike unbalanced him just as much as the rest, easy to tip over when I shoved with Rebellion and threw his weight back at him.

In any other case, I would have used that as an opportunity to strike, but if the kid couldn't heal from a knick on the finger, he wasn't coming back from anything Rebellion could dish out. Ebony and Ivory were out of the question too.

Going with the next best option, I reared back and slammed my boot into his shoulder. Startled, his eyes shot wide. He scrambled to catch himself as the hit spun him, but even when he managed to stop his fall with his palms smacked to the floor, my knee and all of my weight behind it dropped him.

Despite his best attempts to flail and paw at me, the angle kept him from being able to do any real damage. Truthfully, the claws scared me more than the sword. Even weakened, I felt sure that arm of his would shred any piece of me it could get ahold of. Yamato was easier to predict. I'd seen the worst of its uses, and Nero didn't seem to have much of grasp on those. He hadn't even summoned his strange Devil Trigger to use it against me.

"How about you hang out and cool off a bit?" I said as his eye worked to burn a hole through me. "You're a mess. You can't fight me right now. If you behave, we can take this outside later."

I still couldn't make sense of what had set him off. He wasn't being like his usual self in a brawl, all snark and show. I'd seen enough demons use mind control to rule that out. Brainwashing was visible in the eyes. They'd drain of emotion, leaving them glazed, empty. He was showing too much fury to be a puppet, yet when he spoke, his words came out so sharp and thin that I couldn't match them to anything I'd ever heard from the kid.

"Do not interfere."

With my gaze down on him, I had a great view of the damn phantom blade that rammed through my heart and out my sternum. Pain blinded me long enough for him to drag himself free. "That was cheap," I said around the blood filling my mouth. With every jolt of my heart and each breath forced into my lungs, the wound tore at itself, rending even as muscle and bone stitched back together.

Getting Yamato away from him claimed top priority then. After scanning for any more of the summon swords that might be buzzing around like the world's most annoying insect, I readied Rebellion in preparation for Nero to jump up and turn on me again.

He did roll to his feet, but the moment he hopped up, he darted for the door. "What?" was all I could find to say in my shock. "No! You don't get to run now. Get back here."

My lunge came up empty, and he slipped out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

"This is no way to treat a guest," I said as I shouldered open the door to rush after him. The street lay empty. He couldn't have outrun me, not with how weak and haggard he'd been, yet I didn't see a sign of him when I clambered up to the roof either. Other than the distant rush of cars, I heard nothing.

After skimming the nearby roads and finding nothing but some scowling residents, I had no option but to return to the house. At least when I'd been the one he was chasing all over the island, I'd left an obvious trail for him to follow, even if it had been fake and solely for my own entertainment.

He might as well have vanished into thin air for all the clues he left me, and that was a perfectly reasonable excuse to poke around in his house. "He did say to make myself feel at home," I said under my breath as I peered behind each door.

In what must have been his room, judging by the oversized falchion against the wall, I found a pile of clothes so bloodied and tattered that they looked like used bandages at first glance. A broken chest sat at the foot of his bed, jagged splinters of the wood pointing outward from the gash in its side. It looked like something had clawed its way out.

"Yamato?" I muttered, my eyes rolled up in recollection of the shattering sound I'd heard before it appeared in Nero's grasp. Thinking back, he hadn't summoned it from his arm like before. I couldn't make sense of that. If I could have just popped an extra weapon into existence at any time from such a convenient carrying location, I sure as hell would have kept it with me.

Even odder, a quick tug at the lid of the chest proved it to be locked. "Alright, kid, what's up? You're going to have to spell it out for me. Give me, like, a diary or something."

If he'd had a diary, it would have been in either that chest, or his drawers, and even I had my limits of snooping. I didn't need the kid coming back madder.

When the front door opened, I spun on my heel and hopped back into the hall, hoping he wouldn't notice that I'd been in his room. Luckily or unluckily, I found Kyrie staring at me instead. Terror made her eyes wide as she took in the slashes that had strayed into the walls and floor. "Dante," she said slow and dazed.

"Kyrie!" I greeted. "Sorry about the walls... and the floor... and the chair." Though I tried to smile, stress bled in my eyes in echo to her own. "Nero and I got into a bit of a spat, but he's fine."

"Did he run off again?" She spoke like something had caught in her throat, her voice airy.

"Yeah, I guess I'm good at pissing him off."

She clasped her hands in front of her, kneading her palms and fingers. "I'm so sorry. I was hoping he'd listen to you. He said last night that he was going to call you, so I'd hoped he'd calmed down."

Giving up on the act, I crossed my arms and let myself sigh. "Why didn't you tell him that I was coming?"

Biting the corner of her lip, she gnawed at it for such a stretch that I was surprised when she actually answered. "I was worried about how Black might react."

"Black?"

"I guess he didn't tell you." Her huff blew her bangs away from her face.

"He didn't tell me anything. Started to, and then he just flew off the handle."

With a relatable cry of "ugh," she stomped her foot before launching into a rant complete with gestures so broad and quick that I was worried she might fall over. Her dedication to performing all the different parts through changing her expression and voice was admirable.

"So first, people just came up to me like, 'Kyrie, that boy is acting weird again.'

"And I was like, 'Yeah, okay, tell me something new.'

"And they were like, 'He's staring off into space all the time. Spaced out in the middle of the street today.'

"And I'm like, 'Look, he's kind of dumb. I'm sure it's fine.'"

I'd taken her for the demure, quiet sort, but it seemed that only extended so far.

"And they'd say, 'Okay, but he keeps taking his creepy arm out-'"

"He still hides his arm?" I cut in.

Though her brow was pinched, she shrugged. "Only in the city. He doesn't like when people stare. I didn't think that was all that notable, but then they came up to me like, 'Kyrie, he's getting really weird.'

"And I'm like, 'What am I? His keeper?' Except I pretty much am, and they're all too scared to talk to him, so whatever."

I couldn't help but crack a smile.

"And they're like, 'No, really, it's weird. He keeps falling down for no reason and then glares at anyone who asks if he's okay. Then he just blinks and stands up and looks all confused.'

"So I've got to be like, 'Nero, what's your deal?' And this boy has the nerve to look me in the eye and say it's fine. I don't know if you know this about him, but he's a terrible liar."

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "I've noticed."

"Right? So I already knew he was lying. He doesn't like to make people worry, but I could tell he was getting stressed about it. He fidgets real bad when he's bored or anxious, and things kept getting worse. He started coming home with his clothes ruined like he'd been injured, but his strange healing would have already put him back together. He kept saying it was fine, and I knew he was lying. I knew it! But you can't reason with him." Her hands trembled in fists at her sides, and her voice rose in pitch with each word. "He wasn't eating, and he was exhausted all the time, and then he'd come home with the wounds still there! They'd take so long to heal!"

A deep, shaking inhale cut her off, and she eased the tension from her shoulders as she puffed out the air. "That first time I called you," she continued in a murmur, "he came home with such a deep cut in his shoulder that it must have gone down to the bone. It looked horrible. I finally got him to tell me about what was happening. He said he'd just lose chunks of time, like he'd open his eyes and be somewhere new, and all the time in between would have been ripped away."

They'd both said that before - memory loss. I wracked my brain for anything that could explain what was happening to the kid, but nothing lined up. The odd progression of his worsening symptoms was outside of any case I'd seen.

"And the next time you called me?" I pressed.

She looked at the couch or perhaps the past, her eyes thinned with pain. "He came home, but it wasn't him. He'd gotten scuffed up like always, and I went up to him, but he wouldn't say anything. Looked at me like I was some stranger and pushed me out of the way - with his right arm. Nero doesn't do that, okay? He's always worried he'll hurt someone if he uses force with his right arm, and it's not like he'd ever push me anyway."

While he'd never extended such a courtesy to me, I could see him acting that way with her. She looked like the sort who would break from as much as a light shove. Not to mention the time I had accidentally knocked her down and earned the kid's boots to my face for it.

"It wasn't him," she said, her voice trembling. "It was like someone wearing his skin, and I realized that must have been whatever was making him forget things. I was so scared. I didn't know what to do, so I called you, but I didn't want for it to know in case I made it angrier."

"I must have had a run-in with that thing too," I said. "That explains the sudden change in attitude the kid had."

My devil hunter license was bound to get revoked for letting such a stupid mistake slip past me unaware. But whatever the thing was, even if it acted nothing like the kid, it still wielded his power and energy. As far as my senses were concerned, I'd been fighting Nero, no new or outside force.

So possession was out just like brainwashing. That didn't leave me with many options, but the fact that Nero didn't seem to be a willing participant in whatever was going on brought me some relief. I would find out whatever had latched onto him and shake it off. It had to be something I could fix. I couldn't fight someone like that. Not again.

"I call it Black," she said, wrenching me from my thoughts.

"You mean, when he's out of it? You gave it a name?" I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Amusement tugged me toward a smile, but the nature of the thing fought for a frown.

"I guess I wanted to see if I could get it to talk to me," she said. "That maybe if I treated it like its own person, it might tell me what it wanted."

"So it never spoke to you?"

She shook her head, but I knew that it could speak. It had proven that much to me.

"Does he usually have Yamato with him when it takes over?" I asked.

Her brow puzzled as her eyes rolled up in thought. "That's the sword he keeps in his arm, right? I think he always has it there, so I guess so." Her gaze snapped to me with a realization. "Oh, but he left all his weapons here yesterday. He said he didn't want Black to have access to them."

I was inclined to agree, especially when it came to Yamato. Always something going on with that damn sword.

I hoped she couldn't read the way thoughts spun circles in my head because she broke through with a tentative, "So can you do an exorcism or something?"

She might as well have pointed a shotgun at me for how loaded that question was. I had to hide a cringe. "Possible," I lied through my teeth with a forced smile. "Exorcisms are complicated and way above my pay grade."

Wrong choice of words. "I can pay you!" she said. "Whatever it takes!"

My hands shot up, palms forward to stop her. "No-no, I'm not charging you. Take it easy. I'll need to look into things further to make sure, figure out what I need to get."

There was no way in hell I was telling her that Nero had no chance of surviving an exorcism. I didn't think he was possessed, but if he were, an exorcism would tear him apart in his condition. The ceremonies weren't designed for mutts with demon blood.

"Can you tell me where he might be?" I asked before she could pry for any more information. For her own sake, she needed to swallow the lie and move on. Sweet and devoted as she was, the truth would eat her up inside.

As though in prayer, she folded her hands in front of her. "Nero said that he would wake up on the edge of the Mitis Forest and in the Order's old headquarters building often. If you're going to try to find him, please be careful if Black is still in control when you do."

I was unsure if she was worried for my sake or telling me not to hit him too hard. "Don't worry, I'll behave," I said with a half-bow.

If only it were that easy. I had no idea what to do if I met Black again.

And I had even less of an idea of what to do if I found Nero.

Life is hard for Dante when the solution to a problem is not just "hit thing."