Disclaimer: I do not own either Devil May Cry or Blue Archive.

o-0-o

- Prologue Chapter 1-

o-0-o

In a cozy nook of the café, a solitary man sat immersed in contemplation, eagerly awaiting his cup of coffee. The day unfolded in all its splendor, painting the sky with a brilliant blue hue adorned by delicate clouds. Sunlight bathed his skin, infusing him with a sense of contentment and joy. The gentle breeze played a harmonious melody, rustling leaves and carrying the fragrance of blooming flowers.

It was a day to be treasured, a reminder of the simple yet profound beauty of bygone days, a rarity in the modern world. However, amid this picturesque scene, shadows of the recent world war lingered in the man's thoughts, a conflict that had tested the resilience and perseverance of humanity.

As the echoes of war subsided, a daunting period of recovery and healing commenced. Communities, nations, and individuals emerged from the wreckage, determined to rebuild shattered lives and reclaim a semblance of normalcy. The scars of battle weren't merely physical; they were etched into the hearts and minds of those who had witnessed its horrors.

Yet, within the rubble and sorrow, the man found solace in the unyielding spirit of humanity, their ability to rise from the ashes and reconstruct their lives. Though the scars were still fresh, the undeterred determination to rebuild and restore showcased the indomitable will of people.

He marveled at how humanity could unite, extending a helping hand, working tirelessly for a brighter future despite the devastation left in the wake of war. Witnessing the resilience of people in the face of adversity reinforced his faith in humanity—a stronger, more united world would undoubtedly arise from the ruins.

His keen, intelligent blue eyes held the weight of the ages, reflecting the world's history and the hope for a better future. Clad in an elegant long leather coat that cascaded to his knees, juxtaposed with a simple yet stylish purple waistcoat and pristine white shirt, he exuded confidence and an aura of timeless youth. The interplay of light and shadow on his ageless features seemed to narrate a story of wisdom amassed over centuries. His slicked-back white hair caught the sunlight, lending an enchanting sheen to his allure.

The devastation surrounding him served as a stark reminder of the challenges that lay ahead in the town's recovery. While he wouldn't intervene directly in human affairs, he had taken an unspoken oath—to protect and preserve humanity, as he had done throughout history. The memories of battles fought and sacrifices made echoed in his mind, fueling his determination to shield the healing world from further harm. He trod carefully, always vigilant, prepared to act if any threat dared to darken the glimmer of hope rekindling in people's hearts. It was an everlasting commitment to ensure their journey toward recovery would be safe and unhindered.

The arrival of the waitress interrupted his reverie, bringing him back to the present moment. "Here you go, sir. One black coffee and egg sandwich," she announced cheerfully, placing the order on his table.

"Thank you," he responded, offering a polite smile and a nod of gratitude. The inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the gentle hum of conversation, enveloping him.

As he took a sip of his coffee, his gaze drifted to an alley across the street. A group of children had been observing him since he entered the café, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and longing—youthful faces reflecting the hardships they had endured.

Their tattered clothes and worn-out shoes spoke volumes about their struggles, their childhoods scarred by the brutalities of war. He knew their daily existence was a grim reminder of the war's aftermath, a harsh reality they didn't deserve.

His attention returned to the children, and the oldest boy, aware of being observed, met his gaze with a glare filled with anger and hatred. The intensity of the boy's resentment was palpable, a shield forged from the harsh experiences he had endured.

He could only imagine the cruelty they had witnessed to harbor such palpable hatred behind their young eyes.

"Excuse me, may I inquire about something?" he beckoned to the waitress.

She turned around, her friendly demeanor ready to assist. "Of course! How can I help you?"

He gestured subtly toward the group of children in the alley. "Do you have any information about those children over there?"

The waitress sighed exasperatedly. "Those kids again..."

He furrowed his brow, concerned by her reaction. "Is there a history with these children?"

She nodded, frustration evident in her expression. "Lately, they've been causing some trouble—stealing from customers and causing disruptions," she explained.

He hummed thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry, sir; I will tell them to leave," the waitress said, ready to intervene.

He gently held her arm, stopping her before she could head to the children. "Wait," he requested, his tone gentle but firm. "I didn't ask you to drive them away. I just want to know who they are."

The waitress looked at him momentarily, her eyes reflecting a mix of sadness and resignation.

"War orphans," she said, her voice carrying the weight of their circumstances.

"Are you certain?" he asked, noting the hesitation in her expression.

"In the current state of the world, how could they be anything else?" he mused, grappling with the stark reality of their situation.

"No one takes care of them?" he inquired, hoping for a different answer.

"Look around you. The town is still standing on one leg. We don't have the resources to take care of everyone," she explained, the weight of the situation evident in her words.

He understood the challenges they faced, a harsh reminder that even in the face of progress, some were left behind, struggling to find their footing.

"We're luckier than others, actually. Since it's a small and remote town, perhaps that's why the invaders thought they didn't need to eliminate us?" she pondered, her words tinged with a mix of relief and somber acknowledgment.

He nodded, understanding the twisted logic of war, where devastation was often distributed unevenly, sparing some while wreaking havoc on others.

"The economy's in ruins, though. But hey, at least we still have a roof over our heads," she remarked, acknowledging the challenges they faced but finding solace in their relative safety.

He agreed, appreciating the small blessings amidst the hardships many had endured. "Sometimes, it's the little things that matter the most," he responded, emphasizing the importance of gratitude for what they still had.

"Are you done with your questions? You may not care, but I still have work to do, and I don't want to lose my job—the only one that's willing to hire me," she stated, a sense of urgency in her voice.

He understood her position and the importance of her job, especially at a time when opportunities were scarce.

"Of course, I appreciate your time," he replied, smiling apologetically. "Oh, one more thing."

"What is it?"

"How much would it cost to purchase all the sandwiches you have?"

O-0-o

In a dim, desolate corner of a dilapidated building, a group of children huddled together, their faces etched with a blend of exhaustion and worry, waiting for their leader to vent his frustrations.

"Darn it all!" Their leader, barely a teenager himself, lashed out in frustration, unable to meet their weekly quota and feeling the weight of the looming deadline press upon him. His companions shared in his exasperation, the burden of their circumstances weighing heavily on their young shoulders.

None of the children appeared to be older than fifteen; some even seemed as young as six. The leader had always grappled with the immense responsibility of guiding such a young and vulnerable group ever since he became the oldest among them. He had tried to display courage and resourcefulness, serving as a symbol of strength and hope, but even he had reached his limit.

The leader paced back and forth, the strain evident in his furrowed brow and tense posture. Their collective survival rested heavily on his shoulders, and the burden of meeting their quota was a constant source of anxiety.

"Nils, what should we do? If we don't meet the quota, forget getting to eat…we're the ones who'll be eaten!" one of the children exclaimed, their desperation palpable.

"I know already!" Nils replied, his voice strained and weary, feeling the pressure of their dire situation closing in on him. He accidentally let his façade drop, allowing his true feelings of exhaustion, fear, and frustration to surface among the group he had grown to care for deeply.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts as he looked at the faces of the children, each one reflecting the same fear and worry that he felt.

"We'll stick together, support one another, and come up with a plan. We've faced tough times before, and we'll get through this one too," Nils assured them, summoning his strength to uplift their spirits.

But the children were still fearful. They were dealing with something beyond their understanding. After all, they were not dealing with the adults who chased them away or robbed them of their families. They were facing demons disguised as humans.

These malevolent figures showed no remorse, preying on the vulnerable and defenseless. Their actions bore the cruelty of monsters, leaving scars that ran deeper than the physical ones.

Nils vowed to shield them from this malevolence, but how could he protect them from these monsters other than to submit to them? The weight of this impossible choice bore down on him, an agonizing realization that there seemed to be no easy path in this bleak reality.

"I-" one of the youngest, Sophie, meekly raised her hand. "I'll go back. We can still lure that traveler here."

Nils was taken aback by Sophie's bravery, her small hand raised in determination despite the fear in her eyes. He felt a mix of pride for her courage and protectiveness, not wanting to expose her to further danger.

After a moment's contemplation, he spoke gently, "Sophie, I can't let you do this. We won't put you in harm's way," Nils reiterated, his concern for her safety evident in his eyes.

Sophie, determined to contribute, tried to argue, her voice wavering but resolute.

"Nils, I want to help. I'm not scared," she insisted, her young spirit undeterred by the dangers they faced.

"I said no!" Nils angrily yelled, his frustration and worry boiling over.

Sophie flinched at the sudden intensity of his tone, the raw emotions in his eyes revealing the depth of his concern for her.

He took a deep breath, attempting to soften his voice and reassure her. "I know you're brave, Sophie. But protecting you is my responsibility, and I won't jeopardize your safety."

The children silently stared at Nils, the weight of the situation sinking in. Then, someone whispered, "If we fail, you're the one who'll be eaten, Nils."

The chilling reality of their circumstances hung in the air, a reminder of the danger they faced and the grim consequences of failure.

Nils swallowed hard, fully aware of the dangers they confronted, yet resolute in his determination to protect the children he cared for like family.

"Not a problem," he said, trying to inject confidence into his words. "When the time comes, I'll find a way to escape and get back to you guys."

"You won't!" Sophie cried, her voice breaking with fear and worry. "No one came back! Not even the adults we lured!"

Sophie's cry caused the children to cry as well, their young hearts burdened with fear and sorrow. The echoes of their collective tears reverberated in the dimly lit space, a heartbreaking symphony of the harsh realities they faced.

"H-hey..." Nils tried to comfort them, his own voice quivering as tears welled in his eyes.

The raw emotion in his voice only made the children cry harder, their collective anguish filling the air.

He hugged them all tightly, the weight of their collective pain heavy on his young shoulders.

"Why's this happening to us? Are we being bad? I don't want to lose anyone else!" Sophie wailed, her pain and fear pouring out in her words.

Nils held her close, tears streaming down his own cheeks. He had no comforting words, for he grappled with the same questions, the same fears.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The children froze, their breaths held, as footsteps tripped their makeshift alarms.

A shiver of fear ran through their huddled group as they glanced at each other, eyes wide with trepidation.

Nils quickly signaled for them to stay silent, his own heart racing as he contemplated their next move.

Nils prepared to sacrifice his life to appease these demons' anger. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make to ensure the safety of the others, a testament to the depth of his love and responsibility towards the young souls under his care.

As fear clenched his stomach, he whispered a final reassurance to the children, one that had been whispered to him many times before, "No matter what happens, stay strong and support each other."

Nils pushed them away, despite their silent pleas, and rushed towards the source of the footsteps. Adrenaline surged through him as he sprinted, determination eclipsing his fear, fueled by the need to protect those he considered his family.

He had made a choice, a choice to confront the darkness head-on, and he steeled himself for whatever awaited him.

His heart whispered a silent prayer for the children he left behind, hoping they would find safety and a chance for a better future.

"Come! Take me! I'm ready!" Nils proclaimed, bracing himself for the confrontation with the perceived demons. Yet it was not demons who appeared.

"Oh, there you are. You lot sure are difficult to track," came the unexpected voice.

It was the white-haired man whom they had been tailing earlier, a surprising twist in their harrowing encounter.

Confusion and relief mingled on Nils's face as he realized the man was not a demon but someone entirely unexpected.

The man looked at Nils and then noticed the children watching from the shadows, their eyes reflecting a mix of fear and relief.

"Did I come at a bad moment?" the man asked, puzzled, sensing the tension in the air.

o-0-o

The man had swiftly pursued the children, driven by an earnest desire to help rather than any sinister intentions. Secreted within his bag were sandwiches, a kind-hearted gesture intended to offer nourishment and aid to those in their time of need.

However, his true motivation ran deeper. A familiar scent emanating from the children had alerted him to their distress. He recognized it instantly—a poignant signal that they were in dire straits.

His countenance turned solemn as he reminisced about the scent, but then he genially inquired, "Why the frightened expressions?"

Caught off guard by the abrupt shift in his demeanor, the children exchanged astonished glances. The man's hearty laughter diffused the tension that had gripped them moments ago, and he reassured, "You kids seem as though you've seen a ghost. I might have white hair, but I'm hardly that frightening!"

As the atmosphere eased, the children sought to make sense of the man's friendly query. They exchanged puzzled looks, wondering if they had misinterpreted the situation.

The boy closest to him responded hesitantly, "We thought... we thought you were something else."

"Oh? What? Do I truly resemble a demon?" he teased, attempting to lighten the mood and reassure the children.

The boy winced at the word 'demon,' haunted by memories of past horrors. The man, noticing the discomfort he had caused, regretted his choice of words, realizing the depth of the children's trauma.

"I'm sorry," he offered sincerely, his tone now somber. "I didn't mean to evoke distressing memories."

"...Why are you here? How did you find us?" the boy inquired warily, scrutinizing the man's face for any signs of deceit.

The man pondered his response, aiming to ease their apprehensions by appealing to their stomachs.

"Well," he began with a warm smile, "I've brought some sandwiches in this bag. I thought perhaps you kids could use a hearty meal."

Eyes widened with surprise and hunger, the children's initial mistrust transformed into excitement at the prospect of food.

"Wait! This could be a trap!" Suddenly, the boy exclaimed, his earlier reservations resurfacing abruptly.

Taken aback by the sudden accusation, sandwich in hand, the man raised an eyebrow, frozen in the midst of his well-intentioned act of kindness.

"We can't trust anyone," the boy continued, fear and mistrust clouding his young eyes. He then glared defiantly at the man. "How can we be certain that you're not in league with those demons?"

"Interesting," the man replied, his expression curious yet empathetic. "So, you've been plagued by demon troubles, I see."

The children exchanged glances, their earlier suspicion slowly giving way to curiosity about this man who seemed genuinely interested in their plight.

The boy seemed eager to share more, but the man pressed on, "And we're talking about genuine, man-eating demons, correct? Ones capable of shape-shifting into human form?"

The boy hesitated, then nodded cautiously. "Yes, precisely. They've posed a constant threat, lurking in the shadows, masquerading as humans to deceive and harm."

"And let me guess…you youngsters are being used as bait," the man stated plainly, his words cutting through the harsh reality they faced.

The children exchanged somber glances, the weight of their role settling heavily on their young shoulders.

The man could see the toll this burden had taken on them, the scars of their experiences etched into their innocent faces.

He ruffled his hair. "You kids lured unsuspecting travelers with sympathies, and if that failed, you resorted to other actions like theft."

The boy stepped forward, his voice tinged with remorse. "We did what we had to do to survive."

"And let me guess...you have quotas to meet? And if you fail, the current leader pays the price? Sounds about right?" the man pieced together the grim truth of their circumstances.

The children exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of their predicament exposed before this empathetic stranger.

The weight of their actions bore heavily on the boy, but he nodded, acknowledging the cruel circumstances they were trapped in. "Yes, it's a brutal cycle we're ensnared in."

"It appears this is their current modus operandi…" the man murmured to himself.

"Pardon?" the boy inquired.

The man's eyes reflected understanding and determination. "We'll break this cycle. You won't have to live in fear any longer."

The boy shook his head. "You can't. No one can. We've even sought help from the local authorities before, but those creatures... they're monsters. Genuine monsters."

An unexpected reaction came from the man.

"Heh..."

He chuckled.

The children looked at him, startled by the sudden and seemingly inappropriate laughter given the grim revelation.

"Only because they haven't encountered me," he stated confidently, a glint of determination in his eyes.

"What do you—" the boy began, interrupted by the man's firm gaze.

"Boy, what's your name?" the man inquired, his tone authoritative yet kind.

"N-Nils!" the boy stammered, his nerves evident.

"Nils, a pleasure to meet you. Now, as the eldest in this room—aside from me, of course—I'd like you to lead your younger siblings out to a safe place," the man instructed with a reassuring smile. Then, his face turned deadly serious. "As far away as you can."

"Wha—"

"Also, take this bag of sandwiches. And be sure not to discard the napkin inside; there might be a pleasant surprise for you," the man added, handing him a bag and offering a hint of mystery and encouragement.

Nils hesitated, torn between caution and the flicker of hope that this stranger offered. His gaze shifted from the man to the other children, and he made a split-second decision for their sake.

"Okay," Nils said, accepting the sandwiches and the mystery of the napkin with a cautious nod. He beckoned for the children to follow him and led them downstairs, away from the stranger yet strangely drawn to the possibility of assistance.

Once the man was certain that the children had moved quite a distance away from where he stood, he began stretching his arms, preparing himself for what was about to come.

"Now then..." he muttered to himself, a resolute sense of determination in his voice, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the shattered windows that had allowed four monstrous figures to leap inside from a faraway building. Their abrupt entry sent shockwaves through the room, creating an atmosphere of sudden chaos.

"Shall we dance?" the man said with a palpable mix of confidence and defiance, his stance unwavering as he readied himself to confront the unexpected threat that had just materialized before him.

"SPAAAAAAAAAARDDAAAAAAA!" the monstrous figures roared, their grotesque forms emanating an aura of terror, purple lightning crackling ominously from their claws.

The monstrous figures, grotesque and menacing, lunged at him with terrifying speed and power. However, he remained faster and stronger than them, even though the passage of time had turned him into a mere husk of his prime self.

The room transformed into a whirlwind of chaos as the man expertly evaded their attacks, his movements a mesmerizing ballet of agility and precision.

He unholstered his guns, Luce and Ombra, their names elegantly engraved on the sleek black barrels, and began blasting at the demons. Each shot was a symphony of power and precision, the bullets finding their mark with deadly accuracy, creating a lethal orchestra of destruction.

The echoes of gunfire reverberated through the room, accompanied by the anguished cries of the demonic assailants as they crumbled under the relentless onslaught.

His every move was a testament to the skill and power he still possessed, a dance of death that held the monsters at bay.

Luce and Ombra spat fire and lead, their barrels ablaze with a fury that matched his own. The monsters struggled to keep up with his unrelenting assault, their roars turning into pitiful shrieks of agony as bullets tore through their grotesque forms, bringing an end to their reign of terror in this world.

Finally, silence descended upon the room. "Well, that was underwhelming," he remarked with a slight chuckle, realizing the battle had ended more easily than expected. He holstered his pistols, the weight of their power a comforting presence at his side. The room, once a chaotic battleground, now bore the signs of a swift and decisive victory.

The man, Sparda, glanced around, surveying the aftermath of the encounter. The monsters lay defeated, their grotesque forms now lifeless and devoid of the malevolence that once fueled them.

"Strange…" Sparda kneeled down, inspecting one of the demon corpses. "This kind of demon doesn't have the capacity for critical thinking, much less operating a complex operation like this…"

Unless, of course, they were mere pawns, and the true mastermind still lurked in the shadows. Sparda's extensive experience told him that often, the true danger remained concealed, pulling the strings from behind the scenes.

He rose to his feet, a growing unease settling in. He knew he had to delve deeper into this mystery, to uncover the root of this demonic plot.

"Anyway, better make sure the children are in safe hands first," he said to himself, turning to walk away from the scene. But then, a soft voice called out to him.

"Sparda-Sensei…"

"Hmm?" Sparda looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. "Was it just my imagination?" he wondered aloud, a tinge of concern coloring his voice.

Swiftly, Sparda sensed the unshakable feeling of being watched. Sharpening his instincts, he cast a wary glance out of the window and caught sight of two enigmatic figures, concealed behind masks and adorned in pristine white clergy robes. They stood atop the very building from which the malevolent demons had previously launched their assault.

Locking eyes with them, an unspoken tension hung in the air. In that charged moment, one of the masked figures extended a gloved finger, pointing directly at Sparda.

As realization unfurled within Sparda's mind, he understood the grim truth: these were the masterminds orchestrating the demonic onslaught.

"Well," Sparda quipped with a wry smile, "since they've chosen to reveal themselves, it would be impolite to keep them waiting." With determination pulsating through his veins, he sprinted forward, leveraging his supernatural speed to propel himself across the gap and land gracefully on the adjacent rooftop.

There, he was greeted by the two masked enigmas, standing in eerie silence.

Sparda's keen senses, honed through countless battles, detected something amiss in the atmosphere—a scent unfamiliar and unsettling. "Intriguing," he mused aloud, catching a hint of an essence that defied categorization. "Neither human nor demon. What, precisely, are you?"

One of the masked figures jeered, the tone dripping with mockery. "Sparda-Sensei, we've been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

Sparda's lips curled into a faint smile. "Once, I may have had disciples, but right now, I am no teacher." He then aimed the muzzle of Luce at them. "It's time for confessions. Who are you, and what's the meaning behind these elaborate acts? I doubt you're demons; otherwise, those kids would've met their end long ago. I'm sure you know I'm quite the expert on demon-related matters."

The shrouded clergymen displayed no visible reaction to Sparda's veiled attempts at intimidation. Their unwavering composure revealed little of their true motives. Among them, a clergyman garbed in intricate religious vestments stepped forward, exuding confidence.

"Ah, Sparda," the clergyman initiated, his voice composed and purposeful. "Once a formidable force, a Demon possessing immense power and knowledge, transcending your original purpose. Hence, you can no longer be allowed to persist."

Sparda's eyes narrowed, his acute senses detecting a disquieting conviction in the clergyman's words. "Transcended my purpose? What do you mean by that?" he demanded, tightening his grip on Luce.

"A demon must not ascend to godhood. You remain naught but a False God."

"I've never claimed to be one, nor do I aspire to be," Sparda retorted.

"Your actions cause the world to deviate from the meticulous design of the Nameless Gods—you are an aberration, one that shall not profane the sanctity of the Ark," intoned the enigmatic figure, his voice dripping with a haunting resonance. "The shrouds of unfathomable mystery will unravel, and the Nameless Gods will reclaim their rightful thrones from the False God."

As he scratched his chin, Sparda found the cryptic and mystifying utterings of these two lunatics equally baffling and oddly entertaining. "I must confess, your enigmatic words baffle me," Sparda said, shaking his head, bemused. "You know what? If you reveal where you've hidden your victims and abandon whatever nefarious plot you have, I may show you some semblance of mercy. A fair offer, isn't it?"

"Your tale concludes here. The Nameless Gods shall reign undisturbed by your meddling," the figure began to proclaim, only to be interrupted by Sparda's sigh of resignation.

"...Very well, if answers continue to elude me, so be it. It's clear you harbor animosity towards me, though I can't recall recently offending any clergymen," Sparda interjected, rolling his eyes in mild exasperation. "As for these so-called 'Nameless Gods'...I'm sure you'll sing their praises after I'm done with you."

Sparda stood on the precipice of pulling the trigger on Luce and Ombra when, at that precise moment, his danger sense blared out a frantic warning: "Get away from them!"

"You're too late, Sparda-Sensei," the masked clergymen chorused in unison, their voices a sinister harmony. "By relinquishing most of your powers, you unwittingly enabled us to remove you from the stage." They outstretched their arms to the sky and, sounding intoxicated, proclaimed, "Oh, Sublime One, heed our call and embrace us in your boundless grace."

The atmosphere crackled with an ominous energy, causing the surroundings to distort as if reality itself were warping. Pillars of malevolent energy descended from the sky, encircling the building and distorting everything they touched.

Sparda gazed up at the heavens, attempting to decipher the source of this bewildering energy. However, he was confronted with something entirely unprecedented. Above him, there formed a circular void in the sky—a violet ring with a jet-black abyss at its center, akin to a total solar eclipse surrounded by an outer violet ring.

Sparda's mind raced as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of what he was facing. The enigmatic clergymen had summoned a force beyond the realms of demons and devils—a power that defied his extensive knowledge of the supernatural.

"This is neither Demon nor Devil," he whispered to himself, a deep sense of foreboding settling in as the unknown loomed ominously in the sky.

"Ooohh! Chroma! Bless us with your divine might! Remove the False God from existence!" The clergymen, now consumed by the overwhelming power they had summoned, chanted incantations that seemed to resonate with the ominous energy. The circular void in the sky pulsed and expanded, its violet hue intensifying and casting an eerie, otherworldly glow across the landscape.

Moments later, the circular void unleashed a searing, cataclysmic blast of energy, and Sparda found himself ensnared within a tumultuous vortex of power. The maelstrom pulled at him from all directions, the chaotic might of 'Chroma' pressing down relentlessly, threatening to unravel his very existence.

In the face of the torrential energy, Sparda's composure remained unwavering. He sneered defiantly, challenging the malevolent force. "You think… this is enough?" he taunted.

With a fierce roar, he pushed against the relentless maelstrom, summoning his demonic might. The vortex raged on, its malevolent power clashing fiercely with his own.

What unfolded was a fierce battle of wills and strengths. Sparda's eyes blazed with intensity as he struggled against Chroma's power. His very visage began to transform. Two pairs of wings emerged from his back, one set chiropteran and another resembling beetle wings. Downward-facing ram horns sprouted from his head, his human feet morphed into hooves, and reptilian spines protruded from his back.

Crimson energy surged forth from Sparda towards Chroma, resulting in a mesmerizing interplay of crimson and violet energies clashing, each attempting to extinguish the other.

However, it wasn't long before the crimson energy emanating from Sparda began to fizzle out, and he immediately grasped the dire situation. The residual energy within him had been exhausted, and he couldn't help but recall the ominous words of those enigmatic clergymen.

"By relinquishing most of your powers, you unwittingly enabled us to remove you from the stage," their chilling warning echoed in his mind.

"They chose this very moment to lure me because they know I've just finished sealing off my demonic powers," Sparda realized, frustration tinging his thoughts. Had they waited, his powers would have started their restoration process, which explained why they struck when his reserve was nearly empty.

"This is the end of your story, Sparda. Your myth shall be forgotten, and the prayers sent to you will now be rightfully returned to the Nameless Gods," the clergymen declared with unwavering conviction.

Their declaration was met with a swift, decisive response—Sparda bifurcated them with a quick and precise strike. The severed halves of the clergymen tumbled from the building, and their lives were silenced abruptly. Sparda briefly watched them plummet into the abyss below before turning his attention back to the menacing presence before him.

"As I said, I never ask to be worshipped," Sparda stated firmly, having manifested a menacing katana, Yamato, in his right hand. The blade gleamed with purpose as Sparda intended to sever the very fabric of space, preventing this 'Chroma' from ever intruding upon the Human World again.

He had no idea what could happen if he severed space at this moment when a violent vortex of energies swirled between them. However, whatever consequences awaited him, it was a far better alternative than allowing this entity to roam freely in the Human World.

Swinging the katana, Yamato's immense power cleaved through the very fabric of reality, birthing a portal to the void between spaces. This was a feat he rarely undertook, reserving it for essential travel with precise coordinates to known destinations. There was always a risk of being stranded in unknown realms, a peril he carefully weighed before utilizing Yamato's portal-opening ability.

However, in this dire situation, the urgency to remove the threat from the Human World overshadowed the potential risks. Where they would ultimately end up was a secondary concern; dealing with the entity at any destination was a challenge Sparda was prepared to face.

As anticipated, the violent whirlwind of energies caused the portal to spiral into a maddening instability, morphing it into an uncontrollable rift that grew larger and more voracious than Sparda had originally anticipated. The tempestuous anomaly voraciously consumed the surrounding energies, threatening to unravel the very fabric of reality.

Sparda could feel the ground slipping away beneath him, the vortex pulling him relentlessly, threatening to transport him into an uncertain and tumultuous realm. The maelstrom seemed insatiable, hungry for anything it could claim.

A wry, battle-hardened smirk played across his visage as he noticed Chroma being inexorably drawn into the portal as well. Doubts had briefly clouded his mind about whether the plan would work, but seeing Chroma being pulled in brought a profound sense of relief and vindication.

As they were both swallowed by the ever-expanding rift, Chroma unleashed an even greater, cataclysmic blast of energy, either in a desperate attempt to erase Sparda, to escape the rift, or perhaps both. In response, Sparda let out another roar, defiance etched into his very being.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Summoning every last vestige of his remaining power, Sparda met the blast head-on, the clash of titanic forces briefly illuminating the abyss within the rift, momentarily knocking Sparda away from the epicenter of the clash and sending him hurtling towards a distant and uncharted region of the unknown.

As the rift's opening quickly distanced itself, he swung Yamato once again, ensuring the rift's closure and denying Chroma any way of returning to the Human World.

Floating in the unending darkness, a sense of profound satisfaction graced his lips. He would have tried to find a way out of this void, but he just felt so weary, his energy spent, and his eyelids were slowly succumbing to the weight of exhaustion.

"I guess…I'll rest a bit."

As darkness began to claim him, a peculiar and ethereal occurrence transpired.

"Sparda-Sensei…"

It was that enigmatic voice again.

Earlier, he had thought it emanated from one of the clergymen, but this time, the voice was clearer, distinctly belonging to a girl.

For a fleeting moment before losing consciousness, he believed he saw a young girl with long, ethereal sky-blue hair and a pristine white uniform before him, a halo seemingly hovering above her head.

"Who…are you?" Sparda tried to ask, but the only response was her gentle finger placed upon his lips.

Then, her lips moved as if saying something. Although they were ensconced in a void where no sound should have been possible, he could distinctly hear her youthful voice.

"We long for the seven wailings. We bear the koan of Jericho."

o-0-o

It was pure hell. That thought echoed relentlessly in the minds of Nils and the terrified children.

"If we didn't heed what he said…w-we would've–" a boy beside him uttered, his voice trembling with fear, his words hanging heavy with the weight of their near-fatal choice.

An entire compound was obliterated, replaced by a gaping void that seemed to stretch deep into the abyss of hell itself, where no glimmer of light could possibly hope to survive.

When the sky had shattered and the pillars of radiant light descended, panic gripped everyone's hearts. But then, when that colossal violet circle appeared and replaced the sun, the initial pandemonium gave way to an overwhelming sense of dread and hopelessness, as the enormity of their situation settled in.

After that, no one dared to look up at the sky. They all fell to their knees and began fervently praying to God or any celestial being that might save them from their plight.

Nils himself could only tremble in place, clutching the bag of sandwiches the mysterious stranger had given him. He dared not open his eyes, fearing the horrors that might await him. His thoughts briefly wandered to the safety of that enigmatic man. However, any hope was extinguished in an instant when the blast occurred, sending everyone sprawling from the ferocious gust it generated.

Yet, Nils could not avoid the inevitable any longer. He needed to know if any of the children were harmed by that cataclysmic blast. And so, he mustered the courage to crack his eyes open.

In doing so, he bore witness to the clash between crimson and violet, the rupture in the sky, their inexplicable disappearance, and the resulting devastation left in the wake of this colossal battle.

How he wished he hadn't seen it. He had never felt so powerless in his life, so minuscule and insignificant in the face of these incomprehensible powers.

Even those demons they had previously encountered now seemed mild compared to the apocalyptic spectacle before him.

The only solace he found was that he hadn't lost anyone else. However, he was utterly clueless about what steps to take now in order to survive in this nightmarish world, especially with entities like that lurking about.

"Nils…" It was Sophie. She firmly held his hand, her eyes filled with deep concern. "You okay?"

"Ah…I'm–" Nils swallowed hard, then mustered a weak smile for Sophie. "I'm fine. You know how tough I am."

"But…"

"Oh, that's right! Are you hungry? We still have these sandwiches with us!" Nils said, attempting to divert the conversation away from his fragile mental state.

He unwrapped the napkin that had concealed the sandwiches and handed a piece to Sophie, who gratefully accepted the bread.

The rest of the children followed suit, devouring the sandwiches voraciously.

Nils smiled, his heart warmed by the sight of their joyful faces, but then he recalled what the stranger had said and examined the napkin more closely.

There was something written on it—what appeared to be a phone number, an address, and a name.

"…Morrison Handyman Agency?"

o-0-o

Author's note:

I'm burnt out making this prologue… And yes, I decided to use Sparda since I really couldn't see Dante or Vergil acting as teachers. Also, since I don't know if the world of Devil May Cry is the same as our world e.g. Earth, I decided not to mention any specific historical events, but if you want to know the timeline in our world's equivalent, the event in this chapter happened sometime between WW1 and WW2, and decades…if not centuries before the start of DMC (anyone knows what year DMC is set again?).