Welcome to the Show.
It was dusk when he arrived.
He felt it as soon as he set foot on the tattered bridge, felt the cold breeze, and heard the subsequent howl of the night wind as it brushed past; if there was a time for wearing a coat and a cloak, it was now.
(It wasn't as if low temperatures could ever hope to hurt him, still. The cloak was a tactic, and the coat was a choice.)
A near fruitless week, marked by the failure to gather what he deemed enough information on the so-called Honnoji Academy through various means.
Announcements scattered here and there, invitations to humans in their late teens, offers of money and power, whatever the word could mean to them. Some individuals knew tidbits of it, some schools seemed to be connected to the academy and its city…
And that's where his knowledge ended.
It'd become clear he wouldn't find out anything else, lest he came here himself. The lack of information, though not for a lack of trying to find it, was somewhat daunting at first. The fact it belonged to humans soothed his mind, but he couldn't help the sensation of wariness creeping up.
And up, his guard remained.
(The first words that came to mind when he saw the city in its entirety were pyramid and spiraling. An odd shape, he thought.)
Was there a purpose for such a design? He wondered…
No. He shook his head. The pointless reflections could wait. He came here for a reason.
The grip over the hilt of his katana tightened as a reminder, and he narrowed his eyes under the hood.
"…There is something off."
The unrelenting cold, to begin with; winter was still five months away. This location seemed to utterly disregard that.
Then there was the faint scent, the scent of rotting.
And the overall aura this place emanated.
His enhanced senses were rising in alarm, making him feel as though there was something in there, within the slums forth, watching from the shadows.
Dangerous.
So, what did he do in response to all of it?
"I shall see what it is."
And then he dove right into the pit of rundown shacks, unpaved roads, and deepening darkness of the lowest district from Honno City.
"Can't you make them hotter?"
There was a complaint in the question. The kind of complaint that escaped one's mouth when the cold pounded at the clothes and every breath became misty little clouds.
"That's as hot as I can make 'em. Sorry."
"It's…fine."
Hands numb from the chilling temperatures sought the warmth brought by the fire rising from the trash can and reached out to the dancing flames. They hung far enough to avoid burning but close enough to bask in the heat.
"At least it doesn't get worse during winter. That oughta count for something, shouldn't it?" the homeless man who kept him company within the alleyway asked.
"I guess it does…" His bloodshot eyes traveled to him. "But it's still a pain in the ass."
"That I can't deny."
A silence followed, but with a purpose.
Some cockroaches were crawling over his dirty futon, so he swept them away with his hand. The homeless man, meanwhile, looked to the side.
To the alleyway's exit, and the street swallowed by shadows beyond. The background noise was the chirping of crickets, the occasional meowing of a cat or the barking of a dog, and…
Nothing.
Nothing else.
The homeless man glanced back at him, and messy eyebrows knit in a frown. "What's someone like you doing here, anyway?"
His response was laced with the saddest resignation. "My house was unprotected… I had to find a safe place for tonight."
"And this was the first safe place you found, wasn't it?"
"No." He coughed. "There were others, but they either refused to let me in or charged me for the stay. I didn't have the money they were asking for."
"Makes sense. Their devil fields might be defective."
A quirked brow. "And yours isn't?"
"Hey, I might not have a house of my own anymore, but I'm pretty good at this." The kind of pride in that voice was unbecoming of someone who looked so miserable. "I could've protected us even better if we took shelter in your house."
"It was too late to go there when I found you," he pointed out. "And if you're so good at this, then why haven't you used your magic to become rich?"
Silence, answerless and purposeless.
"Thought so."
"…Okay, I'm not that good," the homeless man sighed. "But my devil field can protect us both for tonight, so that's all that matters, right?"
"…Yeah, I guess so."
A pleased grin lit the homeless's dirty face. It seemed a bit childish, truth be told.
Another silence followed, the second with purpose.
He yawned, and the homeless man gazed back to the abyss outside the alleyway.
The abyss, thankfully, didn't stare back.
The crickets kept singing, and some dogs barked from time to time.
"Why was your house unprotected, boy?" the homeless questioned, the hints of something akin to concerned curiosity showing through. The man nodded to his clothes, at his grayish-blue uniform, and added, "I thought y'all were taught how to make magic spells of all sorts, decent devil fields."
"My brother was." The tone with which the young man spoke let the homeless man know that perhaps he shouldn't have asked that. The grief, though restrained, was there. "He's the one who learned all that. I could never figure it out."
And although the homeless man kept himself from asking further, the younger one continued. "But the dumbass had to go and get himself killed for nothing. It happened today, at school."
"Damn…"
The homeless looked down, for a moment. "…I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He lay down on the futon, hands behind his head as he stared at the starry sky. He was tired of having his hands up near the fire. "That's how it is around here…isn't it? Either you're the killer or you are killed, the weak shall die and the strong thrive, all that shit the student council president says atop her fancy tower, y'know."
"True. But that doesn't mean you should like it, does it?"
The young man didn't respond.
"Thought so."
He closed his eyes.
"Did you make the fire hotter?"
A chuckle. "No. You just got used to the cold."
"Whatever. I'm gonna sleep."
"Really? You don't think I'll steal anything from you?"
He lay over his side and lifted covers brought from his house up to his neck. "At this point, I don't care if you do. I just wanna get some sleep."
"Ah, well, you do that. I'll keep this field up—"
It was then that the cold returned, with a vengeance.
"What…?"
The young man's eyes burst open, and he sat up, only to find out the flames from the trash can were dying.
"The devil field's failing…?!"
The flames became extinct.
And the last silence between them arrived, as the teeth of horrible realization sank into them.
They were in the dark.
They were vulnerable.
"What the hell…?!" the young man hissed, rising to his feet, still able to see but only a bit.
"I don't know! This never happened before!" the homeless hissed back, equally distressed, equally afraid. "The field just shut down outta nowhere!"
"Turn it back on!"
"I'm on it—"
The crickets, the cats, the dogs, whatever could be making noise outside the alleyway was drowned out by the monstrous low growl that pierced through their ears and shook them to the core.
Two green lights glowed in the darkness.
"What the—"
They faded, and the next things the young man saw were two scarlet, bright blurs dash in front of the homeless guy.
He saw his midsection open as if it were a school bag.
He saw the blood pour from the wound, and the intestines hit the ground, all as the poor man put his hand on his bleeding stomach and screamed.
But his screams were silenced as soon as a blade, colored crimson pierced his head, his skull, from behind, gouging out one of his eyes as it emerged from his face.
The blade retracted.
The homeless, now dead man fell over his innards.
At that moment, the two red, lizard-like creatures that attacked him appeared in his sight, one bigger than the other, and leaned down to feast on their victim.
The young man didn't know what they were. They were probably mentioned in those occult books his brother once read, their shapes were familiar.
But he suspected that the corpse of that guy wouldn't sate them for long.
There was no time to be shocked. There was only time to escape.
And he escaped the alleyway as fast as his feet allowed.
Meanwhile, the predatory gaze of the smaller lizard of the two followed him.
Please don't be behind me. Please don't be behind me.
His heart was beating so fast it hurt when he looked back, running through the darkened streets of the slums, with the crescent moonlight as his only guide.
Such moonlight allowed him to see one of those red lizard monsters chasing him, and his heart almost stopped.
"HELP!"
The shout was instinctive, and perhaps it'd call the attention of other demons in the area.
But what else could he do?
He looked back again, and the creature was gaining on him, by leaps and bounds. It was fast, much faster than him; it was only a matter of time…
"SOMEONE HELP ME!"
And as if by a miracle, he saw a cloaked, hooded figure in the distance.
This figure was walking down the road with a calm stride, unperturbed by the screams. The young man sprinted faster, desperate, and before he knew it, he was running past the hooded one.
He kept walking forward, as if he didn't notice him, as though the lizard-like creature didn't switch targets, zeroed in on him, and lunged, mouth wide, arm blades at the ready.
At least that'll keep it distracted, the young man thought as he looked back, intent on continuing his sprint.
He stopped when he saw a gloved hand emerging from the cloak, carrying what he realized was a katana.
"A juvenile? Not worth my time."
There was a single slash, downwards.
"Disappear."
…
...Bisected.
That's what happened to the red reptile monster; it got fucking bisected, and the two halves of what had been a complete beast fell behind the hooded one, staining his cloak and the dirt road with blood that wasn't human but that looked human.
The halves faded away to dust not too long after, and it was then that the hooded one returned his sword to the scabbard under the cloak.
"Holy shit…"
This strange individual he was so very fortunate to come across turned to him, for the first time acknowledging his existence.
"H-Hey, first of all, t-thank you for that…" the young man breathed, realizing how exhausting his extreme sprint was. "That thing almost got me. There's another one down the road, by the way…"
The hooded one didn't respond.
It took him some moments to fully recover, and when he did, he asked," So, um, who are you?"
The hooded one countered the question with one of his own. "…You mentioned it was down the road, did you not?"
Eh?
"Yeah, another one…it's in an alleyway—"
The young man couldn't say anything else.
It wasn't because his tongue was failing, or because he had no idea what else to say. There were lots of questions he had for the hooded one.
How did you do that?
Are you another student?
Where did you get that cloak? Looks awesome…
Where did you get that katana? I want one too…
None of them could be voiced because something had stabbed him from behind.
The young man's eyes stayed on the hooded one for a long moment, the shock of the impact and the indescribable pain sinking in.
They moved, slowly, to the lengthy blade coming out of his chest, piercing through his dirty clothes; his blood was dripping from it, enhancing the blade's color.
He coughed once.
He coughed twice, an ominous mixture of saliva and blood escaping his mouth, some of it landing on the blade, some more landing on the ground, marks for the pebbles below.
There were tears.
There were pitiful, choked noises, as the man's gaze returned to the hooded one.
With a trembling hand, he clutched the crimson blade hopelessly, as if doing so would undo what had been done to him, as if he weren't beyond repair.
With his other hand, he tried to reach for the hooded one, as if he weren't too far, as if it weren't too late for help.
It was then that the blade abandoned his body.
And he collapsed, knees hitting the dirt first, side of his face last.
A last breath and the world faded to darkness.
The final sentiment he felt as he died was regret, for the decisions he made that led him and his brother to this God-forsaken city.
His stare at the corpse didn't last.
Feeble, was the only thought he spared for it. The pitiful human couldn't even realize the demon had snuck up behind him.
Vergil gazed at the ruby-colored lizard, eye to eye, arctic blue versus viridian, unveiled threat. It looked almost identical to the one he just slaughtered, but it was much taller, much more muscular, and much sharper all around.
The other one.
"You are much more developed."
The demon faded from sight.
Keen instincts allowed Vergil to step aside, out of the approaching blade's path. "Hmph."
The uppercut connected, and the sound of his knuckles impacting deadly mandibles was as satisfying as it must have been painful for the lizard.
It was sent high into the air and then hit the road, bounced off it once before it fell on its back.
"Impressive speed," Vergil commented, but his praise was somewhat dull. "For a worthless hellbeast, that is."
The lizard disappeared again, only to reappear, this time back on its feet, arm blade no longer in sight.
It circled him, wary, and those greenish lights it had for eyes lingered on him, no doubt assessing.
"You fail to recognize your kind, creature?" Vergil smirked, and perhaps the creature didn't understand a word of what he said.
It, however, might have understood the derision over which such words stood, if the narrowing of its eyes was anything to go by.
The demon vanished.
"You might be fast. Much faster than the other."
Vergil didn't need to look behind to know his enemy —if it could even be called that— was there. He ducked under the horizontal slash, a failed attempt at decapitation, and performed a spinning sweeping kick across the ground.
The move tripped the lizard, and while it remained airborne, Vergil rose and slammed the hilt of his katana against its scaly head, precise and swift.
As if fired from a gun, the beast crashed through the walls of a terrible-looking house; wood and concrete collapsed loudly.
"But you cannot hope to overcome me," Vergil proclaimed. "I may welcome the warm-up, but make no mistake, you stand no chance."
(It wasn't his ego talking, though those cold facts certainly fueled it.)
"You…"
The creature emerged from the heap of rubble and debris, this time with a blade on each arm, eyes glowing with more intensity than ever.
"…are…"
The creature dashed at him, becoming an afterimage as soon as it was inches from his face.
"…too slow."
Vergil unsheathed the Yamato.
And then he sheathed it.
He took a glance at his side.
The demon stood there, frozen, amidst an attack. The blade from its right arm was very close to Vergil's ear.
…the blades, both from the right arm and the left arm, shattered to pieces, and blood burst violently from the beast's body.
He couldn't deny the sweetness of the melody composed by the creature's agony-filled howls.
(A warm-up? More like an execution.)
"An intense demonic presence has been detected in the city."
"…Hostile?"
"It certainly was hostile with two of the Furies we released tonight; they came into contact."
"Do tell what happened to the Furies."
"…They died."
"…How long?"
"The youngling was killed in approximately three seconds following the initial contact. The adult was killed in thirteen."
"…Remarkable."
Author's Note:
The first character-defining moment here. I wonder if my portrayal of Vergil is satisfying so far. This is the first time I write about Devil May Cry.
Ah, things seem a little different in Kill la Kill's city, don't they?
For those who haven't deduced when this is happening in both the Devil May Cry and Kill la Kill timelines, the answer will come soon!
I thank the people who chose to follow and favorite this. I didn't think the previous chapter would catch anyone's attention since it was too short and simple.
See you later.