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skvaderarts · 2 months

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Petrichor Chapter 67: Hesitantly

Chapter 67: Hesitantly

Note: Hey, everyone. I'm doing a lot better now. Thank you so much for your kindness and your wholesome messages on A03, Tumblr, and on Discord. Sorry for making you worry. That was… a scary time. You've all made it so much better. Phew. Thank you all. 💗

(-~-)

After being called upon by an assistant of the mistress of the citadel, they'd been led to the higher stratum of the structure, a cacophonous series of hallways, dramatically moon-lit chambers, various-sized rooms, and arched walkways that led through semi-indoor-outdoor spaces up and down flights of stairs through sky gardens and under the waterfall that was such an iconic part of the structure. After a ways, they had come to a small room of sorts. One that almost seemed to be a bedroom of sorts, but wasn't. More of a dressing room but without mirrors or closets. It was simply a dark room with a small skylight and two arched folding doors that led to a small balcony that overlooked the path they had taken to come into the room in the first place. And within were a few different figures in robes similar to their escorts, The group of them seemingly seeing to the night’s affairs. Nodding politely as they entered but not speaking.

As the door closed behind them and they entered the space in earnest, one of the assistants approached their guide and handed her what appeared to be a shimmering bundle of fabric. She turned to him and extended it out to him, pointing to an area where he could go to put it on. She then nodded politely and stepped back, finally breaking the silence.

“Wear this. Nothing else.”

V looked at her in slightly stunned and apprehensive silence for a moment before looking down at the bundle of fabric. It felt light. Thin. A glance over at Sirrus yielded no further clarity as the adjudicator simply shrugged gently, an awkward look of discomfort on his face that was as subtle as it was undeniable. She had meant precisely what she'd said. That was just how they did things here.

Opting to ask no further questions, the young summoner nodded subtly and surrendered himself to his apprehension, simply choosing to swallow his unease as he walked over to the indicated area to undress and dawn whatever garment they'd seen fit to lend him. The sooner that he got this over with, the better. At least one of the people in this room had already seen him naked…

As soon as he was behind the privacy of the partition they had provided him, he disrobed and lifted the garment up in front of him, curious to see what exactly it was supposed to be in the first place. And as it unrolled and he realized it was a singular piece, his curiosity was mildly piqued.

Ah, so it was a robe.

Black, silken, and shimmering under the dim starlight. The fabric was as dark as night, hanging just above the floor if he stood up perfectly straight, something that it probably wouldn't have done if not for his height. An ornate dark gray embroidery in the form of different moon phases and webs skirted the edge of each outer seam of the fabric, especially on the front and the collar with more scarce designs on the long, bell-shaped sleeves. It seemed to trace and depict a lunar cycle, but not one he recognized, though he couldn't claim to be an expert in that regard in the slightest. Perhaps this was the lunar cycle of this place? It did contain an eclipse in its design, after all. Or were those different heavenly bodies since some of them were different sizes? He… he didn't know.

But regardless, It was comfortable if not exceedingly cold. He hadn't noticed how chilly it had been until now, but now it was the only thing he could notice. There was no breeze, but the lack of any additional clothing actually chilled him greatly. Perhaps he should have asked why he’d needed to change clothes. He'd just assumed that there was a reason and gone from there, but now he was having second thoughts. At least it looked nice. And it closed with a built-in tie at the waist.

Now that he looked at it, it actually had a somewhat visually striking design. And it had a rather vintage feel to it. It was mildly to his liking. Not the sort of thing he would have picked for himself, but certainly the sort of thing he would be pleased with if he'd been gifted it.

And in a strange way, he almost felt like he was in a hospital gown awaiting surgery…

“What should I expect?” No one answered. Be it out of a lack of a desire to, instructions not to do so, or as a result of not realizing he was speaking to them, he couldn't be sure. But the uncomfortable self-awareness that came with the silence that settled over the room after he'd spoken was enough to render him silent for the time being.

Sirrus winced internally at the silence he received as an answer, crossing about half of the distance between him and V so that he could stand a few feet from him. Was this an inappropriate time to mention that he looked nice in the robe? Probably so.

“I wish I could tell you but…”

“You're as in the dark about this as I am, aren't you?” V said softly, a very apparent air of anxiety and unease creeping into his tone with every passing word that he spoke. He clasped his hands together in front of himself, pulling his shoulders inward as he allowed his eyes to fall down towards the floor at a slight angle, his head barely moving. He was uncomfortable. Deeply so. And Sirrus could see it in every fiber of his being. He radiated unease.

“Essentially,” Sirrus confessed, unsure as to what else he could really say. “I can only vouch for my own personal experience, and none of mine were anything like… this. They were… ”

Sirrus seemed to be struggling to figure out a way to articulate his thoughts, his mind running a thousand different places at once. He didn't want to say anything that would heighten his beloved companion's anxieties about what he was about to face, but he also refused to lie to him. That was something he never did if he could help it. V counted on his transparency, openness, and honesty. And he wasn't lying now. But he was acutely aware of the fact that his lack of ability to tell him basically anything about what he was about to experience was the least reassuring thing possible. And the only thing he wanted to be right now was comforting. It… pained him not to be. He wanted to step across the room and scoop V into his arms to physically shield him from everything else going on around him.

It felt like a failure on his part. He had stood where V stood and felt some semblance of what he now felt. He knew what it felt like to not have someone to speak with about something like that. The vulnerability one experienced when standing in a room full of people who they needed to trust but didn't know. To feel adrift in a space so unfamiliar and inhospitable. The mind was truly the worst horror there was, and lingering on possibilities when preparing to face the unknown was not a healthy route to take.

There was so much he wanted to say to V. So much that he wanted to do to ease his quiet suffering. But as things stood, he wasn't sure if his ideas would be of help to him or only serve as a hindrance. The young summoner needed to keep his mind clear. He didn't want to burden him or confuse him with anything by accident.

But at the same time, V needed an anchor. He hadn't said as much -or said much of anything for that matter- since they'd left the previous room and been brought here, but he'd noticed. Sirrus couldn't help but notice.

V looked like a scared, cornered kitten facing down a large predator. If it were possible, he'd fold his ears down like one, too. And he couldn't say that that analogy was far off, either. The task that loomed before him was as unknowable as a creature of prey stalking through the darkness. The only difference was that instead of retreating to fight another day he had to step into that darkness and face it where there would be no going back.

“Miserable but mostly unrelated to the task at hand?” V said with a tone so darkly expectant that it could only come from someone certain they were correct. And he was.

It actually took Sirrus a second to realize that V was finishing his statement for him. Or at least attempting to predict what he might say. His sudden silence probably came off as a lack of knowing what to say. As stunned silence. It was actually strangely touching to him in an unexpectedly sad way that even in his current situation, V was still trying to help him in little ways. Insignificant though they might be.

Sirrus nodded. That was a way of putting it. And he couldn't claim that it was incorrect by any meaningful measure. And for the first time since he'd entered the room, he noticed something in that moment of unbroken silence between them. Something that thing became simultaneously aware of in that instant. Their company had filtered out of the room, leaving just the two of them to speak in silence. No one had said a word. They'd simply left. They still had a little time to speak before they began. Aside from that, they were ready to proceed, at least physically.

“You’ve hit the nail on the head yet again,” Sirrus said, reaching over to place his hand gently on his friend's shoulder. V looked down at the floor for a moment, closing his eyes as he allowed his companion's gaze to fall onto him at close range. He just… couldn't look him in the eye right now. He wasn't sure why.

Looking up again, his eyes drifted almost lazily to the small round balcony only a short distance from them. The doors have been left open, perhaps to let in air. The adjudicator's eyes followed his gaze as v took a single step towards his new intended description, knowing that he didn't have to ask Sirrus to follow him. He simply understood. With a soft, knowing nod Sirrus removed his hand and opted to just follow him as he walked across the room and out onto the small space. Maybe fresh air would do them some good.

V wasn't a fan of heights, but there was something about this particular view that was so strange that it didn't even fully register to the part of his brain that would normally run in terror from such things. This place couldn't make up its mind as to whether or not it wanted to be dark or light out. Day and night were simply too much to ask for in a place like this. Maybe it was like some places in the world where you had one or the other for months at a time. Maybe it was always like this. He hoped to never know firsthand. He didn't want to be here any longer than he needed to be. The sense of wonderment he'd felt only earlier that day when he first set his eyes upon the place had evaporated, and only vague feelings of dread and homesickness remained.

He missed the view from Sirrus's cozy apartment. He missed the serene beauty of nature. The quiet of the early morning lake the morning he'd arrived with Sirrus. He missed the little street he lived on where nothing ever happened. Kyrie and Nero’s cozy little dining room with mismatched cushions on every chair. Magnolia's cozy little townhouse. Hell, V even missed Dante's office. Broken glass, loud music, and all. Even Nico’s questionable driving skills behind the wheel of the van.

He… wanted to be anywhere but this place. Anywhere away from here.

And he knew that there was nothing keeping him in this place but himself, but that was the point, wasn't it? He needed to be here. There was a point where “need” removed choice. And he was choosing to be here to avoid the eventuality where that line was crossed. Because he didn't want to wait till it was that bad. Not again. If they thought they could help him get to the bottom of this, and Sirrus had pulled the strings that he’d pulled to get him here, then he wasn't going to walk away without a fight. You needed to throw at least one punch before he could live with himself for walking out of the ring.

Sitting down on the flagstone ground beneath himself, the young descendant of Sparta reached up and brushed his hair out of his right eye, his gaze a thousand miles away: settled on something so far away that he couldn't see it. He wasn't sure that there was anything else out there, even if that had been implied. In that way, perhaps this place was no different from the rest of the world. Just a vast structure floating in a void for reasons beyond his comprehension or control. But this wasn't the rock floating in the nebulous void that he was used to. He wanted to return to that one. He could never get used to this place.

He ignored how cold the stone was to his bare feet. It was clean. Cleaner than any outdoor surface he'd ever touched. He was subconsciously grateful for the thin robe they'd given him. He wouldn't have frozen to death without it, but he imagined the backs of his legs and thighs would go to sleep from the cold. This was… something.

Sirrus joined him after a minute or so. He hadn't wanted to crowd him out. He needed time to think. Time he was rapidly losing. But with nowhere better to go, the red-haired man settled down beside him, still giving him the space he needed but still close enough to touch should V wish to do so for any reason.

He wondered if he should tell him. Tell him how lost he looked sitting there on that balcony feigning a sense of ease and acceptance toward the path laid out in front of him. Tell V that he wasn't going anywhere.

“I don't know if I've ever told you this, but I died once. Not so long ago, in fact.”

Sirrus's reaction was one of dignified, reserved horror. His face barely shifted at all but his breath stilled like he'd just had all the air kicked out of him. As he attempted to absorb the weight of what he'd just been permitted to know, so many questions arose from seemingly nowhere. V could practically see the sparkle of concerned perplexment in his eyes; the undeniable urge to ask him what had happened. He even parted his lips slightly. But he possessed just enough self-control not to cross that line, despite the fact that V didn't mind if he did. Sirrus was obviously fearful that he would push his companion further than he was willing to go. Sirrus had no way of knowing how far was too far, but intuition told him when he was approaching the edge.

“You haven't. No.” He spoke in hushed, breathless tones as though it just run down his spine. Perhaps it had. “I think I would remember a thing like that.”

V nodded a single time. He couldn't argue with that. It was a memorable revelation. “You weren't going to ask?”

Sirrus produced a gesture somewhere between a head shake and a shrug, raising his shoulder slightly while also tilting his head from side to side a handful of times, his palms rolling to face upward as he gave him a soft look.

“I was going to let you tell me what you thought I needed to know.” He admitted. He would be lying to say that he wasn't very morbidly curious, but he knew there were simply some questions you didn't ask someone, especially when they were being candid with you during a vulnerable moment. “You've never led me astray thus far, but I didn't want to push, mo chara daor.”

“What… does that mean? What you just said.” V said softly, giving him a peculiar look. By his recollection, that was the second time he'd heard that phrase today, but he didn't know what it meant. It rolled off the tongue beautifully when his friend said it, but he wasn't going to try that for even a second.

“My dearest friend. It's Irish Gaelic. A beautiful language I don't hear spoken enough anymore. I think I speak it sometimes out of fear that I might forget it. It's not my native tongue but… ” Sirrus took a moment to reminisce about a time long since passed, something distant in his silver eyes as he allowed his head to rest on his shoulder and his bent elbow on his slightly raised thigh. “I can stop saying that if you’d prefer.”

V looked at him in utter silence. It wasn't a cold silence, and there wasn't even a drop of anger left in him by this point to even direct towards anything, so it was neither of those things, but there was still a glimmer of something. And after about a minute he let out a soft sigh, blinking slowly before opening his eyes again, even if they were only open about halfway.

“Please… never do that,” V said with utter seriousness. There was an unmistakable softness to his tone, and that same somewhat sad glimmer remained in his eyes that had been there moments before, but there was just something so genuinely in his tone that it took Sirrus off guard. “Something in my heart flutters every time you share bits and pieces of something you love with me. Perhaps it's just the poet in me. I've always loved the romantic quality of language. The beauty of what we express with sounds and symbols on parchment. I never want something so beautiful to die, and words live as long as you use them. So keep using them. Enough beautiful things die before their time.”

“V… ” He honestly didn't know what to say to that. What words to use to surmise how touched he was by that sentiment? It was just… “I… Yes. You're absolutely right.”

In his time he'd seen that very thing happen over and over again. More rapidly in more modern times. He feared the day that the list of languages narrowed down to single digits and everything else faded to the folklore of textbooks and old documents in museums like the languages of yore already had. The passage of time was brutal. But I hope that this was one thing that would never come to pass.

“I'll tell you more about what I brought up before… later. I just wanted to say that… I'm glad that I met you, Sirrus.” V looked over at him with sincerity and fondness. There was no questioning for even a moment whether or not he meant the words he'd just spoken as he slowly stood up, clutching his robe to himself as the breeze picked up and whipped it around him, Sirrus standing with him half to see what he was doing and half in case he needed him. It might as well have been carved in crystal. He treasured their… whatever this was. Was this what friendship was like? He liked it. “I'd die again if I had to just to know you. I genuinely would.”

Sirrus blinked in surprise. Genuinely touched surprise, but surprise nonetheless. When had things become so dire? There was never a dull moment with V, was there? But he wouldn't complain. Or disagree. He was… what were even the right words to use to describe it?

“And I'm privileged to know you. To share space with you. To be your friend.”

No. That wasn't all he could say on the matter. All that he needed to say. All that he meant to say. And although he still couldn't say all of it now, it was something he did need to say. He stood just a bit closer, ignoring the slight sting of the cold air. He could only imagine how cold V must feel right now. He reached out and placed his hand on V’s upper arm. Not that he could tell much by its circumference. Sometimes he forgot how much of a string bean V was. But he didn't move to hold him in place or even really grip him. Just to reassure him that he was there.

“It's funny. Back on the boat when Gustave made his joke. I wasn't embarrassed because Gustav was incorrect. I was embarrassed because I hadn't realized until then how easy I was to read. How utterly... Sentimental I've become over the years. How obviously my affections towards those I care for might be to others.” Sirrus chuckled gently, a low rumble reverberating from within his chest. He shook his head as he half closed his eyes, almost amused by himself. He had to look rather silly, didn't he? With his red hair whipping around them both as they stood there like idiots in the freezing cold. It was normally just past the bottom of his shoulder blades lengthwise. Maybe he should cut it soon. “That was something I was always taught to hide. Shamed for. That for me to care for someone was to harm them because to know me was pain. I don't think that anymore. I haven't for a while now. You disapprove that every time we interact. But I've still been afraid to care about anyone, myself included. To trust. I think all of us just want to be known. I feel known with you.”

V didn't say anything. He just blinked rapidly, a certain pain in his eyes that was hard to name. He clearly hadn't expected Sirrus to say that. And rather it be from the stinging wind in his eyes or the wave of genuine warmth he felt flood him from Sirrus’s words, he felt a few stray tears roll down his face. But he wasn't sad, not in the way that would cause this. So he did the only thing he could do.

He stepped forward and threw his arms around his friend, just as happy to be near him as he was scared to go through with this plan. He pulled him into a tight hug, burying his face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around his upper back.

Sirrus let out a slow, soft breath, chuckling softly. He couldn't tell if V felt better, but he didn't feel worse, so he could live with that. He tucked his arms under V’s, hugging him along the length of his back and pulling him in closer, quietly hoping that he didn't break his back or something. Embracing him tightly. This certainly satiated his desire to shield him from his troubles for at least a little while. This was… this was nice. He liked this. They both did.

“The bird a nest, the spider a web. Man friendship.” V said in a muffled tone, his face still tucked into Sirrus's chest. He loosened his grip but was not quite ready to let go. He wanted to get this over with but also didn't want to move from this spot. It was a strange, hellish situation to be in. And although Sirrus couldn't pinpoint where that quote had come from, he had a hunch.

Just as the two of them finally realized that their arms were starting to get tired, there was a small knock at the door. A knock that neither of them was especially excited to hear, frankly. They knew it was coming eventually, but still.

“I think that's the door. It's time.” Sirrus said as they released one another, V fixing his robe. The sleeves had shifted and the front hadn't been tied quite as tightly as he'd thought. There was no need for Sirrus to see him undressed more than once in their lifetimes. “I'll walk you over and stay while you're there. I'm not going anywhere.”

V nodded somewhat hesitantly, traces of that same nervousness making their way back into him as he willed himself forward. This was something else could do. He had to. But at least he wouldn't be alone. He never would be so long as Sirrus was there And that brought him some small measure of peace.

“Let's get this over with. I just hope it doesn't hurt.” V said as Sirrus walked him towards the door and into the custody of their host. He'd had enough of that for one day, thank you. If he could get through the rest of the night without any further suffering, he would be extremely grateful.

(-~-)

I'm not crying, you're crying! Ugh, I love these two. If only I wasn't so terrible at writing romance I would write a romance fluff spin-off of these two just for shits and giggles. Lol, fanfiction of my fanfiction! Someone do something with these two losers! Maybe I will still try one of these days because I find them equally compelling as both friends and otherwise because they are JUST. SO. WHOLESOME. *Ugly dramatic crying.*

Ahem. So anyway… It feels good to be back! I hope you liked the chapter! Sorry for any spelling errors. Autocorrect has been pretty aggressive recently on Google Docs, and I did part of this on my phone while I was resting in bed, so I hope I caught everything. I'll be posting another chapter on Friday, March 1st, 2024! Look forward to it! I hope you have a wonderful week and I'll see you in the comments and on Discord if you're hanging out over there! Thank you for reading and I'll see you all soon! Thank you again for everything! Bye bye!

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corvuserpens · 2 years

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The Roads That End : A Devil May Cry fanfic [chapter 10, part I]

Given how damn long it took to get through this damn chapter, I’m actually dividing it into two parts. It was getting too long, anyway. Also today is June 15, no better time to post a new chapter.

Until next year 😂

The group ran as a single file down the dark and narrow corridors, flashlights out, guns and blades at the ready. Lady and Dante led the front while Trish protected the rear. Lyca assumed her friends knew where they were going, or at least hoped they did, because although she prided herself on having a good sense of direction, in under a minute she was completely turned around. That would have worried her more, were it not for the sheer horror of being caught by whatever chased them, screaming for blood, not that far away from them. She could hear claws scratch the stone floor, could smell the rot of demon flesh catching up to them. Christ. she could almost feel their breath on her neck.

They’re almost on top of us, she realized with an ice-cold chill.

Behind them, Trish materialized a pair of handguns and fired a few shots that rang around the claustrophobic hall. “They’re too fast, we can’t outrun them at this pace!” She yelled.

Dante swore and spun around to run back to her side. “We’ll hold them off! You three keep going!”

None of them liked the idea of splitting up, but one glance at the agglomerate of monsters clogging the corridor behind them was enough to snuff out any arguments. If anyone could survive that many enemies, it was Dante and Trish. Somehow, they had to believe those two would be alright.

Lady halted near a doorway of carved stone and waved them over. “Down here!” She put all her weight into her shoulder to force it open, revealing a narrow stairwell barely lit by eerie blue lights. She practically ran down the steps, keeping her gun up and ready, too focused on escaping the tower to look where she was going--

The stairs ended, all that lay before them was an open chasm, so deep they couldn’t see the bottom. Lady halted with a gasp, but it was too late. With horrifying certainty, Lyca knew she was going to watch one of her closest friends die. She opened her mouth to scream.

Like a whip, Vergil’s hand shot out, grabbed Lady’s arm and snagged her from the abyss. In her panic, Lady clung onto him for safety, allowing him to pull her back up the steps, far from the expecting mouth of darkness. Maybe it was fear playing tricks on her mind, but Lyca could almost feel its disappointment at being denied another helpless victim.

The three took a few seconds to recover from the scare, their ragged breaths filling up the otherwise silent stairwell. Up above, the sounds of gunfight and hell creatures carried on, slowly but steadily fading. Realizing the current (and highly embarrassing) position she was in, Lady pushed herself out of Vergil’s hold like he was some slime monster, scarred nose scrunched up in exaggerated disgust. They glared at each other in a convincing demonstration of distaste, but there was no denying the awkwardness between them. No matter how much she hated him, whether she liked it or not, Vergil had just saved her life.

Sniffling, Lady patted down her white leather jacket and said: “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Obviously,” Vergil replied disdainfully. With nowhere else to go, the three of them climbed back up the stairwell. Lyca didn’t say anything about what she had just witnessed – best to let those two keep their pride or risk getting crushed by it. Still, she allowed herself a surreptitious smile of pride.

Back in the hallway, they were just stepping through the door when Dante and Trish nearly crashed into them.

“Keep moving!” Dante urged them as he grabbed Lady’s shoulder, pushing her onwards. “Don’t stop!”

As a unit, they flew down the corridor, desperately looking for another stairwell, a tunnel, anything that would lead them down and out of that hellish tower, but all they found was more corridors that all looked the same. Lyca was starting to get the sickening feeling that they were running in circles. Panic began to simmer in the pit of her stomach, slowly but steadily growing with each step. She tried not to look back so as to not risk tripping, but hearing the devils behind them was becoming too much. She had to at least peek and access the situation. Certainly that wouldn’t hurt, would it? How bad could it be?

She began to turn her neck when she felt a strong hand grip her arm, tugging her forward.

“Don’t look back,” Vergil urged. Lyca swallowed hard and obeyed. She no longer needed to know what was behind them; it was mirrored all over his face, his teeth half-bared, how his brow tensed so harshly she could see the multiple lines on his forehead, usually smoothed out. Yup, that bad.

At long last, they came upon a wide circle of a room, framed by a ring of alabaster columns stained by time. Corinthian style, her brain noted. They closed the double doors behind them and did what they could to barricade it using a few piles of rock nearby, hoping to buy some time. Beneath their feet, a mosaic depicted some sort of battle between demons and humans: a Roman legion, orderly arranged with their rectangle shields and their pila on one side, against the chaotic armies of hell on the other. What really got the group’s attention however, was the open gateway across the room. Lyca could just make out the downward stairway on the other side, the wide vestibule beyond them; something about it felt familiar.

“C’mon!” Dante encouraged them with a knowing grin. “After those stairs it’s a straight path down to--”

“Heads up!!” Lady shrieked, jumping back as a massive silhouette dropped in on them. Vergil swerved in front of Lyca to shield her, and Dante rolled out of the way just in time to avoid getting crushed by the monster that now blocked their path.

“You are going nowhere!” Three growling voices bellowed at once, filling up the room with such booming resonance that the floor trembled.

“Holy...!” Lyca gasped, eyes wide as she took in the sight of the giant. She had only seen illustrations in books, but immediately recognized it as Chimaera, the Demoness of Lycia. The head of a lion was awkwardly set on the shoulders along with the horned head of a goat, her black body, covered in oily fur, a mixture of both creatures. From her back sprouted two sets of leathery wings, while the tail reared up in the form of an onyx colored serpent. Three pairs of incandescent yellow eyes stared them down with recognition, hate... and hunger.

“Sparda’s child might have escaped last time,” the snake head whistled as the monster prowled forward, one head bleating, the other roaring. “But tonight your bones shall lie in the Temen-I-Gru for all eternity!”

“Why can’t these things ever be simple?” Lady complained while arming the Kalina Ann over her shoulder.

“Literally, all you had to do was not stand in our way,” Dante shrugged, barely containing the excitement in his voice. “Now we’re gonna have to kill your stinky ass and we’re not even gonna feel sorry about it.”

All three heads cackled in unison, claw and hoof clacking on the mosaic floor. “Kill me, son of Sparda? Many before you have tried. None of them succeeded. Demon blood might course in your veins, but that is far from enough to destroy me.”

The lion gaped its maw, but instead of noise, its fangs were silhouetted by a bright orange light at the back of the throat. The air began to sizzle and warp with intense heat.

“Shit, move!” Lady shouted. The group fanned out to the sides to evade a fireball from turning the lot of them into hunter barbecue. Where they used to stand, there was now a wide patch of charred, smoldering stone.

“Do you see now, half-breed?” Chimaera laughed. Her wings beat furiously to stoke the flames, forcing the five of them to fall further back in order to avoid them. “You alone are not powerful enough to stand against my might!”

“He is not alone,” Vergil proclaimed, face-to-face with the ancient devil with confidence both in his posture and his voice. “And you will let us pass the easy way, or the hard way.”

The goat head reared its curved horns in a threat display. “Ahhh, the other spawn of Sparda,” it mocked. “Are you the one who would supposedly make me stand aside? You, who were so easily vanquished by your own brother and enslaved by the almighty emperor? I hear it didn’t take much effort to break that ridiculous needle in your hands, and even less so to do the same to your frail human mind!”

Vergil stood still and stared in the lion’s eyes, unwavering. His shoulders remained square and haughty, his hand firm around the Yamato, but Lyca could see his jaw tense, paling his cheek, chiseling the muscle there. There was an intense icy glow in his irises that could send lesser demons running for their lives, yet it wasn’t just rage that she sensed emanating from his form – there was old fear hiding behind that mask of composure.

“You are weak, Vergil, the half-breed. Vergil, the Puppet of Mundus. Or should I call you by your slave name instead? What say you, Nelo Angelo--”

BLAM BLAM BLAM!

All three heads of Chimaera shot backwards from the force of three accurate bullets, and although they had done little more than recoil from their skulls with barely a scratch, the beast still bellowed and thrashed as if it had been gravely injured. Lyca tore her eyes away from the demon to see who had stricken it.

Dante held out Ebony and Ivory, no longer smirking at the prospect of a challenging foe, but rather snarling with pure, unbridled anger that literally showed in his incandescent red eyes.

“Say that name one more time,” he growled in a vibrant, distorted voice. “I fucking dare you.”

Chimaera roared, bleated and hissed, pounding her claws on the mosaic, destroying pieces of it with each strike. “Oh, how noble! How altruistic of you, to defend your disgraced twin who would once have gladly traded your life for a little more power!”

“Yeah, he was a dick, sure,” Lady quipped casually. Dante glanced in her direction with fury redoubled, ready to reproach her yet again, but before he could even open his mouth, the sharp-shooter blasted a rocket right at the monster’s lion head. “But only Dante and I get to make him feel bad for screwing up.”

As the demon shrieked a complaint and rubbed her slightly singed mane, everyone stared at Lady in astonishment, none more-so than Vergil. Lady spared him a brief glance and a nod, a small gesture of reconciliation. Not everything was forgiven and forgotten... but it was a start.

“FOOLS!!!” Chimaera howled, finally done with their antics. “Insignificant mortals!! Traitorous devils! I will devour your flesh and send your souls to the Underworld myself!!”

“You hear that, Boa?” Corax materialized on Lyca’s shoulder as she pulled out the Morning Star. “Traitorous devils, she called us! How about we show this abortion of the universe just how bad we are?”

“I never did like her much,” the serpent, coiled around her master’s arm, replied. “Always thought she was the biggest shit dumped in hell because she used to terrorize a few humans out in Turkey.”

“Wasn’t that thousands of years ago?” Corax giggled. “I’d say you lost your touch, goat dung!”

Lyca snorted. “Guys, I think she was talking about Trish.”

“She said devils! Plural!”

“Enough yapping,” said Dante. He put away the pistols and summoned his Devil Sword instead. “I’m sick and tired of this stupid tower.”

“I’d like to get my nails done before bed,” Trish mused. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Lady agreed. Thus, the battle commenced.

They spread out in a circle around Chimaera. The idea was to stretch her attention to the limit so that she would have to focus on several targets at one. This way, in theory at least, they could each attack at different intervals, slowly but steadily chipping away at her defenses until she was weak enough to kill. It was an effective strategy they had used on multiple-headed foes before.

Unfortunately, not long into the fight, Lyca realized this beast would be a little trickier to handle. The snake for a tail was the main problem: being at the rear of that grotesque body, it had the advantage of acting as a watch tower, its long, whip-like abdomen capable of turning in any direction in the blink of an eye, thus allowing Chimaera to react timely to any assault. The four wings did their fair share of damage too, making their own wind, slowing down their attacks so they could never reach her frame in time. Dante, Vergil and Trish, being partly or fully demonic, could swerve around those blasts, but Lady and Lyca couldn’t pierce through the waves of air.

Then there was the fire-breathing issue, of course. There seemed to be a reload time between bursts, but they couldn’t discern a definite pattern to exploit. And for once, Dante seemed to have underestimated their foe. Neither bullet nor devil sword was able to thoroughly pierce the black hide of Chimaera. Despite the dramatics earlier, she barely reacted to attacks, rather acting as if she were being swarmed by flies instead of seasoned hunters.

“Dammit!!” Lady complained through gritted teeth after a failed attempt at throwing a grenade to the goat head, which merely tossed it away with a well-placed hit of those curved horns. “I can’t get to it, it’s too fast!”

“It’s the snake head!” Lyca said, jumping in a backward arc to avoid a swipe of those lion claws. “It’s plugging all the potential blind spots.”

Trish landed between them, both guns smoking from several shot rounds. Whereas the two humans had become disheveled from all the dodging and the wind blown at them, the bewitching devil still looked as if she had just come back from the spa. She held one of the guns up on her shoulder (a habit she probably had picked up from Dante).

“The wings won’t let us get close enough for real damage,” she added in a bored tone, lip pouting in thought. “We have to get rid of them or else we’re gonna be here all night.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much,” Lady panted. The three of them got out of harm’s way for the moment, hiding behind the columns and letting the twins continue their tireless onslaught so they could conjure up a plan. “But how are we gonna do that? We can’t make a scratch on that hide, let alone start hacking limbs away.”

“Every demon has a weak spot,” Trish reminded her, a coy smirk sprouting on her graceful lips. She looked to Lyca, who commanded her demons from afar to help the twins and monitor their progress, scrounging up every bit of feedback they could exploit in order to win this battle.

“You heard her at the beginning, how she gloated about having defeated everyone who ever tried to kill her. Dante has quite a reputation in the Underworld, by now. How much do you think she would enjoy being the one devil who managed destroy him?”

Lyca frowned in confusion. “She’d be elated, I imagine. What, are you suggesting we let her kill him?”

“She doesn’t have to actually kill him.” Her smirk grew ever wider. “She only has to think she did.”

Lyca’s eyes widened. “Ohhhh.”

“Think you can pass the message along?”

The warlock matched the demon’s grin. “Not a problem.”

She straightened up against the column and closed her eyes, reaching with her mind until she found Dante’s and Vergil’s. Her spine shivered slightly once the connection between the three was made.

“In the meantime--” Trish turned to Lady. “We better get back into the fray or else Chimaera will become suspicious. Try and act like you’re still struggling.”

“Don’t need to act,” Lady mumbled.

Trish took off to rejoin the twins.

“They’re all set,” Lyca announced. “Let’s hope this works.”

She and Lady fist-bumped and parted ways. Lyca flashed like a shadow around Chimaera until she was in position across the room. The plan was to launch a mock attack at one of the hooved legs and teleport backwards to avoid the eventual counter; however, the snake tail, always watchful, immediately took notice before she had the chance to get close to her target. The oval-shaped head speared at Lyca. She halted at the last second, sucked in a gasp and tried to leap sideways but she knew even before her foot left the floor that she wasn’t going to make it.

As big as a wrecking ball and just as hard, that hideous scaly face hit her stomach, punching all the air out of her lungs, shooting her back at high speed. Lyca hit the wall with such violence the stone cracked. Her body remained glued to it for a couple of seconds, then dropped in a hurting, wheezing heap on the mosaics.

Through hazy vision and a loud ringing in her ears, she thought she heard several voices shouting, but all she could think of was her crushed chest, the pain pounding from her center outward, the overwhelming numbness in her back, the agony of needing air and having her lungs refusing to take it in. Her body convulsed from the effort to breathe, hands clawing out the mosaic in search of a tether, a life line, anything that would anchor her to the real world and pull her out of this torment. She was flipped onto her back, shoulders held down as she stared up at a head of black hair – Lady.

She was talking, Lyca could see her mouth moving, but she couldn’t understand what she was saying under the constant buzzing in her ears. In panic, without meaning to, she grabbed hold of her friend’s extended arms and squeezed, but if she was hurting Lady, she wouldn’t show it.

Breathe, she was saying; Lyca could make it out from the movement of her lips. Just breathe, Lyca. Focus on that.

I’m trying, she wanted to scream. Wasn’t it obvious?? She was trying but her body wasn’t cooperating!

Just as that thought came rushing, the pressure in her chest began to ease, like a weight being lifted off of her. In one loud gasp, the air reluctantly crawled in. Another one, more air this time. Little by little, her lungs opened, the wheezing subsided, and Lyca was overwhelmed by exhaustion as her vice grip on Lady’s arms shriveled. She shut her eyes tight and tried to breathe through her nose, letting herself go still, her limbs becoming pudding. Despite the hard rock she laid on, she felt as if she was sinking though it. Her hands dropped by her sides. The ringing faded out.

“That’s it,” Lady hummed in relief, rubbing her thumbs over her friend’s shoulders. “You’re okay.”

Lyca swallowed hard; her throat was dry as sandpaper. “Did we win...?” She croaked.

“Not yet.”

Hearing that, she tried to pushed herself up on her elbows, immediately regretting it when a stabbing pain ripped through her right side. “Ahh, fuck...!”

“Easy,” Lady scolded, pushing her back down. “Don’t move, you probably cracked all your ribs at once. Jesus, your face...”

Lyca brought up her hand to feel it. When she pulled away, her glove was covered in bright red. That’s when she realized there was something warm trickling down her temple on the right side, dripping off of her ear, staining the floor. Alarmed, she looked to the side and around herself: she was lying in a pool of her own blood.

“Boa,” she whispered, her breath coming out ragged as she struggled to stave off the new wave of panic in her gut. “I need Boa.”

“I’m here,” the devil-serpent's voice came like a balm, soothing her anxiety as well as the pain that pulsed onto her head, her arm, her hip. Lyca closed her eyes again, sighing as Boa worked her magic. She searched blindly with a hand until her fingers found her warm, silky scales, letting the feel of them distract her from her suffering.

“How bad is it?” Lady asked.

“Two broken ribs, cracked hip bone and skull. Nothing I can’t fix,” Boa replied, her hissing long and confident.

“Good,” Lyca groaned, sitting up as soon as her strength returned to her. “That means I can still fight.”

Lady stood up and offered her hand, which she gladly accepted. She let the other haul her to her feet. There were a few moments when the world spun and her stomach churned threateningly, but after bending over her knees and taking several deep breaths, it all vanished.

“You good?”

Lyca nodded and picked up her sword from the ground. “Let’s go.”

To her dismay, Chimaera was still intact and exhibiting no wounds. The snake head and the wings were still attached to her body. Had the plan failed?

They were worried for you, Boa explained in the secrecy of her mind. How could they focus on fighting, seeing you lying on the floor, writhing around like a fish out of water?

She was touched, of course she was... but a dark part of her couldn’t help feeling annoyed, as well. I’m not helpless, she thought bitterly as she dove into the entanglement of hunters around the demon. I’m not defenseless. I am strong. I can do this.

Her blade was swung with double the ferocity, double the ruthlessness, double the desperation to prove its wielder’s worth. Although she was focused on the fight, her conscious took a short stroll down memory lane, to a time when she was tiny and fragile, in body and mind, incapable of standing up to the monsters who came after her every day, sensing her weakness.

Wings sprung out from her back and elevated her in the air. As if born for the feat, she soared around Chimaera, searching for a weakness, a momentary lapse in attention to land a blow. The snake’s head was fast, but didn’t expect a human to be able to suddenly sprout wings. Lyca hovered within its reach, goading it in with a snarl, sword held up proudly in her hands. This time, she was ready. Chimaera licked the air with her long, forked tongue, reptilian eyes blazing in anticipation for the taste of human flesh. Without turning her gaze away from them, Lyca searched for Dante’s mind once again.

Now.

Down on the ground, Dante let out a cry that was far too theatrical to be real, when Chimaera hit him with a well-placed slap of a paw. Chimaera laughed in triumph, the lion and goat reared up with pure elation, completely distracted from what was happening behind her by the vision of a son of Sparda on the floor, defeated, making a good show of trying to stand back up and failing.

“First, the youngest,” Chimaera rumbled. The lion licked its lips. “And then, the eldest. How my master will reward me for delivering him the sons of the Dark Knight...”

Lyca’s focus was nearly broken by that comment. What master was she talking about? But she couldn’t afford the luxury of getting distracted, herself. This was their moment.

The snake never let her out of its sight. That vile tongue tasted the air one more time, flicking in and out, in and out. Like a spring, the neck reared in a coil, preparing to attack.

From the corner of her eye, Lyca saw a blur of silver and blue teleport out of nowhere, jumping into the air.

The snake sprang forward. Lyca dashed down to meet it. An arc of white, a luminous beam. The huntress pulled back her sword arm, smashed the pummel on the polished black scales and rode the momentum, rolling over the wide, flat head.

The room exploded with noise and blood. An anguished, violent scream pierced her ears, so powerful that the columns shook as Chimaera pounded, scratched and bellowed, the snake’s head and the four bat wings cut off of her body in a single blow.

The Yamato can cut through anything, Dante told her once, millions of years ago. Flesh, bone, steel, even reality itself. A demon, no matter how powerful, will never stand a chance against a blade so sharp.

“WRETCHES!!!” Chimaera cursed. “BASTARDS!! WEAK, ABOMINABLE HALF-BREEDS!! LOWLY, POWERLESS HUMAN SCUM!!! HOW DARE YOU INJURE ME?!”

“It was pretty easy, actually.” Dante spun to his feet without any difficulties. He dusted off his jacket. “You might be a big, bad kitty, or goat or whatever, but when it comes to brains? Not so much.”

Lyca landed a safe distance away from the enraged demon, dropping to one knee. Her head was pounding. She could feel more blood gushing from the open wound on her scalp with every pulse of her veins, and yet refused to yield and leave the finishing touches to the others. Her familiars materialized to her side. Boa immediately gave her an extra boost of health that at least got the bleeding to stop. Corax flew in circles around them, guarding his master as she recovered.

Chimaera glared intensely at Dante, no doubt wishing that looks alone could kill. “You think you have me defeated, you half-human mutt? You haven’t seen anything yet!!”

With surprising dexterity, she leapt forward, claws out, fangs gleaming. With a curse, Dante hopped out of the way, but before he even began the descent toward the floor, the beast twisted around and leapt again, catching him in her talons like a cat would grab a bird out of the air. This time, Dante’s complained grunt was genuine as Chimaera pushed him into the mosaic, putting her entire weight on top of him.

“Dante!!” Lyca called out, her screamed muffled by the various rounds of bullets Trish and Lady shot at the demon. Forgetting her injuries, she ran forward and ordered Corax to aim for the eyes, while she and Boa went for the goat legs, hopefully annoying her enough to pull her attention away from her friend. She almost got her head kicked off for it, if it weren’t for her Boa pulling her out of the way in the nick of time.

“You are mine, son of Sparda,” Chimaera purred. She reared back her lion head, opened her mouth wide, prepared to spit another ball of fire--

The room sizzled with demonic energy. They could all feel it rippling through their cells, humming within their ribcages, a familiar song that rattled their bones.

Two things happened at once.

First, Dante’s body swirled with energy and burst, his form transfigured into a humanoid devil with horns, claws, fangs, blazing red eyes, the whole thing. His sharpened hands grabbed hold of Chimaera’s burly black arms and pushed her off of him, his devil sword returning to his grip as he lept back to his feet.

Second, Lyca became aware of another presence among them: a blue specter, tall and broad, transparent and yet solid, covered in scales, wings and a tail. A demon, clearly, but one unlike any she had seen before, more ghost than matter. It launched itself into Chimaera, hitting her square in the chest with such force, the impact caused a shock wave that knocked Trish, Lady and Lyca on their backs. The demoness was projected against the wall, smashing a column into pieces and almost blasting a hole through the room.

Scrambling to get up after such a display of power, the ancient devil roared, confused and furious, as Dante and the specter stared her down, ready to continue fighting to the death.

“If I were you,” Dante started in that unnatural, doubled voice. “I’d seriously reconsider my next course of action.”

Vergil stepped up until he was at the left of his twin, the blue apparition towering behind them. That was when Lyca understood what she was seeing – it was Vergil who had summoned the ghost. It was an extension of his power, of himself, that he controlled efficiently and effortlessly. Fascinating.

“Are you seriously considering letting this abomination go free?” He questioned in a flat, almost bored tone. “After all the trouble she has put us through? Not to mention the colorful string of insults she greeted us with.”

Dante half-shrugged, his shape returning to the white-haired man in red. “Mother always said to be the bigger man when you deal with small-minded beings.”

“Hmm. That she did.”

The doppelganger cracked its knuckles, tail swishing side to side like that of a vexed cat. In its clawed hand, a phantasm of the Yamato appeared.

“But then again, thanks to filth like this...” Vergil’s voice lowered to a dark, deep tone that seethed with hate. “She is not here to plead her case.”

“You miserable, indescribable cretins.” Chimaera at last scampered to her feet, battered, mutilated, but still very much a danger. She shook off the left-over boulders and dust from the column she’d smashed. “Even if you kill me, it will make no difference. My master is almost ready. He will rise, tear through your precious human world and devour every man, woman and child. His army will rampage through your cities, uproot your trees, tear down the monuments to your own mediocrity. It is only a matter of time. He will make you watch as he chokes the life out of those three inferior creatures who fight with you and then, when all hope for victory has been extinguished from your souls, he will finally grant you the mercy of death and end Sparda’s bloodline, once and for all!”

Vergil sneered. “What master? How will he cross over from the Underworld?”

The monster rumbled a laugh. “If I tell you, Nelo Angelo, it will spoil the surprise. Rest assured, though. Soon enough, you will know exactly what I mean.”

“Didn’t I warn you about using that name again?” Dante said. He swung his sword back and prepared to attack, but Vergil clapped a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Demon invasions have been attempted for centuries and never prevailed. What makes you think this will be any different?”

“Why would I tell you?” Chimaera snarled. “All will be revealed in due time. It will be more fun that way.”

“You know what I think?” Lady spoke up from across the room, earning the beast’s attention (perilous as it might be). “I think you don’t know how this master of yours will do it. I don’t think he trusts you with that kind of information. You make it sound like you’re a part of his inner circle, but I bet he doesn’t see you as anything more than an over-powered grunt. Good cannon-fodder, not so good a confidant.”

Chimaera howled and stomped her lion paws, not unlike a child throwing a tantrum. “Insolent human! You dare speak to me, the scourge of Lycia?! Eater of heroes, bane of the Turks?! My master has me in the highest regard and I will not betray his secrets!!”

“Highest regard, and yet he won’t reveal his grand plan to you,” Lady pointed out with an air of performative innocence. She tapped a finger to her chin pensively. “Ah, why are wasting our time with this dum-dum?” A dramatic flair of a hand. Lyca had to give credit to her acting skills. She would do well on the stage if she ever decided to retire from demon-hunting. The thought put an amused grin on her lips.

“Y’know Lady, you’re probably right,” Dante nodded, joining the ruse. “It’s probably not much of a plan, anyway. Demon armies, summon a demon tower or tree, run around aimlessly for a little while, then get clapped by a half-devil hunter with rugged good looks. Always the same old ploy. It’s getting kinda tiresome, don’t you all think?”

The choleric demon had had quite enough of their mockery. She charged the twins at full speed, the goat head bent down to better aim its sharp horns at them. Dante jumped out of the way, but Vergil took this foe head on, the doppelganger following suit. As one, they grabbed each a hold of a head and held Chimaera back through gritted teeth. Lyca saw the goat’s eyes widen in surprise, hooves burying in the mosaic floor, feline claws pushing forward in a futile attempt to ram Vergil down. It was formidable to watch. Something in Lyca’s gut began to tingle, something warm and pleasant she couldn’t quite identify.

Chimaera, who was now deprived of her great wings and rearview head, snorted like a bull, frustrated with her brutish, yet fruitless efforts. From above, Dante re-activated his Devil Trigger and charged the lion’s head. Around him, four scarlet swords launched forward of their own volution. The sight brought the creature out of her stubborn pushing to face him, but the moment she turned away, Vergil and the demonic apparition struck her exposed flank.

Lady and Trish continued to fire round after round of bullets and rockets and grenades, being careful to dodge the hooves, paws, horns and teeth whenever they go too close. Lyca commanded her demons and lent help from afar, her body too massacred to be of any aid in combat. As she clutched her side, she noticed that, little by little, Chimaera was weakening. She was losing speed; her attacks were sluggish, depleted. Whenever she had to stop, her neck and shoulders sagged. She couldn’t handle so many targets at once. With each new tear on her coat and every drop of blood spilled, her resolve waned. Her roars turned to tortured wails. She knew she would be finished soon.

Then Lady got too close for comfort. In all the chaos, the beast saw her within reach and didn’t hesitate to take the opportunity. The lion yawned and spat forth one more fire ball that hurtled straight towards her. Dante anticipated the move and plunged to his friend, pushing her out of the way in the nick of time, but even so, the blast hit close enough to fling them through the air. Dante managed to land on his feet, but Lady crashed at an awkward angle, falling on her left foot, screaming as she rolled to a stop. She held onto her leg, struggling to control her cries of agony.

Lyca’s stomach dropped. Without thinking, she sprang to the side to go around Chimaera in an attempt to get to Lady, almost getting kicked to the high heavens in the process if it weren’t for her lent demonic speed. Vergil and Trish continued to apply pressure. The latter unleashed a torrent of lightning that momentarily stunned the demon, allowing safe passage for Lyca for a few precious seconds. She knelt by Dante’s side as he leaned over Lady, trying to get her to stay still.

“My leg!” She complained miserably. Her jaw was clenched tight, mismatched eyes inflamed by anger at being left so vulnerable. “Fuck, I think it’s broken...!”

“Dante, get Lady out of there!” Trish yelled over.

“C’mon,” he urged, hooking her arm around his neck to pull her up on her good leg. “This way.”

Together, they hauled ass away from the battle. When they found cover behind a pile of old rubble, Dante set the sharpshooter down against the boulders. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and looked to Lyca. “I’m going back to help. You take care of her?”

“Yeah, go. I got this.”

Dante replaced the devil-sword with a set of armor he called the Balrog and ran off, leaving the other two behind. Lyca stretched out Lady’s leg to examine it, keeping an eye on the fight through Corax’s eyes.

Lady hissed a complaint when her boot was removed and leaned back while Lyca pressed her fingers along her leg from the knee down. She let out a yelp when the warlock reached her ankle.

“I don’t feel any fractures,” Lyca concluded. “Doesn’t seem to be dislocated either. Maybe it’s just sprained.”

“Great,” she huffed, paler than her ivory-colored jacket. A sheen of sweat covered her forehead, ran down her temple. “Just my luck. First, I gotta come back to this hell hole where I committed patricide, and now it might become my own damn tomb. Some irony that is, huh?”

“You’re not dying here, don’t be such a drama queen.”

“If it’s not that malformation of a demon, it’s gonna be the hundreds more crawling around, or the tower collapsing on top of me. I can’t run like this and you guys are running out of time.”

Lyca shot her a severe look and held back the urge to slap her across the face. Lady glared back at her, but wouldn’t dare continue what was no doubt a pain-induced tangent, caused by her injured leg and the nightmares she had lived here. Nightmares that still haunted her every day of her life, a stain on her soul she never quite seemed to be rid of no matter how many years passed.

“If you think we would ever let you rot in this tower, you are more insane than I thought,” Lyca murmured. Lady held her gaze for a moment longer, then let her eyes drop to her lap. Her lip trembled slightly. Lyca gave her good ankle a reassuring shake. “You’re not staying here, Lady. Even if it kills me.”

The sharpshooter nodded, got herself together, and looked up with a smirk. “Who’s being a drama queen now?”

“Shut up, you started it.” She looked around for a decent sized boulder and dragged it over to rest Lady’s ankle on it. Next, she requested her friend’s knife, which she handed over, and cut up the midriff section of her black shirt in order to wrap it tight. Lady hissed a complaint, but when she glanced over to the ongoing struggle against Chimaera, her eyes were hard with resolve.

“I meant what I said, though.” She insisted. “This whole place is about to drop on us. We need to bring that thing down fast.”

“If you have any last-minute plans that might accomplish that, then please, don’t hold back.”

Lady pursed her lips with a huff through the nose. “I may have one, but...”

“But?”

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance it might make the tower crumble faster. In which case, the demon dies but so do we, probably.”

Lyca gave her a crooked grin. “Between half a chance we get crushed killing her or a whole chance we get crushed before then, I think I’ll take the risk. What’s the idea?”

Lady explained it. Lyca thought it was rough, and difficult to pull off, but in the absence of anything better... “This is going to take some work,” she said.

“Can you pull it off?”

“I can damn well try. Boa, get in position. Be ready. Lady, on my signal, don’t hesitate.”

They fist bumped, then Lyca ran. Out in the thick of combat, Chimaera was becoming increasingly desperate. Black blood rained down around her whenever she swiped and turned, covering the mosaic in splashes that resembled a Jackson Pollock painting. Keeping a safe distance away, Lyca searched for her friends’ minds.

Bring her toward me! She waved her arms to get their attention. Toward me!

A flash of confusion passed through all their faces, but they were quick to trust and obeyed. Dante put himself right in front of Chimaera and shouted.

“Hey! You ugly overgrown... cat-goat thing! I’m right here, come and get me, if you can!”

“Insolent runt...!”

Trish and Vergil abandoned their simultaneous attacking from various sides plan and switched to attacking the heads. Chimaera prowled forward with loathing in her two sets of eyes.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Dante goaded.

“Oh, I cannot wait to tell my master how I cut you all up to ribbons and present him with whatever is left when I’m done.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Trish wondered in that disinterested, derided tone she used when Dante was being silly. “Send him a letter? Or perhaps a phone number? Let me guess: 1-800-HELLSCAPE?”

Lyca grinned. Trish, you clever little devil.

Despite her wounds and ebbing strength, Chimaera laughed, a bray and a purr combined into a very strange sound that made Lyca’s skin crawl. “You think yourself so amusing, don’t you, Trish? You think yourself important because these two half-breeds tolerate your presence? You’re nothing but a pawn created by our great emperor to serve his bidding, a flawed lesser being too useless to even carry out orders. You may have been born in the Underworld, but you know nothing about it.”

“And you do?” Trish replied, her demeanor unchanged.

“Of course I do!” The monster’s bellow shook the room. Dust fell from the ceiling and the walls. “Unlike you, I wasn’t made to resemble the dead mother of some mortal! I know things that you could never even imagine, secrets you can only dream about ever learning.”

Trish twirled her hand. A chain of lightning wrapped around her forearm. She thrust it forward, hitting the goat face first, then the lion, discharging a current of electricity that made the Scourge of Lycia writhe and shriek.

“I think you’re full of shit,” Trish hissed, the buried resent finally coming to the surface.

“Arkham’s plans might have been foiled, but the Temen-I-Gru remained! Did you really believe it could stay here, a quietly crumbling piece of the Underworld, and time would eventually erode it all away? The tower was meant to be a bridge between both realms, you arrogant idiot!”

“The portal is closed,” said Dante. “None of you demons are smart enough to know how to open it.”

“We don’t need it open.” Both heads bared their teeth in a distorted grin. “There are enough left-over residues to pass messages to and fro. We have spies everywhere, operating from right under your noses.”

A wave of discomfort passed through the hunters. Chimaera laughed again.

“You really should have considered tearing it all down when you had the chance.”

“We still could,” Vergil pointed out.

“Go ahead. Bury me and yourselves here. It won’t matter. My master shall rise, it’s only a question of when. He will wipe Sparda’s bloodline from the face of the Earth, and even if you weren’t too dead to stop it, there’s still nothing you can do. It’s too late.” She snickered in a low rumble, crouching on her haunches. “You have already lost.”

The gigantic demon pounced. Dante, Vergil and Trish leaped out of the way.

“Lady, now!!!”

The words barely left her lips when a whoosh sounded off from Lyca’s right, followed by a projectile flying across the room. It whirled towards Chimaera... and passed right under her belly, without so much a burn to her fur.

“What the hell, Lady!” Dante barked. “I can’t believe you missed--”

The column only a couple of meters from him burst, forcing him to shut up and take cover. Lyca took off, beating Corax’s loaned wings at an unforgiving pace. She summoned all her strength, steeled herself and kicked both feet on the column as hard as she could. The base gave way, thanks to Boa’s acid venom, and the whole structure tumbled on top of Chimaera, too weakened to escape.

A cloud of dust blinded Lyca, filled her lungs. She hacked to get it out, waved it away from her face. She stepped forward to approach before a hand grasped her arm to pull her back, none too gently.

“You don’t want to be anywhere near that thing right now,” Dante warned, his voice raspy from the dust. “Trust me.”

The beast screamed and wailed. Her paws swiped continuously at the haze that hid her body from view, over and over, but she never surged from it. She was trapped.

And then, Lyca saw something. She wasn’t sure what -- only later would she realize what transpired.

A series of white arcs crisscrossed each other midair, where she calculated Chimaera’s form was laying. The screams stopped. The silence that followed was eerie, hollow, like time itself froze for a few seconds, too afraid to tick on to meet whatever was on the other side of that sepia brown cloud.

Nothing moved. No one made a sound. The quiet was broken by the familiar metallic whisper of a blade being sheathed...

Blood shot out of nowhere. Spreading on the walls, the floors, Lyca’s coat, Lyca’s face, Dante’s silver hair, dyeing it black. She tasted something foul on her tongue and struggled not to gag.

The dust began to settle. Chimaera was no more. All that was left was a felled column, broken – no, cut -- into a thousand pieces, and Vergil, down on one knee with the Yamato held out in front of him. He stood up with the grace of a feline and turned to face them, stoic as ever, with only a cut on his cheek.

#devil may cry #vergil #vergil x OC #DMC #devil may cry 5 #post dmc5 #the roads that end fanfic #stories by Crow

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