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harlot-of-oblivion · 10 months

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The Missing Pieces

Hey! Long time, no see!

I was looking through my google drive after a long hiatus from writing, and realized that I never posted this piece. It was written for the RDGRV Zine before it got cancelled.

Hope you enjoy! 🌹🥰🌹

There’s something about sitting in total darkness that seems oddly familiar, almost welcoming despite the unknown lurking in the shadows. I can see why most people would fear the dark, but I find myself at ease while focusing on the rhythm of my breath.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It must be a habit I picked up to remain calm and in control. But there’s no use dwelling on it so long as I’m a man with no past.

I hear the sound of approaching footsteps before the soft creak of a door opening ahead of me. Then, the bright flash of artificial light shining down on me from up above. I blink my eyes as the blurry outline of a man walks up to the table before taking a seat.

“Who are you?”

“I’ll be the one asking the questions here.”

I recognize that voice. It’s the detective seeking answers beyond what happened at that forsaken manor. I should’ve refused to go with him, and yet something about him seemed so familiar…and before I knew it, I found myself here searching for answers in this station as well.

“So, what’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

The detective tilts his head. “Alright then…where are you from?”

“I don’t know.”

“Two questions in and you already sound like a broken record.”

I can hear the disbelief in his voice as I try to make out his face in the shadows of the harsh light. The detective leans back and kicks his feet up on the table before continuing this futile interrogation.

“What’s with those bandages around your head?”

I reach up and touch my heavily wrapped face. “I can’t remember how I got these injuries,” I reply with an anguished sigh. “But for some reason...they fill me with regret.”

“Lemme get this straight,” the detective begins as he sits up in his chair. “You can’t remember anything about yourself? That’s pretty convenient since those mafia goons seem to think that you’re the infamous Dark Slayer…does that ring any bells for ya?” he asks while glancing down at my clenched fist on the table.

“It sounds familiar…but I don’t know why,” I murmur as the ominous title wriggles through my mind. “Maybe I am this Dark Slayer, and if that’s the case…then perhaps I’m better off not remembering my life.”

“Okay, this whole woe is me shtick is getting us nowhere,” the detective mutters with a frustrated shake of his head. “How about we take it from the top?”

“As I’ve already told you, I don’t-”

“Then tell me what you do remember.”

I remain silent as I consider the consequences of answering. On the one hand I’d just sound crazy and be sent away, but on the other hand...

Is the truth really worth the risk of being arrested for crimes I don’t even remember committing?

I take a deep breath…and before I know it, I’m telling him the tale of my search for the missing pieces of my past.

The first thing I remember is waking up by a lake. My head throbbed in pain as the chilly wind seeped through my damp clothes. And my eyes...the drizzling rain fell against my face as I tried to inspect my surroundings, but it was no use; all I could make out was vague shapes in the distance and blurry images of rocks beneath me.

And that’s when I saw it. Something long and thin laying on the ground next to me. I picked it up and held it close to my face, staring hard at it until I realized that it was a sword. My head began to ache as images of merciless bloodshed flooded my mind as the desperate need to survive churned in my stomach. I wondered if these were my memories as I unsheathed this blade.

Yamato.

It felt like I was greeting an old and familiar friend.

My breath trembled in disgust as I caught a glimpse of my face in the blade. The horrifying scars running down my forehead and cheeks reminded me of tears. And my eyes...bloodshot and full of painful regret. I hissed as my head pounded with the memory of unspeakable torture at the hands of…that’s when it hit me.

I couldn’t remember anything.

No name, no memory…

A total mystery to myself.

I sheathed my blade and pushed that startling discovery to the side as I got up from the rocky ground. Then, I stumbled around for a moment before coming across a building by the lake. My sight was awful but I could still hear the definite silence of no one home. So, I entered the building and searched for...well, anything that could tell me where I woke up.

I found no answers but I did find some bandages in a cupboard. My hands shook as I wrapped my face, only leaving my eyes visible as I spotted something on a nearby table...it was a newspaper. I leaned in closer and struggled to read the first article on the front page, but all I could make out was the picture with this headline:

THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE SPRADA MASSACRE

My breath stopped as I gazed down at the picture of stately manor. Something about the tragic end of this family seemed familiar but I couldn’t fathom why...but the nagging need to find out burrowed through my mind as I left the building with a determined purpose.

If I find this manor...then I might find some answers about my past.

I slowly made my way to the heart of Red Grave City in the pouring rain. None of it seemed familiar but I walked the streets like a native of this place, cutting through back alleys to avoid crowds of people. Finding this manor haunted my thoughts like a ghost with unfinished business as I continued down the street. I wondered why I felt so strongly about it...would I really find clues about my past?

The mystery of my missing memory had me completely distracted. I didn’t even notice that I was no longer steering clear of people until someone bumped into me.

“What the hell’s your problem?!”

I glared at the blurry figure of a short-tempered young man and clenched my fist around my sword. The young man held his hands up while backing away with a low whistle.

“Hey, uh...are you okay? Do you need help?” he warily asked with a touch of genuine concern.

There was something about his voice that seemed vaguely familiar...but finding the manor was more important than talking with strangers.

“I’m fine,” I muttered before continuing down the street.

As I turned the corner, I noticed him rushing to a payphone...probably calling the cops. I quickened my pace for a few blocks, taking back alleys and walking in silence on empty streets. But I started to feel like I was being followed while passing through an abandoned playground. I drew my blade and turned around to confront my stalker.

“Whoa! Hey...easy there!”

It was the young man from before.

“Why are you following me?” I asked with a low growl while pointing my blade at him.

“I’m a reporter...and I have some more questions for ya.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I snarled before sheathing my blade.

“Are you the Dark Slayer?”

The reporter’s query knocked the air out of me. “What did you say?”

“The Dark Slayer. He’s a ruthless gangster and hitman with a peculiar code...or was since no one’s seen him for quite some time.” The reporter paused as he approached. “The Dark Slayer used a sword just like yours to carry out his hits.”

That foreboding name...my mind rattled with vague memories of cold and calculating strikes against despicable men. I stared down at the Yamato, wondering if I truly am this infamous hitman.

“So, tell me...are you the Dark Slayer?”

I never got the chance to answer him. A group of men stepped out of the shadows and quickly surrounded us with guns drawn. One of them moved forward while aiming their gun at the meddling reporter.

“What the hell is going on?!” he exclaimed while shielding me from their view.

“We’ve got a score to settle with the Dark Slayer...this is one lead you won’t live to follow, kid!”

I looked down at the Yamato as the gangster cocked his gun. And before I knew it, I drew its blade and rushed forward as they pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off the blade and hit one of the other men as I swiftly stabbed them in the gut. A hail of bullets soon followed but I was able to repel their assault with a fast whirl of my sword while the reporter took cover. I held on until making a break for it, signaling the reporter to follow as I raced through back alleys.

The reporter asked if I knew where I was going...and honestly, I didn’t know. But I knew deep down that I was headed towards the manor. I may not remember this city, but something inside me was guiding me to the one place with answers about my past.

We arrived at the courtyard of the dilapidated manor. I walked ahead as the reporter warned about those gangsters catching up to us, but his words fell on deaf ears as I stepped through the decaying entryway. All that mattered to me was getting to the bottom of my missing memory...and that abandoned home was the key.

I looked around until my eyes locked on a portrait. Its burned canvas seemed to call to me, beckoning me to come closer...my head throbbed as I stared at the charred image of a distinguished family. The woman with golden blond hair seemed familiar, but the two young boys with white hair standing by her side reminded of…

A rush of grisly memories crashed into me: flashes of gunfire, sprays of blood, and a small boy crying over the motionless body of...the woman from the portrait!

Excruciating pain racked my head as I fell down to my knees. The reporter called out to me but I couldn’t make out his words…it was only when the gangsters busted into the manor that I realized he was warning me.

We were completely surrounded as they drew their weapons with contemptuous sneers. The reporter whipped out his gun in desperate defense but I remained still, waiting for a chance to strike as the metallic click of cocked guns echoed in the dank room…but a single gunshot from the shadows took everyone by surprise as it whizzed through the air, taking out one of the gangsters with utmost precision.

“The Underworld Mafia must be losing their touch if they need this many to take out a geezer and a rookie reporter.”

That’s when you stepped out of the shadows, Detective. I still couldn’t see very well, but I sensed the gangsters' hesitation and fear...and that was my moment to strike. Those tragic memories faded away as I rushed forward, quickly drawing my blade and cutting down a couple gangsters with swift slash.

An array of bullets flew through the air as you and the reporter fought by my side until the last gangster fell with a gurgled cry. Then, you introduced yourself before requesting me to come down to the station for questioning. I thought about declining your offer, but there was something about you that seemed...familiar.

“And here we are.”

The detective remains quiet as my tale ends. Then, he pulls something out of his pocket and places it on the table before sliding it towards me. It looks like an amulet with a large red gem. Something about it compels me to reach down and touch it, which sparks a memory about a promise made over this very amulet.

“We made a pact to take down the mob boss who ordered the hit on our family.”

I look up at the detective, trying to gauge his reaction as I remove the bandages. And as they fall to the ground, I realize that I can see clearly now. The dense fog surrounding my past lifts as I stare at the detective with a face identical to mine.

“Dante…”

My eyes flicker over his shoulder to a young man with white hair leaning against the wall behind him.

“Nero...my son…”

The detective, no...my brother moves around the table and pats my shoulder.

“Welcome back, Vergil.”

#devil may cry #dmc #vergil #dante #nero #noir au #this brings back memories #I had soooo many ideas for an extended noir au after writing this #now I'll be daydreaming about it for days lol #harlot writes

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