Fandom Devil May Cry: Cold Day In Heaven [Closed]

The shower had been cold that morning, which was enough to put Dante in a foul mood, and agree to the mission that Lady presented him. Some icy bitch had taken up residence in an occult library, in his own town. Sure, he wasn’t enthused to deal with even more cold, but this job would give him the money to pay the gas bill that kept his water heated, so he would just get it over with.

Better that, than another cold shower.

He grabbed breakfast on the way, and was just licking the greasy of the egg-and-sausage pizza from his fingertips as he ascended the stairs, to the doorway that no longer held a door. No, no, that door had been blown to pieces sometime ago and in his path was a wall of ice instead. “Why can’t it ever be Dante, go deal with an imp terrorizing some kids?” he drew Rebellion off of his back, “or Dante, there’s a sexy succubus who just wants a little bit of your life, and then she’ll go off to hell? Or an incubus, I’m not picky!”

He slammed Rebellion into the icy wall, shattering it, and allowing him to walk into the relatively empty library. Thankfully, the ice wasn’t scattered around, and the only occupant wasn’t in hiding. Rather, the demon was sitting at a table, several books on it, and one in her hand.

She gave him a single glance, and then looked back down at her book as if he was nothing at all. A rather…uncommon occurrence, if he was honest. “Sorry Miss, the library is closed. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Dante said, walking forward, skimming the titles of the books she was reading.

Every single one of them seemed about ritual magic.

“I am afraid I am not quite ready to leave.”

“Well, I don’t make the rules,” Dante reached the table and settled his palm on it, leaning into it, “I don’t really want to fight today –”

“Then do not,” a simple statement. Audacious, almost, as she flicked her silver gaze back up to him, “I know we are now even, but I did not expect you to hinder me in pursuit of knowledge, Vergil.”

Dante straightened up immediately, “What did you…?” his confusion seemed to inspire her to actually look at him, the book’s spine touching the edge of the table as she lowered it, reassessing him.

“You are not Vergil. My apologies,” she sighed and shut the book, as Dante stepped back.

“How do you know my brother?” Dante demanded, voice a bit more choked than he intended it to be, “When did you know him?” he wanted to douse the spark of hope that flared in his chest as he looked upon this demoness. There was no way it could have been after he faced Vergil. No way.

But he wanted to hope.

“A little under five years ago,” she rose calmly, “he saved my life, I saved his,” even, as she said, pulling the glaive into her hand, “I do not know where he has gone since then, it was not my concern when he chose to leave,” the wind whispered in Dante’s ear as she held the blade, words he couldn’t quite make out, but a sense of fear and hope beat harder into his chest. “If you hope to see him again, leave me to my research. I intend no harm, and care not for the human world, but Hell has lost much since Mundus took over and I have the unenviable task of restoring it.”

“Who are you?” Dante demanded.

“I do not know,” Dante didn’t understand the answer, didn’t understand it was a joke. It only served to piss him off as his gaze hardened on the icy bitch in her fluorescent green and black gown, poised as if he wasn’t a threat.

He wanted to know more about Vergil, but she had nothing more, it seemed.

Five years was a long time ago. It could have been before Mundus finally took Vergil over – it could have been after. Regardless, it didn’t mean Vergil was still alive.

“Well, I don’t happen to care about Hell, either, and I’m not keen on seeing Hell get its shit together, so I’m afraid your checkout request is denied.” The play in his tone was all but gone, as bitterness cut into each syllable instead.

He lunged forward as she seemed to effortlessly step aside – and only enough, at that! – and lifted the glaive to cut at his neck. He leaned back to avoid the strike, only for the cacophony of whispers to beat themselves into his head.

It was as loud as truth. He didn’t recognize the sudden ice that spread from where the demoness stood, to underneath his feet, until he tried to straighten up and go for another strike. He immediately lost his balance and Rebellion plunged into the ice instead to help him stay up.

Icicles flew, and he recognized that the demoness had moved much further away now.

He drew Ebony and Ivory and shot the icicles out of the air before they could ever reach him, grinning, “Oh come on, like I haven’t dealt with a thousand frigid bitches! Do better!”

The way the entire building suddenly trembled, he thought he just might have inspired something ‘better’ and terrible. But then there was screaming outside, and the sounds of chaos from car alarms and other nuisance noises. Even the demon seemed distracted, and though he considered taking advantage of it, he moved – carefully – off of the ice to see what was going on outside, stepping out of the library.

Thankfully, she didn’t try to put a hole in his back with that ice.

His failure with the Temen-ni-gru still felt raw. Returning to Red Grave City he sought out Sparda Manor to remind himself that it was his incompetence that had left it in ruins. Not Dante, him.

In the sanctuary of the manor library where he had been recovering for the past month, he had channeled his frustrations into devising a new plan to achieve power; one that this time should give him the upper hand the next time he faced off with his twin brother.

His hold on Yamato tightened before finally, he unsheathed it from its scabbard. In the dim light, his reflection appeared in the blade of the katana. Sparda had instilled into this weapon the power to separate both man and demon. Perhaps he was held back by his own humanity and with it, a fear that humans knew all too well: loss.

His icy gray eyes stared back at him through his sword, and all he could feel was self-loathing. All those years ago, he could not save his mother, and thus, he vowed that never again would he let all that he had be taken from him. Without even looking, he had stowed Yamato back into its proper place; a motion he had committed to memory for the last thousandth repetition.

Perhaps it was time he paid that woman a visit, though he knew better than to consort with demons.

Drawing on his cloak, Vergil left the mansion through the backdoor. Just as turned the corner into the garden, the ground trembled. Vergil used a nearby tree to support himself, but his attention was upon the tower in the distance, descending down from the clouds in golden radiance. He could feel it now, emanations of ancient holy magic washing over him as it neared the ground, but never did it touch earth.

His thoughts immediately shifted over to his brother. Dante would surely have seen the tower by now. No doubt, he would be drawn to it in attempts to appraise what sort of new threat humanity could be facing.

And that was where he would be going as well. Pushing off the tree, Vergil headed towards the tower.

If there was a way to exploit the tower itself, he would grab it without hesitation. The adrenaline of facing the unknown, and the thought of clashing swords with his brother once more, quickened his jog into a sprint. Yamato would drink from Dante's blood once more.

---

With God's throne vacant, heaven had been governed by a bureaucracy of Seraphim. That was true for the past few millennia until Absalom's accension to the highest sphere of influence. He claimed that by being the Son of God himself; he by birthright, should be able to commandeer his father's rule. None would oppose him for upon his head was his father's aureole; proof that his claim to divinity was true.

Absalom's disdain for humans was well-known all throughout his court. He affirmed that humans have long deviated from his father's design, and in their greed to achieve power, had become irredeemable.

One foolish man's actions to unseal the Temen-ni-gru was the final straw. In a fit of rage, Absalom called for a Second Coming; to flood the trinity of realities so that all could be remade. In this new era, he pledged evil will be purged for good.

In the moments after the Tower of Eden descended from heaven, Ingram, accompanied by a choir of angels, rushed to the throne room to petition their dissent.

Before Absalom's feet, Ingram bowed his head low. Dressed in a shroud of muslin, he hid himself from the fiery gaze of the Son of God. The older, more ancient members of the higher sphere spoke first in representation of the entire choir. Lamassu, with her torso atop the body of a lion, spread her wings to take to the center of the floor where she could address the rest of the court, and most importantly, Absalom. "Your Highness, this is outrageous," her voice held the edge of a lioness protecting her young. "To wend destroy all yond which your father hath did maketh would betray his vision for mankind. You wilt quell your snuffs and see the wisdom in what your father hath did create."

At the center of the floor approached a brilliant red flame that lit the entire hall. From it came disembodied voices, unmistakably belonging to the Chief of the Seraphim. Yahoel's flames trembled as it spoke, "By calling forth the Second Coming, you risk usurping the perfect balance your father hath lain out for all fair folk. As good exists, so must evil. That is the tenet in which the trinity of realities have existed for eons."

More angels followed suit to make heard their protests. However, their words fell onto deaf ears as Absalom let his fist fall onto the armrest of his father's throne, "Silence!"

Ingram raised his head. In a moment of clarity, he could picture him: his precious charge, and his demon arm Rebellion in hand. It must be him, the one to come to mankind's rescue once more.

“Oh, so what is this, the Tower of Babel?” Dante’s exasperation was obvious as he grasped for a biblical tower that he knew, all but throwing his hands up at the sight of it looming above. How was he even going to get up into the tower to deal with whatever nonsense was going on? Well, a plane, but he didn’t have the funds to charter a flight!

He heard shuffling behind him and saw the demoness picking up some of the books. He turned back towards her and pointed Rebellion her way. “Don’t think we’re done here,” he stated, cocking a smirk. “I’ve got time to play while I figure out how to get into that tower.”

She didn’t even smile or seem amused. “I don’t.”

Rebellion lowered, just a touch. “What, you plan to go up there?”

“I have had quite enough of outside powers disrupting my life,” she said, crisp anger in her tone, “So yes, I plan to throw whoever is up there, out of this realm, because it will inevitably spill into mine, until I learn how to seal it up.”

“Seal it—you want to close Hell from Earth?”

“Yes.”

Rebellion lowered in full. Dante was aware the demon could be lying to him. In fact, he was pretty sure of it, as sure as he was that he’d get an icicle in his back as soon as the Tower was dealt with – but he could wait until then.

“Seems we have similar interests then. Odd from one of Vergil’s friends,” he shifted his weight, “Look, why don’t we tower check this dance, and go deal with the Big Guy together, then? Because I can’t exactly grow wings here.”

“What a pity for you,” still, Dante was certain he heard consideration in her tone, before she sighed and settled the books down, “But I am not one to reject aid against the unknown,” Dante wondered if that meant ‘meat shield’ in her mind, but he supposed it didn’t care. He’d likely try the same thing.

She set the books down on the table, “Well then, since we’re on allied terms, my name’s Dante. Yours?”

“As I said,” she repeated, “I don’t know. But you may use Vera.”

Dante couldn’t help but mock the reiteration and roll his eyes as she walked to the door, and he continued the mocking with a gesture to the door. ‘Lady’s first.’ Rung in his head, and seemed somewhat true as Lady had indeed pulled up on her motorcycle to the library – and immediately aimed a rocket launcher at the demoness stepping down.

“Lady, Lady, lay it down,” Dante encouraged, “she’s going to help us with the tower, then we’ll deal with her.”

“We’re not getting paid to work with her, Dante,” Lady stated.

“And we’re probably not getting paid for that job, either,” he thumbed up to the tower, “but money isn’t going to go anywhere if the world’s destroyed, so—let’s work on that first."

Absalom's dissolution of his court created a heavy tension among his subjects, but Ingram was certain that the subject of the Second Coming would be revisited soon enough.

Was a revolt certain? No. A civil war? It was a possibility. The part of him that was canonized as Saint Reuben; the man that had sacrificed his life for a thief, felt his heart clench for once again thrusting his champion into danger. The other part of him, Mebahiah, the Dominion of Mercy, found no other recourse. Balance must be restored, even if the Son of God must now contend with humanity's only hope.

Ingram spread his pearlescent wings and retreated from the throne room.

Heaven was in a state of perpetual evening. The sun stayed hidden behind the clouds and casted an orange hue on all that its light touched. As he descended from the apex of the tower, evening shifted into day in a dazzling gradient. Though he was blind to the world around him, Ingram always knew how to find his most cherished one.

---

Yamato had lead him directly to his brother. But, Dante had beat him into finding the demoness that had saved his life.

From shadow, he stepped out with Yamato unsheathed in his hands. His eyes flickered from Dante, to the demoness, and then back. He cocked a brow, "And where are you going, Dante?" It had been years since their last confrontation. If it hadn't been for Heaven's intrusion, he would have challenged his brother to yet another duel. However, it seemed it would have to wait.

From behind him, he was vaguely aware of a blonde woman approaching their group. He recognized her face as one resembling his mother's. Trish. "Looks like everyone's here. I can't miss out on this, now can I?" She said with a playful smile. In her hand was one of Sparda's handguns. She gave it a small flourish for the one unfamiliar face among them.

Vergil sheathed Yamato and grunted. For the last thousands of years, Heaven had kept itself hidden from both Earth and the Underworld. Angels rarely descended, if they did, to intervene on matters that was beneath them. This was something new, and not entirely pleasant.

Suddenly the library was filled with luminous light. Vergil shielded his eyes, and only through the cracks of his fingers could he vaguely make out a mass of feathers; no, wings. A gentle voice called out to them. Though it was barely above a whisper, it echoed all around them.

"Doth not beest afraid," said the being.

Emerging from behind his wings came the visage of a beautiful man with his eyes covered by a crude rag. As his feet touched the floor, the muslin he had wrapped around himself fell over his wings and spackled its light. It was an angel.

"Who are you," asked Vergil, with his brows furrowed in uncertainty.
"I am ingram, Dominion of Mercy. I have come to ask f'r thy aid."

As they reached the base of the library steps, Dante felt his blood run cold as a too-familiar voice called out to him. Despite the chill, and the rush of confused emotions, he turned, wide and slow, as a hand went back to grip Rebellion, “Well! If it isn’t Vergil, showing up with another Tower problem. Now, if I had a hundred bucks every time that happened,” Dante pulled Rebellion out, fully prepared for Vergil to strike.

He didn’t want to fight him, but Vergil always wanted to fight.

Always had something to prove.

And Dante thought that was a younger sibling quality.

Trish approached, however, and somehow defused it. ‘Do you know each other?’ Or was possible. Mundus held both of them in the palm of his hand, once, and Dante let his eyes slide over to the demoness.

She seemed to hold no familiarity for Trish. He already knew of her familiarity with Vergil, and he still had plenty of questions about that, “So, brother, you want to explain this—” he started to gesture towards the tower, assuming, naturally, Vergil had something to do with it, but he was taken from that by a light.

It appeared up the stairs, within the doorway of the library, and took form of a, well, angel.

Dante threw his empty hand up in exasperation and shifted his weight to one hip as he tapped Rebellion on his shoulder in agitation at all the arrivals and all the frustration of the situation. Still, this arrival was likely the most useful as he looked upon the comely man who hid his eyes – if he had eyes – behind cloth.

“Yeah, aid, look, I’m a little busy between killing a demoness,” Dante gestured with Rebellion towards ‘Vera’, who merely rolled her eyes, “renovating a tower,” he gestured towards said tower, “and having a heartfelt family reunion with my brother, so unless your aid involves one of those situations, you’re gonna have to take a number, pal.”

Lady adjusted her aim towards the newcomer.

Even if she wanted to aim it at Vergil; she hadn’t exactly forgiven him for the tower incident Dante referred to. She knew, in truth, Vergil wasn’t responsible for what happened to her family…but it felt good to blame him for it, anyways.


Vera remained silent in all of these arrivals and introductions. The Wrath of the Sparda twins was expected, hardly worth batting an eye. The arrival of the angel was worth being silent for, until it explained itself. Tempting as it was to leave all of them behind and go to the tower herself, she knew numbers might improve her odds, so she held.

And didn’t address Vergil with more than a curious look for his own arrival. It was, indeed, ill-timed.

"Aye," said the angel. "'t concerns the tower. Wilt thee not heareth me out?"

His lips curl into a peculiar smile. When he spoke, he did not face anyone in particular, not even when he is met by the barrel end of Lady's weapon. Rather, Ingram chose to direct himself to the far corner of the library where no one stood.

Trish resigned herself to leaning on a bookshelf and pulling out a random volume in Charles Dickens's collection.

"Then make it quick," said Vergil with an edge of impatience. He was just as eager to resume their little family reunion as his younger brother was.

Ingram lowered his in a gesture of silent gratitude for being allowed to express his plea. "Heaven did hath't long withdrawn itself from the rest of the ordinary in eternal isolation. 'T wast Prince Absalom's rule yond did doth endue our isolation to an end. He seeks to purge all in a Second Coming."

Vergil crossed his arms as he attempted to register just what the angel had just said. "Heaven is real then."
"Aye."

Trish gave a low hum as she shut the leather-bound book in her hand, "And he's the one responsible for the tower in the sky?"

Ingram nodded his head, "Thee art correct."

Vergil had only read minimal on the existence of a world that mirrored Hell. In place of demons, the main populace were winged creatures of light. It's implied that Heaven is the afterlife for those who had lead a just life. He was skeptical, "If Absalom ordered this purge, why are you looking to stop him?" His eyes narrowed.

Ingram did not appear to flinch in the face of Vergil's suspicion. "'Tis because I believeth yond thither is goodness in this ordinary and its peoples, contrary to what the prince sayeth." A face appeared in his mind when he said this; a man he had developed an unconditional love and admiration for. "Thus, I wish to preserve 't and maintain the natural charge of the three realities."

Vergil glanced outside the window at the looming tower above them. From where it pierced through the clouds there was a golden light that shined down upon them almost unnaturally. He could sense that it was a place that emanated of great power. To harness it would be a different story.

The angel's attempt to appeal to them still did not convince Vergil. He had assumed all angels abhorred evil, and sought to cleanse it wherever they could. This one seemed more interested in maintaining balance between good and evil.

Absalom. It was no name Dante knew, and he glanced over the other faces for recognition, but he saw none flare, not even in the demon’s eyes, so he continued to listen as this angel explained his presence, shifting his weight again to his other hip as he tried to stand still. Impatience gnawed at him, as well.

“What do you know,” Dante couldn’t help the complaint in his voice, even if it was an oddly good thing, “an angel and a demon in agreement on preserving balance,” he shifted his attention to Vera, “That is, if you’re willing to work with an angel.”

“It makes no difference to me.” It didn’t. She expected there would be outliers to Absalom’s rule. There were those in hell who opposed Mundus, after all. She had been among their ranks. Why wouldn’t there be angels opposed to Absalom? Absolutes didn’t exist anywhere – except in the absolute denial of absolutes.

Dante admittedly wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He couldn’t help but wonder if the demon and the angel would end up devolving into violence, but he didn’t get the vibe from the angel that it…really knew much about violence at all, and Vera seemed to wait until provoked. Heavily. He had to wonder about her slaughter of the librarians he was called in to deal with and how they provoked it.

But that was a problem for after the tower. As, apparently, was Vergil.

“Well, sounds like we’re good then,” Dante offered a thumbs up, even if Ingram couldn’t see. “Ingram, meet Vera, Trish, Lady. I’m Dante,” Ingram probably already knew that. He might already know the identity of everyone here. “And uh, just out of curiosity, but are you able to – you know – talk normally? The demon isn’t even talking in all that thee and thou and I assume – actually, how old are you?”

Vera didn’t answer, just gave Dante a hard stare.

“Right, apparently you don’t ask women their ages even if they’re a demon, my mistake,” he rolled his eyes, “I assume somewhere around a thousand. Anyways, it’ll probably just be us four tagging along. I’d say meet Vergil, but Vergil never wants to help anyone other than himself, so,” he couldn’t help the bitter laugh, “he’s not going to be setting any differences aside. But hey! Maybe I’m wrong!” He turned to Vergil, arms out, “What do you say, Vergy? Bring it in and come help kill some angels with your dear brother? We’ll have a pizza afterwards and reminiscence about the terrible times – you’re paying, obviously.”

He didn’t have money for the water bill. He didn’t have money for pizza.

‘Pizza?’ Vera had no idea what pizza was.