Fandom Hell Of A Way To Go [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

“No one can have this, Dante.”​

Vergil’s words still echoed in the silver-haired man’s head as his legs squeezed the bike between his legs while he leaned into a curve, going far over the speed limit. The wind whipped across his face, blowing all that hair back out of his baby blues, but he didn’t even feel the pain of the kicked up dust. He definitely didn’t feel it against his legs, covered well, nor his shoulders or arms, covered in his usual red leather.

His neck and torso suffered, only a black muscle shirt underneath the coat, but he didn’t care.

“Remember what we used to say?”​

Dante Sparda was haunted since the day Temen-ni-gru fell, and he found the brother he thought was dead, only to lose him again. He was burdened with a new guilt, the reality that he would have killed his brother, when at the end, Vergil didn’t grab Force Edge. He didn’t take their father’s power, though it was right there for him.

“Jackpot.”​

Vergil took their mother’s amulet. One half. And Dante let him fall into Hell – he didn’t catch him. He didn’t pull him back, he didn’t try to talk to him, when Temen-ni-gru fell, to find out what pushed Vergil to think he needed the power of Sparda. He let him fall, and all he could do in the aftermath was fight demons.

He’d barely had a moment to cry.

He had one, though, and that had been enough for his new business partner, Lady, to give him the best tip off he’d had in a while. He could still remember how she walked into the hotel room he was using while his business was rebuilt, and slammed down a portfolio on the desk. Over one of the many pizza boxes that littered the room.

“You have work to do, Dante! We have a new mission.”​

He had expected another demon hunt from something Temen-ni-gru unleashed on the world, but that wasn’t the case. In the portfolio was information on some demon named ‘Russo’, or that was the name Lady had. Something about a defection from the actual demon world, but someone who likely knew how to move between them – something that, no doubt, the demon she’d worked for before couldn’t do.

Sparda kept certain seals in place. It was not easy to traverse out of Hell. It was far easier to get in, but even then, Dante couldn’t figure it out. They didn’t have Vergil’s necklace to open the way they did know, again, with Lady’s blood and his own. So that meant, alternative routes.

Which meant, chasing down Russo.

Fortunately, Lady was able to offer him multiple places she’d been known to frequent, and he had a good feeling about the one he was heading to now, as he leaned into another curve and saw it on his left. It was the sort of place you could imagine getting murdered in, with the way it stood out in front of a bunch of trees, with no street lights or other buildings around for a while. Just the sort of place hunters liked to congregate.

Trucks and motorcycles were the norm, and one Impala, that made Dante roll his eyes as he came sliding into a spot, bike shaking with the gravel. “Pfft.” He noted the vanity plate – Baby. “Wannabes.” They probably thought a devil seal thing worked, or that demons regularly possessed people.

He kicked the kickstand and puffed up his coat a bit at the collar before walking in, black boots crunching on the gravel with each step. He pushed the single door open to be put into a world of pool tables and low lights, while the jukebox kicked up some rap song.

Aye, she fine, she fine, she fine, she fine, she bad and she know that shit
Aye, she fine, she fine, she fine, she bad, she bad and she know that shit

Dante swayed a bit with the melody, a smile coming to his lips fairly easily as he soaked up the looks that came his way. He swaggered on up to the counter. Sure, he’d prefer some rock on the jukebox, that wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying it, “Don’t suppose I can get some coke, can I?”

The bartender gave him a once over, as another commented, “What, can’t handle anything harder?”

“Don’t need to,” Dante gave him a grin, “Also, not old enough,” being 19 in America sucked. He stepped between two stools as the bartender basically just threw up a can of coke, opening it and spilling some on the counter as it was put down, “Thank you,” he took the red can and brought it to his lips, enjoying a few easy sips as he leaned his back against the counter, both elbows finding a place on either side of him on top of it, “So, I’m here looking for a Russo. Heard she likes to come out here. Anyone know where I can find her?” He tilted his head back towards the bartender, looking over at him, though his eyes had already located a few of the women in the room, and narrowed down the possibilities, if she was there.

Lady had given him a description. “Time is a bit of a concern. Not exactly a minor one.”

If he knew his brother, he was probably about to get himself killed. No one Hell liked Sparda. No one in Hell was going to like Vergil – especially with Vergil’s attitude.

~***~

Deirdre Heylel was used to hearing talk of Sparda in Hell. It was just about all Hell talked about for the past two thousand years, and honestly, it was boring. If they weren’t talking about Sparda, they were talking about Mundus, another figure that she had ignored from her ivory tower of Judecca, where she would have stayed, were it not for the fact that about five hundred years ago, Mundus’s minions decided to stop ignoring her.

They petitioned her to join the cause – to help free Mundus, and there would be a place for her in the grand scheme. She knew a lie when she heard one, and the burgundy-haired demoness had laughed them out of her frozen paradise.

Then they returned, and laid waste to it.

So, needless to say, she wasn’t a fan of Mundus. She had never been a fan of him, nor Sparda, but was content to ignore them.

‘I’m glad you decided to attack.’ It was her thought as she walked to the gates of the City of Dis. What had once been a beautiful and towering obsidian city, was in ruins. Most of Hell was, and it took losing her small place to see exactly the havoc that Sparda’s decision to close up Hell had wreaked upon the entirety of Hell. Demons had lost their damned minds – not only the mindless ones that could be compared to dogs, but even some of the powerful ones comparable to humans in their reasoning capabilities, had lost it.

Or rather – had it taken from them. Deirdre had encountered some, and realized quickly they were not what they seemed, but under the control of Mundus. ‘Which is what this one now risks.’

Deirdre followed the rumors. She had to, in order to stay ahead of Mundus and his minions – though now, she was walking right into one of his havens. The City of Dis fell entirely to Mundus and was looked after by one of his generals. Vergil Sparda had been herded, his lack of knowledge bringing him right to where he could be captured, but as the woman walked in, golden heels clicking on the broken road, she knew he wasn’t yet.

Otherwise, she’d be swarmed.

Her presence went unnoticed. Everyone was dealing with the Son of Sparda, which meant he could put up one hell of a fight – something he would need here, but he wasn’t going to survive without allies. ‘And you’re not getting out of Hell without him.’ And after seeing what became of Hell, Deirdre had no desire to remain. Unless she could get rid of Mundus, but she hadn’t considered that in a long, long time…breaking his seals did not sound like a good idea, but, with a Son of Sparda?

Maybe.

The sounds of violence were easily heard, and Deirdre just turned towards it, slipping into the alleys she was familiar with, until she finally caught sight of the fighting out near the central square, where the ruined fountain remained in pieces. It had once been a beautiful dragon, representing the trigger form of the former Head of Wrath.

‘Like the Head of Pride.’

Poor Lucifer.

Now that was her, because her own pride wasn’t in her ability to show-off. Not that she wouldn’t…and who didn’t like making an entrance?

Deirdre did, and she took a breath, bringing her hands together almost as if she was going to pray. She didn’t. She slid the left up, and forced the burst of power through her being while she had the advantage of surprise. ‘Trigger!’

Wings, white feathers with a golden sheen, ripped out of her back. It was for that reason alone she tended to stick to backless attire, that day, befitting the lie – a white dress. Her form did not change much, though it definitely confused people – the golden aura radiated with a holy, light energy most demons couldn’t stand, let alone wield. The eyes that were naturally gold went pure white, no pupil, and the strands of hair seemed to join together like smoke, like fire, lightening to gold as well while the power of the Devil Trigger coursed through her.

The demoness didn’t waste time, launching out of the alley and pulling her own blade out as she flew into the midst of it, wings spreading out and spreading feathers that hovered in the air, before seeming to burn up in energy and launch themselves at the mass of demons that had converged on Vergil. None went after Vergil, and she pulled her blade from its sheathe and launched into one of the demons, dispatching them with a thrust as she turned in a pirouette to face Vergil, letting the pupilless eyes find his gaze for a moment.

In the absence of a comment, her lips twitched, something between endearingly amused with his appearance, or disappointed, before she turned back to dispatch another demon that was too close, greatsword burying itself to the hilt in the beast. She threw back, “Well, Son of Sparda – I do hope you know the meaning of the word run,” Deirdre offered, “because once this horde is cleared, you’re either running, or getting dragged out of Dis, and the other would be utterly embarrassing for you.” If only because at least one of Mundus's generals would bear witness to it. Certainly one was on the way out now, hearing of the interruption to their plans.

 

[WeissOnReiss]

Ian was wondering how many times he was going to have to have his ass handed to him before he just learned to leave well enough alone.

The few shreds of his pride that were left went sliding into the leather pouch hanging below the table along with an iconic black billiard ball, and with a resigned sigh, he offered his hand to congratulate his opponent for the third time in the past hour. A combination of sweaty palm and paper bills folded together, and he leaned forward to mutter in the woman's ear -- the only way to hear anything over the music rumbling out of the old sound system. "I don't know why I keep coming back, Sandra. All you ever do is rip my heart out...along with my wallet." This managed to earn a particularly unsettling grin which she made no effort to disguise its strangeness. Ian immediately took note of the teeth that seemed too white, canines too perfect, and a glint in her hunter green eyes that reminded him of a cat's pupils reflecting in the shadows.

"I'd choose your words more carefully, darling. Too much chatter about ripping hearts out and you might start giving me ideas." Apparently, her voice traveled better in the noise than Ian's, as his collective posse still strewn around the table began reaching into their coat pockets at the same time. Her grin receded into a disappointed scoff and she shoved her opponent back a couple of inches as though disgusted by whatever conclusion their simple brains had magically come to an agreement on. "Gentleman, please. Only an idiot would be so eager to get rid of a good thing. I'm not about to ice my most dependable source for entertainment and free scotch." Tension vanished in an instant as the group reduced themselves to a pack of boys, howling in unison at the expense of Ian's dignity.

With a wink and a smirk glowering in triumph, Alessandra flipped one of the bills in her hand onto the table and hung her pool cue back in its place on the wall. "Here's one more drink on me before you go. Might make the pain a little easier to bear, eh?"

Heels of heavy wedged boots tapped pointedly across the old wooden floor as the vixen made her way from the billiard tables towards the bar, her feline prowl attracting far fewer glances from the male patrons than one might expect at first glance. However, after a more informed moment of observation, it was easy to understand why: there was a ferocity about her more terrifying than alluring. Her usually long, curly bistre hair was whipped up into a messy bun, exposing the skin of her shoulders and neck -- soft, but pulled firm over a toned musculature. A fitted midnight blue rib tank and cropped black leather jacket did a decent job of showing off the firm core underneath. Every limb seemed wound up tight, ready to spring at anything that moved, and most people did not want to be the one to cut the wire holding everything at bay.

They needed not concern themselves. Alessandra's attention snapped instantly in the direction of her name and everything else turned irrelevant in a heartbeat. The cadence of her stride did not suffer in the least as she spent the few seconds she had left before her destination to take in the stranger: young, some hints of naiveté, impatient...inhuman. Prey was easy to sniff out, but whatever human lineage in his blood was weak, its scent, thin. So, the kid was a mixed breed. Delightful.

"Another usual?" The bartender inquired rather casually, not even bothering to look up from the current drink that he was pouring for another patron. "I suppose you had better make it two, Arctus, since I'm such a popular lady this evening," Russo quipped, tossing the newcomer a pointed, sidelong look. "Says he's too young."

"So put what he's got on my tab and we'll make it work." A brief moment of silence came and went as the woman picked up a fresh glass filled with a rich, golden liquid, and then she finally turned her full attention towards the newcomer. "You're putting me in a bit of a bind, stranger. Rules around here say you buy a man a drink before you do business with him, or before you kill him. For the sake of brevity, I'd like to know which I'm buying for you tonight." There was a sort of humor in her eyes, but the rest of her expression was set with sincerity.

*~~*

'My trigger state is becoming difficult to maintain.'

Vergil noted this with more than a certain amount of disdain as the chitinous pseudo-armor of his devil form faded away, revealing the pale, sweaty humanoid skin underneath. He was not about to admit that there were faults in his decision-making. However, the silver-haired half breed held a very specific animosity towards his good-for-nothing twin; Dante had wasted much of his time and energy thanks to their spouts within Temen-ni-gru, and now, his skills were suffering the consequence when he needed them the most. The worst part was, they still were not going towards anything useful. Mundus was still leagues away in the safety of his domain, and Vergil was being forced to dispatch little more than one batch of pathetic lackeys after another. Alone, a single wasp was nothing...a swarm of wasps, on the other hand, was a new threat entirely.

This swarm of wasps did not seem to be slowing down any time soon, and the half-devil was going to wear out eventually.

He let out another defiant growl as Yamato clicked out of its scabbard a handful of times, the blade singing a deep, hollow tone: a sound both eerie and powerful. A trio of darkened spheres wavered briefly into existence before the shadows within them swirled and twisted in on themselves, erupting into a flurry of phantom blades that ripped and tore through another group of enemies. The fodder shrieked as they were shredded into a heap of bloody ichor, but Vergil was given little satisfaction in the end. Hardly a few seconds passed before more of the cretins poured in and filled the ranks that had been dispatched, snarling and screeching for his horrific demise. He even swore that he heard laughter in the unsettling chorus -- guttural and manic, like the carnage that followed the half-devil was not even so much as a slight inconvenience.

Granted, this was not Temen-ni-gru. While the tower did mask a gate to the Underworld and held many of its denizens, it was still very much a part of the human world, and was forced to abide by certain laws. Demons could not pour endlessly out of every crack in the floor or gap in the wall, thanks to the handiwork of his father, Sparda. There was a limit to their power. Now, however, Vergil was the one trespassing here. There was no magic to stem the flow, no laws to hold back the hellish hoards as they came clawing out of every hole in the charred, ash-covered stones of Dis. They could continue swarming by the hundreds long after they had wrestled his defiant corpse to the ground and picked his bones clean.

Vergil's grim thoughts were suddenly forgotten and his attention stolen away as another form entered the fight: one glowing with an unlikely combination of gold and white auras that made his assailants hiss and whimper with distaste. His brow twisted up in a gesture of somewhat impassive bemusement as the stranger turned to acknowledge him. Was he supposed to be impressed? Yet another growl escaped the man as he turned away to deal with another adversary at his back, slicing clean through the beast as if it was composed of something as light as freshly fallen snow. "You're wasting your time," he muttered, mostly under his breath. "I don't know what you think you'll gain by helping me, but I am not looking for comrades." This time his blade swung again...or did it? It was impossible to tell, until the familiar click of a tsuba against the scabbard betrayed its reality. The air around him wavered like heat radiating in the desert before another explosion of blood and gore splattered the walls around them. Yamato's edge missed the stranger, of course. Vergil may not have been looking for friends, but he was not a relentless murderer, either. "You'll only get in my way, and I haven't the time to waste..."

 

[Lucyfer]

It seemed the woman he was looking for was, indeed, here. Dante eyed her as she came forward, his own grin turning up on his lips as he observed her walk. Attractive, for sure, but he could sense what she was, as well. Even if Lady hadn’t given him a bit of a head’s up on it, he would have known, the way she seemed to know what he was. It was in their aura, and it was just how those in their line of business did their job.

Hunters had to recognize what they hunted, and Dante hunted demons.

This was a half, though. He wasn’t considering it prey. Not yet, anyway.

His grin widened as he pulled his money back to let her pay, “Well, thank you,” he tipped his coke towards her, before he took down a sip of it, letting out an, “Aaah,” of satisfaction as the cool beverage passed his lips, “Not as good as a strawberry shake, but it’ll do. Coke,” he added, to her question, “And I’m hoping to do some business with you. I’d rather not die…I like living,” he chuckled, then cut to the chase, “Rumor has it you know some ways to get into Hell, and I happen to have a very pressing need to get into Hell.”

He turned his body slightly, offering a hand covered in a black, fingerless leather glove to her, “The name’s Dante. Dante Sparda.” The last name may damn him, or it may help him, but he figured it was a risk worth taking at this point considering the time constraints. He needed to get to Hell as soon as possible – he didn’t have time for games, “Think you can help me, miss…?” He let it trail.

He knew her name as Russo, but nothing else, and referring to someone by their surname all the time was just too formal for him. He’d start making up other names for her if she didn’t offer him one, and he had a few in mind already. Vixen, Cat, and a host of other animals generally associated with women with a dangerous appeal. Maybe even Nevan if he wanted to find out if his Devil Arm could get jealous or not. He wasn’t really sure how…conscious they were of what was going on around them.

~***~

Pride recognized pride. Pride also recognized arrogance, cockiness, and other foolish behaviors and she couldn’t help the laugh that parted her lips as Vergil so easily dismissed her, not wanting a comrade. “Oh, child,” she mocked, “I’m not here for a comrade either. I’m here to use you, so, I’m afraid I’m not going to be letting you go so easily, or die,” she noted, sincerity in every word.

What was more trustworthy than selfishness? She wasn’t expecting Vergil to trust her because she was saving him from the goodness of her own heart – she wasn’t.

She was a demon, but she was honest. Pride, taken to her level, had plenty of virtues, and honesty was one of them. She had no reason to lie. She was not going to be an enemy to Vergil, his life was critical to her future in that moment, which meant she would make sure he lived, one way or another.

Demons around fell without Vergil getting close, and her eyes passed to his blade briefly, an assessing look. It moved faster than she could see. Impressive, but hardly enough for him to survive the horde, tired as he was, and she wasn’t going to waste her time with it either. She knew what else was in Dis. She knew they were outmatched in their current state – him exhausted, her, unrested from chasing him down.

The demons simply recouped their numbers, and Deirdre cut her sword through the air. It didn’t behave like Vergil’s – the strike was visible, but it could move at a distance, and cut a wider path. The light was more her own creation, anyway, the sword serving more as wand for the spell that threw the light to cut the demons in twain as they tried to approach them once more, their bodies falling lifelessly to the ground, and more starting to spawn.

Of course, with two combatants, the time when there were no foes, and when they spawned, was obvious.

And not far, Deirdre could hear the yawn of the wider doors to the palace of Dis open. “I’m sure you want something out of Hell and your venture here…I just want out. I don’t want a comrade, but you’re useful. I’m sure you could also use someone who knows Hell. It’s your call if you want my selfishness to benefit you, too, Sparda.” She noted as the demons appeared around them again, reapers with scythes, but hardly powerful enough to be bothersome even in their numbers.

She considered the words his last chance. If he denied again, she’d let the demons wear him a bit more and then drag him out. She wouldn’t waste her own energy defending him when she needed him weaker, after all.

 

[WeissOnReiss]

Alessandra was rather relieved to hear that her new acquaintance did not seem to be looking for trouble -- well, not with her, anyway. She had been given a bit of a rough stretch of...'unfriendly conversations' as of late, and she really was not in the mood for another fight. However, his request quickly turned the tone of their exchange, and the woman felt a small flicker of hesitation tickle the base of her spine. Most of her time was spent avoiding the very same place he wanted to go. Sure, she had her ways in and out of the Underworld, and she certainly knew how to keep her head down, but she never took the dive unless it was completely unavoidable.

She was about to reach out and accept the hand that he offered when two words that followed suddenly dropped a figurative nuke on that tiny little bar.

Dante. Sparda.

In the span of exactly two seconds, everyone's conversations had been cut short and their attention stolen, despite the fact that the music was blaring as loudly as ever. Granted, not all of the attention was bad, but there was a fair share of glimmering eyes and snarls pointed in their direction. With a resigned sigh, Russo gulped the rest of her drink, relishing the burn that came along with rich alcohol. "Well, you certainly know how to put a lady on the spot, Dante. You can call me Sandra, if you like," the vixen quipped before accepting his handshake with a firm grip. "I generally don't make it a habit of taking anyone on tour down into the furnace, for...obvious reasons. I'm afraid I'm going to need a damn good reason and a little context if I'm going to agree to anything."

Even though her eyes were relatively fixed on her fellow half-breed while she spoke, she was also taking careful note of the other patrons as they all began falling back into rhythm -- paying particular attention to a small handful that went slinking out the front door. Typical. Arctus was vehemently opposed to anyone causing trouble in his bar, and the patrons knew to respect his wishes. If either of the hunters were going to get ambushed, it would be outside. "You see, It's not an easy run in, run out kind of deal, darling. It takes a lot of caution, good timing, and...well, a bit of luck can't hurt. If I take you there, I'm with you all of the way and that sort of risk comes with a pretty hefty price tag."

Usually, asking for that kind of favor would earn nothing more than a drink to the face, and Alessandra would not even bother to think to humor it. However, the Sparda name carried a lot of weight, and she would not mind having that sort of connection under her belt. If she managed to make it out alive, it could end up working out in her favor down the road.

-------

Vergil was riled up plenty already, between having to deal with Arkham, putting up with his twin constantly getting in the way, and being baited from one level of Hell to another while Mundus cowered behind his slaves. This woman's attitude merely tightened the strain on his patience, and had he been more impulsive like Dante, he might have turned Yamato's edge against her in a fitting display of rage.

Luckily for the both of them, however, this son of Sparda was much better at keeping his head. When the next pile of corpses settled, he fixed her with a very pointed glare that made his azure eyes shimmer with a promise of brutal but precise violence. "Mind your tongue, creature. I am neither your pet nor your tool, and if you think you can bend me to your will like these vermin under your boot, then I will remind you of the sort of power that undoubtedly drew you here in the first place." Vergil's tone had always been cold, calculated. He was a man of his word and he never saw a point in making empty threats...but there was a very particular shard of ice buried in his voice that warned her there was a line, and she was very close to crossing it.

Nonetheless, the half-breed was not unreasonable. He may not particularly care for the idea of working with a denizen of the Underworld, but his other alternative was to fight her here, and he had neither the time nor the strength to spare. These hordes of garbage were not going to make the venture to their master any easier.

"As long as we can maintain that understanding, we might be of use to each other." Cobalt lightning flickered around Vergil's form and he vanished entirely from sight before reappearing an instant later within the newly spawned reaper-like demons. Dark orbs swallowed them all and boomed unearthly tones while spectral swords reduced them to ghostly shreds.

The display was going to cost him, but he was not about to let her know that. Instead, he merely allowed his voice with its new harmonic, devilish undertones to ripple out from the center of the carnage. "So then...which road do you recommend to reach Mundus? I have a certain amount of business I need to conduct, and I'd like to accomplish it in a relatively short time..."

 

[Lucyfer]

‘Damn, how loud did I say that?’ Dante wondered with amusement as he noticed all the looks his way. He grew tense though, in spite of his amusement, and rolled his shoulders a bit to prepare. Not everyone was a fan of Sparda.

He wasn’t a fan of Sparda.

That cocky smile and amused glint remained in his eyes as she spoke. He had half-expected a drink in his face. He was used to ‘ladies’ getting angry with him and lashing out, at least, if Lady was anything like a standard lady. Probably not. He let his arm rest on the counter then and leaned on it as her name was offered. “Sandra,” he let it roll of his tongue, before shaking his head, as if disagreeing with the sound of it, as if something were off about it. “Not as fancy as I was expecting with your last name,” he said with a click of his tongue, and a cant of his head.

She’d asked for details. He was stalling. He wasn’t truly sure how to word it, even if it was simple, it was also personal, and a weakness. Dante would never say he was anything like his brother, Vergil, but he understood that one needed power to protect things, and he wanted to protect Vergil. He was afraid of revealing his existence in such an unprotected area.

He didn’t care about his own, but Vergil was another story altogether. Dante could handle himself. In truth, Vergil could handle himself, probably better than Dante, but Vergil was also an idiot who didn’t know when to quit.

“Don’t suppose we can just leave it as a family matter, can we?” Dante asked, his smile twisting a bit to what he thought was a charming look paired with that canted head, eyebrows lifted a bit to imply a sort of pleading, “This isn’t the best place to talk about family, especially not mine, you know, but family’s pretty important to me and I’m gonna find my way into Hell one way or another.”

With or without her. He wasn’t really asking for her to come along, but he wasn’t about to deny it, either. What kind of idiot would he be to deny a woman in leather jacket? Even if she was a half-demon, he wasn’t that kind of man. Hell hath no fury and all – he’d want that by his side, assuming she didn’t turn out to be an evil traitor in Mundus’s pocket, but he liked to hope that Lady did her research when she recommended the woman. “I’m sure you can also guess exactly how much I’d be willing to pay for that kind of help, so whatever you need, whatever debt, whatever favor – I’ll be your man.”

He wasn’t so sure luck would be on his side. He usually didn’t have it with women, but sob stories about family were usually useful. And a debt that could be whatever she wanted it to be? He was fairly certain that he’d sold himself good enough and his reasoning so that she’d agree and he wouldn’t have to say anymore in a crowded bar.

Or maybe he looked charming enough.

‘Or desperate.’

He tried to remove Lady’s voice from his head before he grimaced at it. He barely knew her and already she was starting to run his life. What had he gotten himself into? Though, if the desperate look worked for some women...maybe it would work for him. He just didn't want to be thought of that way. He preferred 'handsome devil' and 'competent'.

~***~

Deirdre couldn’t help but be amused by the tongue on the Son of Sparda. Creature, he called her, as if he was not a creature himself. Were they not all so? Well, if that was how he wanted things to be, he was going to learn quickly that he was not alongside someone who had ever knelt to threats or heeded any authority that had not earned it. She imagined he was quite the same – it would make matters difficult, but if he was just as selfish, then it could work out.

At least her skin was not half as thin as his. He was so easily riled, that he almost reminded her of those from Wrath. ‘What Choir was Sparda in?’ Not Pride. Deidre could safely say her own Choir hadn’t harbored that traitor. Envy was what she’d bet on, though she was biased against the Choir of Envy more than the others. “I am pleased to see you are at least reasonable, mutt,” Deirdre put the emphasis there on purpose, to remind Vergil.

He was half-creature, half-human. A mutt. Nothing. Sure, he was a pretty mutt, like so many others, but that was all he was. If a pretty face was all it ever took in Hell, he’d be outclassed by the Choir of Lust, anyway.

“Follow me. I’ll be showing the way, up until the point we split paths, then I’ll tell you the rest.” Telling him now would be foolish, he could run off with that information. Not that it would truly help him, he would hardly understand the directions or how to get to certain places.

It was quite a bit more than just “turn left at Limbo”, after all.

She did cast her gaze first towards the reforming horde, and lifted a palm, her Trigger form fading with a blast of white light that obliterated the creatures that only just arrived with their master’s summon, and cast a blinding glow over the area that would help to shield them as they had to move, hopefully keeping the actual heavy-hitters of Dis at bay, for now.

Form faded, her wings left, and her eyes regained their pupils and natural color, but she didn’t appear any worse for wear. Like Vergil, she was playing the game of appearances; power assumed was power held. The woman turned on one heel-clad foot and sprinted, as fast as her elemental affinity for light would suggest, but she was attentive enough to make sure that she wouldn’t be losing Vergil too soon. Her path was taking her back to the walls of Dis, and outside of them, quickly. It wouldn’t be as simple as that, of course – once she hit the wall surrounding the city, she’d wrap around it and go to the edge – and jump.

Hell physics were strange, and if Vergil hadn’t learned it yet, he certainly would, as reality and gravity seemed to warp, twisting it so the fall wasn’t truly straight down – more with a left bend, that allowed the Head of Pride to land gently upon the broken golden road of Plutus.

Her goal would indeed bring them towards Limbo – Mundus hadn’t been sealed far away from Earth, after all. Sparda had sealed him and run, apparently thinking there was no problem sealing him close to one of the exits to Earth. So, naturally, Deirdre intended to keep the path that way, and that meant going through Plutus, Gran Vermo, Pareia, and then, at last, Limbo.