One x One Humans Don't Cry [Flashbacks]

[Lucyfer]

IC Thread: Click

Devil May Cry: Re:Spite​

By nature, demons were evil.

By nature, humans were good.

Such was the propaganda that started to flow in Hell once the worlds beyond were locked to them by Sparda, and such was the propaganda that Vanitas ignored. If Pride had a sin beyond itself, it was its ability to ignore inferiors as nothing, and so the choir of Pride locked itself in its own world and ignored what was beyond it, allowing Vanitas to flourish as demons around them began to lose their minds in the enclosed spaces.

Such was the world that Eira grew up in. Her father was the illustrious Vanitas himself, no surname needed, for he was Pride itself, a man of devastating beauty, long burgundy hair and piercing golden eyes. He peacocked, and his powers were known far and wide, which had been enough to allow his home, so named after himself, to stay safe from the insane demons. Yet, he had taken his fall for a member of his own choir, Neve, an icy woman who had also melted for him.

Humans claimed that demons could choose to be good, as Sparda had done. They just needed to learn emotion…they needed to love. If such was the case, then Vanitas had become ‘human’ when he fell for Neve and started a family, protected it as best he could.

It was not to remain so.

“Vanitas, a pleasure. Things are looking wonderful here.”

The demon stood calmly before the other, fiery figure, his wife a step behind, clearly uncomfortable with the fiery aura coming off of the demon before them. This was over a thousand years since Sparda had closed up Hell, and indeed, most of Hell was in disrepair, but it wasn’t as bad as it was about to get. “Thank you,” Vanitas spoke calmly, many of the choir of Pride around, the air icy, tense.

He said nothing else. He had no reason to say anything else, and he let the silence grow, waiting, until the fiery demon before him laughed a bit, “Don’t you realize what you’re doing, Vanitas? Don’t you realize you’re giving up?”

Vanitas bristled, “I do not see what you mean. How is maintaining a home giving up?”

“Don’t you miss it?” It was as that question rose in the air that Eira finally walked into the crowd. Vanitas had told her to stay back, to enjoy the opera, but she was finally too paranoid to stay away. “When we could roam as we liked.”

“I roam as I like,” Vanitas never admitted to missing anything. He always had all that he wanted for. Wanting was beneath him. He was ever-satisfied, ever-proud. “If you are referring to Earth, or Heaven, I never had an interest in the inferior realms. If you are trying to recruit me for your mission to open up the pathways again, I am afraid you will find me most unwilling. I am content here.”

“Your emperor, Mundus—”

A bark of laughter erupted from Vanitas’s lips, and from many others in the choir of Pride. The fiery one shut up, but seemed to flare with anger at the sound of their laughter, until Vanitas calmed his own outburst, “My apologies, Berial, but you seem to have forgotten your history. I never kneeled to Mundus, nor did I ever accept his rule. He was just another petty king trying to rule Hell, Heaven, and Earth, and I’ve no time to humor such asinine things, just as I did not humor Sparda, nor any of the others who have tried to usurp power in Hell or anywhere else.”

There were more titters of laughter and amusement. Vanitas never kneeled. It was known as the unconquerable domain, and often left alone simply because Vanitas did not like to get involved in the affairs of others. Best to ignore it and not invite the trouble. That was what Mundus had done before.

Berial remained calm, but it was not the kind of calm that Vanitas mistook as sincere. Nor did Eira. Berial was about to explode.

“You misunderstand, Vanitas. Mundus knows you will not kneel, but your realm and your choir are required of you all the same. If you will not cede them to your proper ruler, then they will be taken from you.”

He didn’t allow a response from Vanitas. He simply exploded with fire, a burning purple flame that scalded and destroyed many of the Host that had come to greet Berial. They disintegrated, and even Eira was badly burned, but she didn’t melt. She knelt forward, surprised at the strength, and then, horrified.

Her mother was gone. Completely gone, and Vanitas himself was look at the place where she’d stood, apparently not concerned with his own injuries which were, admittedly, far less.

The very reason Eira stood was his blood in her veins; he was not a creature of ice like his wife, and his fury became tangible in the moment he turned his gaze back to Berial, seeing his choir obliterated, his wife gone, in an instant.

It was what Berial wanted, as a golden aura wrapped around Vanitas and he shed his humane appearance in a blur of light, form becoming more akin to a large, golden phoenix as he flew forward, burning with the light.

Demons rushed forward to get in his path, to protect Berial, and Eira grasped at the moisture in the air, grateful for all the fountains then, and solidified it, raining down icicles on the demons that tried to protect Berial before they could do any harm to her father. She decided to continue with that strategy as she saw the talons of her father’s demonically triggered form rake across Berial’s face. She decided to take care of the lessers so that none would get in her father’s path to destroying Berial. “PRIDE! COME OUT, VANITAS IS IN DANGER OF FALLING, COME OUT AND SHOW THEM WHY WE DO NOT KNEEL TO ANYONE!” Eira raised her voice high in the air, before a spray of icicles moved from her to impale others.

Her right hand was forming her blade of choice.

The cry was taken up by others of the choir, and Vanitas was soon full of violence, with Eira leading and organizing the forces as best she could while her father dealt with Berial, his golden light a constant motivator as the world around them broke in the battle that was soon raging beneath them as Berial took flight to join Vanitas in the air after he realized it was a better idea.

That was, until the golden glow faltered.

There was a crash. The ground splintered and shook and Eira even stumbled forward and down, hand scraping the ground as she pushed herself back to her feet and turned to see Berial with his hand through Vanitas’s chest, her father’s glow starting to encircle Berial.

Eira was frozen as she watched Berial pull his hand out, and with it, her father’s soul which began to encircle Berial as if it were his own, the Devil Arm, Vanitas, taking form as golden wings that manifested at Berial’s back, and extended down his arms to offer him those golden talons. “Huh. I guess Vanitas really did marry beneath himself.” His comment struck as he glanced back to the place where Neve had once been standing, no Devil Arm there.

Eira triggered, for the first time. She was taught restraint – but it broke with a shriek and the ice moved forward, icing over the ground around before her. Icicles pushed up from the ground, impaling many demons in their path as it started to cling to her, changing her shape painfully from that of something with sense, to something far more primal.

And yet…not.

While her father had been monstrous, she retained some of her mother’s grace, some of that humanoid aspect. Her father was seen in the icy wings that would not at all be useful with flight, but they were good weapons as she found in charging forward and spinning, watching them cut through demons, sharp as swords.

She was barely conscious of what she was doing, barely able to exert control, as she let the pulsing rage drive her, making her way to Berial who stood waiting with her father’s soul wrapped around him.

She was able to pull back at her sanity when the thought struck her of how her father had rushed heedless towards Berial, and how Berial had stood waiting.

Eira reeled back and with a single flap of the wings, sent several shards of ice at Berial’s place. He flew up out of the way, and Eira threw more of those icicles after him, covered the ground in ice, let it all flow from her until the exhaustion and the pain of the Trigger overwhelmed her and she fell forward, the icy form fading, dripping down from her. Soaked hair fell forward, but it couldn’t mask the tears that fell once the primal form was lost. Fingers gripped the ground, no longer claws. Her eyes lost the golden glow, returning to the calm silver.

And then, pain.

Fire engulfed her, and she fought to even stay on her knees as it burned, died, and Berial was before her, on the ground once more. “Well, you’re tougher than your mother,” he admitted, letting her rise, “But you’re no Vanitas. Give it up girl. Cede to me, and Mundus may even have a place for you in the future.”

Eira’s vision was blurry as she tried to focus her eyes on Berial. She swayed on her feet, unable to truly stay grounded.

Everything was gone.

It would be so easy to just nod. To just surrender. What purpose did she have? That was the damnation of so many other demons – losing sight, losing purpose. It was why Hell was decaying. Many gave up their purpose and their minds to Mundus. “No.” The word felt as if it came from a distance, and she stepped backwards. “No,” echoed again with a maddened little laugh. “No, no, no!” Perhaps she was losing her mind, but she wasn’t losing Vanitas.

“Fi—!” The shock on Berial’s face would have been a fitting last image as Eira forced the Trigger with the last of her strength, and thought only on one thing: spite.

‘You will never have Vanitas.’

The world froze.

The demons froze.

Eira froze, a hard and a fast freeze that Berial only avoided by taking flight, to then look down on the frozen world, on the frozen army of the Choir Pride. “YOU FUCKING BITCH!” He screamed and launched down fire at it, but to no avail. It seemed to repel the fire, shooting it back up at him. He swerved in the air to avoid it, and a string of curses followed after him before he eventually took his leave of the icy ruins.

 

[Lucyfer]

Devil May Cry: Re:Envision​

Ice melts.

It is a rule; ice always melts. Eira held it up for many years, her loss of strength slowed, as well, but all good things came to an end. Her strength waned after so many years of not eating, of not resting, and the ice began to melt. It was slow, and Eira did not even realize it for a while, but once she did – it happened all so suddenly.

Thought returned. Pain returned.

And then the ice around her shattered and she spilled onto the icy ground beneath her. The rest of the ice suddenly lost its solidity and broke, shards falling, melting, and releasing the many demons that had been held. Most, however, were long dead – only a few of her own choir, those attuned to ice, had survived, but they were hardly in good shape.

Eira did not try to get up at first. She stayed as she was, trying to regroup her thoughts and recall what had happened to make her a frozen statue in the first place. The burns were able to remind her soon enough, and she lowered her head to the ground, recalling the way the world had been ripped from her by Berial with a crushing anguish. She did not cry then, no, but she let the pain wrack her as she took in deep breaths of air. Then, slowly, she pulled herself back to her feet.

‘Food.’ It was the all-consuming thought, the all-consuming feeling, and her eyes settled on the many dead and dying demons around her.

Souls were good food. It was the major thing she preferred to subsist on, but it wasn’t exactly smiled upon when Hell was…well…seeing better days. Right then, she didn’t care – need overtook her, and she found strength enough to sprint to the nearest body, and she lifted the dying being into her arms. The dead had already given up their souls, but the dying had not yet done so, and she placed her lips to its, offering it the last kiss.

She was always more her mother’s child in these ways – the icy woman stole souls with a kiss, and so, too, did Eira. She took it in as the last breath the creature would ever give, an icy exhale that rejuvenated her, but also increased her need and hunger, and she went to the next, and the next, taking back her strength in pieces of souls, last embraces and stolen kisses.

Her father had been a ridiculously trusting man to ever kiss her mother. Or just that arrogant.

The thought almost broke her again as she recalled her own father’s soul, taken and used. She suddenly rose back to her feet, expecting to see Berial there…but he was gone. ‘Fine. Fine! I’ll come for you then!’ Eira cleaned up the mess of broken bodies and souls, and began to issue commands to the living of her choir, before she left to see what had happened in the time gone by, going to the labyrinth her father once forbade her from crossing without him.

Once, she’d known it.

As she started to go through it, she realized how much had changed as the paths no longer existed as the same, the portals and the reflections took her onto new paths, and it was littered with demons with no more ability to reason or communicate, lost and gone mad in the labyrinth. Eira dealt with them as they crossed her path, and eventually, she found the old station that allowed people passage between areas.

It had always been a place to be feared, but Eira stepped right into it and looked for the signs that pointed towards Earth.

To where Mundus was sealed.

It was not a journey she ended up going alone. Partially because the Train – who’s name few remembered – drove her off the tracks and into the City of Dis, where she would meet Ira of the Wrath Choir, and then, the rest, who would come together to try and escape Hell and drag Sparda back to atone for his crimes and kill Mundus – and then kill him, of course.

Few survived, the journey itself difficult the closer they got to Mundus’s sanctuary, but it ended up full of traitors on the way, as well, but they did make it. They did break the seals, only to find themselves before a portal that they only needed to look at to know they couldn’t pass through it. It was a veil in a church, or that’s how it appeared on their side, and the curtain danced in the air, separating them from the sanctuary on Earth. They could see across, but the energy radiating from it told them they couldn’t pass.

Even so, Ira stuck her hand through it, only to pull it back, screaming and recoiling as she held it to herself. They were all, already, weakened from breaking the seals and getting there.

Eira stepped to cover her mouth and pull her tight against her, to silence her, to stop her moving and possibly disrupting more. “Shut up, shut up – we know where it is, we’ll try to figure out how to break Sparda’s spell!” Asmodae hissed lowly, his form shifted to seem taller, the once-blonde hair becoming black as he looked to Ira.

“Told you this was a stupid idea. I told you, but none of you listened to me!” Athan was saying, and was ignored as the sanctuary around them trembled.

“Time to go.” Asmodae said, but as Eira started to let Ira go, Athan acted in a way none expected.

Athan’s form Triggered, and before them stood a creature of glass and broken reflections, tinted with a green aura. Ira was held by Eira, unable to move fast enough as suddenly Athan thrust his hand forward and through her chest, through Eira’s side. Eira let go and reeled back, as the glass splintered out and began to shred Ira before their eyes, the woman’s soul mixing with the reflections.

In them, the others saw the original head of Envy reflected in the glass, now a Devil Arm, and they realized they had been deceived…Athan was not Athan, but another of the Choir of Envy who rose up and usurped Athan. A mere reflection, a mimicry, but one good enough, who took the form of Ira before their very eyes. “Sorry,” her voice spoke to them, “Mundus promised me a place in his Kingdom if I took down the rebelling Heads of each Choir.”

“You slimy son of a—”

The air was heating up, and Asmodae cut himself off as Eira launched forward, ice and fury surrounding her in an instant. She didn’t hit ‘Athan’, a golden fireball engulfed her before and her scream pierced the air. Asmodae saw where it came from, Berial had come out to play.

“Thank you for breaking all those annoying seals for me, Eira.” The golden one landed near ‘Athan’, as the others pulled back, defensive stances. “Mundus has been wanting to see if we can get the Angelos out through this portal, but we haven’t been able to test it.”

“Angelos…?”

“Humans who were corrupted when they ended up trapped in Hell. Many came to Mundus.”

Asmodae grabbed Eira’s arm and pulled her back, but more than that, he started pulling at her energy to weaken her, purposefully. She didn’t realize it at first, and stepped back with him once she was on her feet again. “If we can get them through, we may unlock the way on the other side. Or find a means of doing so…even if it means dragging Sparda back and getting him to do undo all of this. Isn’t that what you were looking to do?” Berial extended a hand in their direction. “You can join us still. It isn’t too late.”

Plutus spat at the offered hand.

Berial didn’t seem surprised and closed it. “Very well then. You’ll all die here.” He gestured for the mimic to go ahead and try – the mimic was meant to become a twisted and powerful weapon of gathered demon souls, so it should have the pleasure of holding the power of so many who still were not enough for Mundus.

“Time to go!” Asmodae said, and as Eira tried to pull forward and escape his grasp to fight, she found she lacked the strength to do so. Plutus snapped his fingers and portals opened up all around them. Berial looked momentarily bewildered as masses of demons spilled out into the sanctuary, but the others didn’t even give it another look as they quickly took the nearest portal and found themselves in Invidia.

Asmodae let Eira go then, and she wheeled on him, eyes alight with fury as she understood what he’d done. “There was no point to fighting, Eira.” Plutus nodded his head solemnly. “Not until we know how to break that portal.”

“No,” Plutus denied. “There is no way…Sparda knew what he was doing. Let them go at it. Let them break it all. We can escape then, to Earth.”

“With Mundus!” Eira snapped, “is that what you want to do? Just run and hide from Mundus through all realms?”

“What else?” Plutus shot back, and Eira opened her mouth to argue, but Asmodae added on.

“It’s the…safest option. Plutus is right. Let’s have them weaken themselves against Sparda’s magic. We’ll get out when they do.”

Eira closed her mouth. She glared at them in silence for several long seconds, before she turned away. “Eira! Where are you going?”

“It does not matter.” She wanted Ira then. Ira would have stood by her, the rest were cowards. “I will find a way out, I will drag Sparda back to Hell, and I will succeed in seeing Hell restored.” Lofty words. The ideals would die over time, a certain jadedness taking over as more and more demons fell to Mundus, betrayed her, or otherwise gave up. Eira clung to at least the goal of getting out before Mundus, of finding a way and sealing Hell behind her.

She stopped caring for Hell.

Slowly, but surely, she stopped caring for much – but clung to the last shreds of her identity, the last things she cared about.

 

[Lucyfer]

Devil May Cry: Re:Armed​

Sparda had a home in Hell, once. Needless to say, it had been torn through countless times by demons seeking answers, revenge, or escape. New rumors reached Hell through the centuries, and Eira found her way back to that town of Sparda had grown up in. It was, obviously, the place in most disrepair in all of Hell, and Eira walked through it, ignoring the majority there unless they were foolish enough to cross her path. ‘There was a breach in Fortuna.’ The rumors went. ‘There was a breach in Fortuna, and there are sons of Sparda, but Sparda is dead.’

Fortuna was on Earth, and Eira knew there could not have been a true breach. Fortuna was the largest Hell Gate, from rumor. ‘Stull. Fortuna.’ Her mind knew so many Hell Gates now, and she’d investigated so many in her wanderings, but none showed even a crack.

Only the one left near Mundus, and that required a human. ‘Because Sparda used his blood to seal them, and the blood of a mortal priestess, but he wouldn’t abandon humanity to Hell if they were on the wrong side.’ That was the story she’d told herself, that was the story Hell told itself, over and over again, as the stories of Sparda and what had happened became twisted over the years.

‘Did Mundus truly rule hell?’ Eira wondered, often, as she considered her father’s words of how Vanitas never knelt, and yet, how Mundus had ruled and Sparda saw his injustice. Hell had never seemed united in accepting anyone as a leader, but then, she was young – she had no one to truly ask, to learn of the history. Most of those powerful demons like herself had been sealed by Sparda, or were killed by Mundus. The original Seven Sins were sealed in the Temen-ni-gru, from rumor, which meant that Vanitas had not been the true head…or Sparda had sealed someone else in his place.

Their names were taken from them. Their powers were sealed with their names, so it was possible that with that, history was taken from those in Hell to forget those sins, too. It had taken a while to even learn what Sparda had done, but Eira was relentless.

Unlike her so-called allies.

“Plutus.”

She stepped up to the gray-skinned man as he stood in the ruins, surrounded by others of the Greedy host. He turned to her, and she held out her hand, “Give it to me.”

His face fell into a comical idea of what confusion would look like. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If I have to ask again, I’m killing you.”

Plutus didn’t deny it again. He narrowed his eyes and gestured out at the many, many demons around him, all glittering with gold or jewels, all well-paid. “I believe you are forgetting you are outnumbered.” He let his hand fall back to his side, “So why don’t you give me a reason not to kill you and drag your soul to Mundus?”

“You can’t.” Simple answer. Cocky answer, he thought at first, before he realized exactly how cold the air had become, and how dry. His exhale was frozen, and as he opened his mouth to order her death, he watched as that icy air surrounded her, and then spread out from her feet in a circle, icicles rising up to impale the many creatures that were within her radius. Plutus had to dodge backwards to avoid being struck himself, and then dodge again as Eira followed him and tried to cut him in twain with the icy greatsword.

She danced across the ice as if she was on air, gliding across it faster than Plutus could move, but the man quickly grasped at his reserves of strength after the surprise and started throwing obstacles in the form of precious metals he drew up from beneath them, in the forms of gems and crystals full of magic that quickly rained down hell on Eira after he lifted them high in the air to be more difficult to hit.

Her ice had difficulty cutting through the earth, the metal, the gems. Yet, she was relentless in her pursuit, stepping around the obstacles, and keeping her focus wholly on him, and any demon who ventured too close tended to get sliced through with ice.

It would not be enough for Plutus in the end. Though Eira took her hits, she was able to get to Plutus and freeze him to the spot before his allies could rush the icy field and save him. Eira thrust the greatsword through his chest and watched as the soul started to form. She let the greatsword fade, and reached out to the brassy soul with her then-empty hand and let the Devil Arm start to form in her grasp.

“What a pity I have no need of your strength, Plutus.”

She was, perhaps, just spiteful.

As the beautifully ornate weapon started to appear, she closed her fist around it and let the ice build upon it. The soul itself seemed to squirm, and if it could have screamed, no doubt it would have. Eira watched pitilessly as it tried to escape and deform itself, but she just held tighter, until its struggles ceased and there was nothing left of it, not a single crystal, not a single glimpse of the aura.

She opened her hand and let the melted ice slide from her palm, glancing back at the demons that thought to come to Plutus’s rescue.

The horror of watching a soul being destroyed, rather than kept and used, or even eaten, sent them all running once her eyes met them. They feared the same.

Eira only smirked. ‘Good.’ She wanted Mundus to hear. She wanted Hell to hear that Vanitas was still alive and well, and her old allies to know that she didn’t need them. If they turned to Mundus, perhaps they’d reconsider…though last she knew, it was only Plutus who was bribed to Mundus’s side, that didn’t mean the rest were still against Mundus.

There was much she didn’t hear when she was focused, and she only knew about Plutus because he happened to get in the way.

She knelt down and picked from his corpse the only thing she had wanted: a spell book with the Sword of Sparda upon the cover. It was not written by Sparda, no, but it came from Earth and spoke of what Sparda may have done, and ingredients.

‘Sons of Sparda….’ It was near the end, but it was there, as the book did bemoan the death of Sparda, but indicated his powerful blood lived on in two others: Dante Sparda and Vergil Sparda. The latter was becoming more known in Hell’s whispers.

Little did Eira know that a year from then, the reasons why would become obvious as Temen-ni-gru would rise, and Vergil would descend into Hell himself, seeking power and to take down Mundus.

 

[Lucyfer]

Devil May Cry: Re:Group​

“What in the Heavens—” Asmodae started to say, only to have his wrist grabbed and to be pulled aside by the demon he was traveling with for safety. They both pressed themselves against a building as icicles came shooting through the alley, breaking against a wall further down. “We’re nowhere near Vanitas!”

“Styx also has some attuned to ice,” the darker woman said, thinking of Cerberus and others in that choir. Vanitas were most known for being closer to ice – they were all cold, proud, bitches. Just like she and Asmodae were hot-blooded and passionate. “Either way…we should investigate.”

“Are you out of your damn mind? Vanitas fell to Mundus, and Styx is locked up – that leaves Vanitas, and that means, enemies.” Asmodae stated.

“Didn’t you hear Vanitas was frozen solid?”

“Yeah!”

“Well then – do you think Mundus’s Berial did that?”

Silence.

“Exactly. I’m going.” The woman moved around the building, but crept close to the wall, hearing the fight raging out on a main street in the City of Dis. It sounded like it was starting to die down, and when she got to the edge of the alley, she peered around it, only to nearly take an icicle to her skull. ‘That was intentional.’ Fury washed over her and she took a breath, then stepped out, covered in the red aura, her eyes literally glowing as she channeled the energy and threw her hand down to the ground.

It broke open, the energy running across the road and splintering it, opening it, right to where the icy bitch was standing, dealing with a group of demons that the Woman of Wrath knew to be servants of Mundus. Most mindless ones were.

Ice fell over the ground, though, and the woman didn’t fall through. Plenty of the demons did, but the icy one turned to her as Ira let her Trigger wash slowly over her, black scales starting to cover her flesh, a black tail whipping forward and shattering the ice then as black wings sprouted.

Dragons were uncommon anymore in Hell, as on Earth.

The icy one removed herself from the cracked ground and the ice. “I don’t have time for this,” Ira heard her mutter, and she briefly reconsidered engaging – the woman was fighting Mundus’s creatures – but then a barrage of icicles flew towards her and she had to fly up to avoid it.

Eira, simply, wasn’t asking questions. Anyone who came across her path she assumed was an enemy. When she saw the glowing eyes of the demon, she assumed that the demon was trying to sneak up on her. So, when it started to shift and turn into a draconic form, she just prepared for more problems in the City of Dis. ‘And here I thought Ira would be able to hold it.’ Eira didn’t know Ira – but she heard of her, and heard that Dis was still an outpost for those against Mundus. Ira had been a friend of her father, two Heads of the Choirs, Wrath and Pride, like Luxuria and many others, though she was learning.

Luxuria had fallen, and many others. She only heard that Athan and Ira were still around and kicking, or hadn’t surrendered to Mundus, at least.

Thankfully, the demons of Mundus were cleared up as a the dragon unleashed its breath, and Eira threw up both hands and shot her own beam at it, several small shards of ice brought together to help keep the beam of hot energy from her, moving fast, until the dragon broke away and whipped around, letting out another quick breath at Eira’s side. Eira dodged, and was met with the dragon’s tail and flung into a building. She hit it, hard, but started to get up all the same. She saw the dragon open its mouth again, only to pause just as Eira stood.

The moment’s confusion was gone a second later, as she felt a hand take her arm, and pull her, turn her, towards another. Before Eira could shove an icicle through their chest, her hair was tangled up and a fist pressed into the back of her skull. Her lips were captured by another, and she could feel her energy leaving her instantly.

Were she anything else, she may not have known how to react and would have pointlessly squirmed. Instead, she reached her hand up and met the embrace, but pulled back on the idiot’s soul instead, ceasing his ability to draw at her energy. He squirmed then, and when he tried to shove her away, she planted one hand on his chest and let him, letting the kiss break with an icicle through his chest before she turned back to the dragon.

“Asmodae?” The dragon asked, the voice rumbling and shaking the buildings a bit.

“Ow, fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck, she’s not a succubus, that shouldn’t have been…fuck.”

“My mother was a yuki-onna, and I am Vanitas.”

The dragon snorted. “Girl, you are not Vanitas. I knew him. He’s dead, I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” saw Berial using his strength. “Nice try, thou…wait.” The Triggered form faded, and the woman manifested, scales retreating, but eyes still glowing red. It clicked. “You’re his daughter?”

She gave a simple nod.

“By hell, why did you attack me!”

“You were sneaking up on me, and he just tried to take my strength.” She pointed accusingly at the one who was finally sitting up, icicle melted, water and blood dripping down his front. “Who are you?”

“Ira, Head of Wrath Choir, the Dragon.” Her lips curved dangerously, “You’re fortunate.” Eira arched a single eyebrow, the implication not lost on Ira – that she considered the other woman to be the fortunate one. “That’s Asmodae Luxuria, of the Lust Choir, and yeah, energy vampire. He took over when the first Luxuria was seduced away by Mundus. They’re not related. He tried that same bullshit trick on me, too.”

“What did you do?”

“Roasted him.”

Eira cast a look to Asmodae as he rose, brushing himself off. She’d ask how he was alive, or why he was alive, but the why was obvious – he was opposed to Mundus, from the sounds of it. Eira looked back to Ira. “Are you going to go after Mundus?”

“After we find Sparda, yeah.”

Eira offered her hand, “Eira Vanitas, Head of the Pride Choir. Allow me to join you.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Devil May Cry: Re:Try​

‘Mom.’

It was a constant thought of Dante’s as the thirteen year old boy stood outside a church that doubled as an orphanage. He had been hesitating for an hour, thinking of going in, and then not doing it. ‘Mom would want me to go to school. To get an education. To….’ Be normal. To grow up educated and cultured so he could be like his father, a stoic rebel, or something like that. He remembered how she used to speak of him, lovingly recalling all he’d been.

He died.

Eva died.

‘Vergil.’ Everything told him that Vergil died when they were separated at last by demons seeking revenge. He’d searched everywhere, screamed until he was hoarse. Sure, he and Vergil didn’t get along, but that was his brother!

He hadn’t been strong enough to save him, though. He hadn’t been smart enough to find him. Now, here he stood, before a church, debating everything. ‘If you stay in one place they’re just gonna track you down again and kill you.’ No, he was fairly certain the demon world thought he was dead, too. He could blend in. Dye his hair brown – people really thought his hair was unnatural, or that he was going through some punk phase.

His stomach growled.

‘Daaaamn it.’ He needed food. He couldn’t keep subsisting on what he could gather on the streets or steal.

He finally walked up the steps and pushed the doors of the church open, eyes flickering about before they fell upon a nun. He hurried his steps towards her and reached out to catch her arm before she could step into another room. “Miss! Sister! Ah….” She turned to him, looking a bit confused. Of course, she didn’t recognize him as one of those children they looked after, and at thirteen, Dante Sparda was in that lovely awkward phase of starting to grow, but not being quite there yet. “I….”

‘I lost everything and I need a home because my mom would want me to go back to school but I’m a half-demon and you all are fucked if you take me in. Also I’m really hungry.’

He bit down on his words as the nun stared at him, patience in her blue eyes, “Yes, child?”

Dante stepped back, letting her go, “I, uh, I was hoping – wondering – about after school classes here. My mom can’t, um, get me right after and she’d like for me to be at a safe place until she can come get me.”

Her gaze seemed to soften, as if that were possible, and Dante felt guilt sink into the pit of his stomach as he acknowledged he’d totally lied to the nun. Still, the nun didn’t turn him away, “Every weekday, after 3pm, we open our doors for such children as yourself and we assist with homework.”

“And if I don’t have homework but want to, um, study?”

“We have study aids and worksheets and other activities,” the nun answered, keeping that patient smile on her lips and those soft eyes. Were Dante smarter, he would have realized the nun saw through him completely and knew what he wanted. “We also serve dinner at 5 for all, and close our doors at 6. Will your mother be able to get you then?”

“Y-yeah, I can go—she can get me then.”

“Then we’ll look forward to seeing you on Monday…,” she trailed off, expecting a name.

“Dante! Dante, uh, Lafleur,” he was pretty sure that was his mother’s maiden name. Whatever, it was better than using Sparda since he already screwed up and gave them the name Dante.

“Dante Lafleur…we’ll look forward to seeing you,” she said again, and Dante hurried out then, almost skipped down the steps as he realized he’d taken a positive step forward. At the bottom, he turned back to the building and looked up at it almost reverently.

‘I’ll do better. I promise, mom. I promise. I’ll continue what you hoped for me…and when I’m old enough, I’ll make sure to finish what dad started.’ A mess to clean up, though he was yet to realize exactly how large of a mess, or how bitter he’d become towards it down the line.

 

[Lucyfer]

Devil May Cry: Re:Start​

Dante enjoyed three years of peace, going and learning with the nuns at the church. Three years before the demons caught up with him, and realized he was basically living in the church. Fortunately, while Dante had been honing his mind here, he’d also started to hone his body. The father of the church practiced martial arts as a way to mediate, and Dante began to learn from him, eventually entrusting him with the knowledge of his own weapon, Rebellion.

It seemed that was the error.

Dante sensed them, though he couldn’t pinpoint how, or even why. He woke with a jolt, a bad feeling, and he turned towards the window in the attic. He moved quickly to it, and saw the dark figures crawling up the steps of the church, though they seemed to hesitate. ‘Holy. Right.’ It didn’t bother Dante as much, but that was thanks to his human nature. He knew it was there, but unlike those demons, he could use it. “Damn it,” he cursed, examining the round window that he knew for a fact didn’t open. “Well…I guess I’ll pay for it.”

Dante stepped backwards several steps. He wasn’t letting another home be destroyed. He rushed forward, and broke through the round window. The glass sprayed out and fell upon the demons, and with it, Dante, who impaled a demon on his fall before whipping the blade out of its body and lashing out at the nearest one to him.

They fell upon him, claws and teeth, feral hounds more than anything. A few skeletal ones were amongst them, scythes in hand to try and harm him, but Dante took the abuse and returned it tenfold.

They kept coming. Dante was only sixteen. The masses seemed endless, and they started to get by him. “HEY! COME ON.” Dante hit his own chest, turning on some of those rushing up the stairs, “I’M WHAT YOU WANT!” They ignored him. Apparently, he was not what they wanted. He tried to charge after them, but some hellhound jumped on his back and threw him to the ground, biting at his neck and the back of his head.

Dante was able to throw it off and get back into the fight, but by the time he’d at last cleared up what was going on outside, it was too late.

He ran in to find it empty. Quiet. “No….”

His steps were hastened then, and curiously, he found no blood. Damage, yes, but no blood. Not until he got to one of the offices, where he found the father bleeding out, and some demon bodies decaying from where they’d been harmed by holy water.

Dante rushed to his side and knelt by him, watching as the father still cracked a smile at him. “What did they want you for?” Dante had to ask.

The father shook his head, “Not…me. Spellbook. Everyone…got out…not the first…time. Just…the worst time.” He winced, turned his head slightly towards the desk he was leaning against. “Sparda….”

“What about Sparda?” The bitterness couldn’t be hidden. The anger. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

A sigh parted the father’s lips. He wanted to answer – to tell Dante the spellbook was tied to Sparda, and that there were still demons, minor demons like these, slipping out on the bidding of higher demons to try and break out. He knew Dante would understand. He had figured out who Dante was by the sword, Rebellion. However, he was unable to answer Dante. The life drained with the sigh, and he slumped against the desk, open mouth, open eyes.

Dante waited what felt like hours to him, but was no more than a few seconds. “Father? Hey…hey come on, that’s nothing, just a flesh wound!” Of course it would have been a flesh wound to Dante, but to the father, it was fatal. No response. “Come on – what about Sparda?” He reached out, to shake him, but it did nothing. No jolt of life. No last minute words. Dante grit his teeth, his jaw clenched, and a scream escaped him. He had to draw his hand back before he crushed the broken body further.

He used the desk to pull himself back up and shouted, “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” He rounded on no one. On nothing. “YOU RUINED EVERYTHING, YOU KNOW THAT, SPARDA?” He had no father. The closest thing he’d had to a father was now dead. His brother was dead. His mother. Because the demons were stalking Sparda’s legacy, and destroying everything in their path.

Sparda should have killed them all. ‘I will, then.’ He shouldered his bloody sword, knowing he had to get out of there before the cops started showing up. ‘I’ll finish it. I’ll get rid of all the demons.’ He left the church.

He left the city.

That same year, he’d start working with a group of mercenaries.

In a year, he’d have a fallout with them, but enough money and know-how to start his own business – or at least, enough money to buy a place to start his own business on. He was just in the process of naming it when Vergil Sparda resurfaced…and Dante realized he couldn’t save him, either.

 

[Lucyfer]

Devil May Cry: Re:Build​

‘No one can have this, Dante.’

Dante could only think of the last moments with Vergil as he sat outside the ruins of his shop, wrapping the hand Vergil cut with white bandages. It was healed. It healed a while ago, honestly, but he didn’t want to forget just yet. Vergil hadn’t grabbed the Force Edge when he said that. He’d grabbed the amulet that Eva gave them both – his half.

‘Devils never cry.’

Words he’d spoken to Lady, before she suggested that it could be otherwise. The phrase played in his head. He hadn’t been able to think much, to feel much, immediately after the fall of Temen-ni-gru. He and Lady had to clean up the remaining demons on this side of the gate, and he’d nearly collapsed in exhaustion afterwards.

It was only that day he finally called the insurance company. It was only that day he went back to it all, and started to think. Vergil had warned him first about the way closing, even though Dante had ignored him at first, thinking Vergil was just trying to keep the Force Edge. He wanted to finish it – he wanted to make sure Vergil didn’t become a monster. ‘Even if that meant….’

The realization that he could have killed his brother – that he meant to kill his brother – still hurt. Yet, Vergil hadn’t killed him. Not at the top of Temen-ni-gru, and not there. Vergil had jumped into the Netherworld, into Hell, and saved Dante in the process by making sure he wouldn’t stay in Hell with him. ‘Idiot. You pompous ass, you think you can survive there where everyone hates you? Us?’ Just for being Sparda’s children. Sparda wasn’t even around any longer and yet they were still wanted dead.

His phone rang, and he picked it up, “Dante, business is closed for now, but—”

“This is Lady,” her voice answered, “Don’t you check caller ID?”

“Apparently not. What do you need, Lady?”

“I wanted to let you know I heard back from the insurance company, they said it’s probably going to take a month or two to get your shop repaired, so I was thinking—”

It was Dante’s turn to interrupt her, “A month or two, huh?” He let out a low whistle, “I think I’ll get to researching.”

“You, researching?”

“Hey, we know we’re not done with Hell, and there’s still plenty of demons on Earth thanks to Vergil and Arkham,” he said, “Might be a good idea to do some more research on what we’re dealing with, and where they might start coming from. Now that there’s been a breach…who knows?” Dante shrugged her shoulders, though he knew that she couldn’t see. He bit down on the clothe bandage and tore it, before tying it off while balancing the phone on his shoulder, “What else am I gonna do?”

“I was thinking we could take on some jobs anyway, and work out of the hotel room they’re going to be letting you use until things are repaired,” since it doubled as Dante’s home. “You’re going to run out of money for food, and we need to start paying for advertisements. With all those demons released, people are really going to need our assistance.”

“Naaah,” Dante denied, already liking this idea. He shoved the pack of bandages into an inner coat pocket, “Besides, I need to research a name for the business anyway – how are people going to call us if they don’t know our name, right?”

“Dante—”

“I’ll get back to you when I have a name and then maybe we can start doing some jobs, advertise ourselves.”

He heard her sigh, “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t take me too long. I’ll talk to you later, Lady,” and with that, he hung up, slipped his phone back into his pocket, and started walking.

‘First things first…I suppose I should get my brother back on the right side of things before we start closing up every possible exit from Hell.’ Which was certainly in the goals he and Lady had outlined. Every breach. They both knew there were smaller ones in the world, demons were never absent from the world, but after this…Hell was definitely going to be on their heels.

Mundus was going to be on their heels. ‘Because Sparda can’t ever do anything right.’ Dante took his phone back out, realizing he should call his insurance company and get this hotel thing set up so he had a base to work from while he was out seeking answers on how to get back into Hell…preferably without disturbing things. No more Temen-ni-grus.

He needed to apologize to Vergil.

He needed to thank Vergil.

And most of all – he needed Vergil to replace the pizza he ruined. “Hey, this is Dante Sparda, I’m calling about that hotel…uh huh…yeah, I was born on….”

 

[Lucyfer]

Devil May Cry: Re:Run​

Inhale.

Exhale.

Eira had never run so fast in her entire life, but Hell was quite literally at her back and she wasn’t about to stop even if she was fairly certain she was about to fall to pieces. Every breath hurt. Her heart was going to break through her chest. Her blood was running through her so fast, it was going to melt her.

‘Faster. Faster!’ The gates of Dis weren’t far now, and though Ira was dead, Dis was still a difficult place to navigate. Eira knew it like the back of her hand though, and she wove through the city before the palace that had once been Ira’s, hearing the shrieks and the laughter behind her, but most of all, hearing one voice that stood out from the rest.

“Come out, Vanitas! Your father wouldn’t have run.”

Berial.

Her blood burned more with desire to turn and murder him, but she didn’t. It was what he wanted. He had the advantage, the numbers, the strength – she had learned enough to realize that. Learned enough to know that she no longer held the same desires as her father. She’d always want revenge, but that was not the important goal any longer, even as she could hear the flap of his wings, and occasionally saw his stolen, golden glow in the sky above. So far, she had been able to avoid him.

Him, and the Mimic, that was in the sky in the form of the black dragon that was keeping the City of Dis from lashing out at Mundus’s forces.

‘There.’

Eira could see the gates, but before them, she also saw more of Mundus’s guards perched, waiting. She considered slowing, waiting, hiding, but chose otherwise. If she could just get into the labyrinth hell before the palace, she’d be good…. ‘Just a little more.’

She iced her path, and the guards came alive with realization, shifting their stances, but Eira intended to slide by them – and she did, until a rain of red spears fell from the sky above. Eira threw up a shield, but it stopped her progress completely as she put it in her own path to keep her from moving forward into the rain of sharp, red spears. They struck the ice, but didn’t get quite through it.

That wasn’t what worried Eira.

What worried her was the sight of three, glowing orbs in the sky that she knew to be Mundus’s eyes. ‘How did your reach spread this far?’ Her own horror was evident on her face, before lightning started to dance around those orbs. She threw down her ice and sent it out all around her, and finished the last steps into the roofed labyrinth and turned left. It was the wrong way, but her goal wasn’t to get to the center – it was to hide.

She didn’t last much longer running.

Mundus and his foes no doubt took the paths they knew to be right, and Eira eventually let herself collapse somewhere down the wrong way, moving a statue and curling behind its pedestal to sleep, all the while trying not to think about what it meant for Mundus to reach so far out as to have his own eyes in the realm of Dis.

 

[KayWyn]

Devil May Cry: Degrade
​

It had been so long.

So, so long.

It was like he was cursed. Cursed to remember every one of their faces. Cursed to remember every conversation, every "How are you?" ever spoken to him. It used to give him some hope, to be able to remind him of what once was - what could be again. But everything had changed so much.

It was impossible now.

He found himself stalking the halls, just walking. He wasn't quite sure where he was. Well, that was a lie - if he stopped to think about it, then he'd be able to tell. But no, he didn't want to. He didn't want to think. He just wanted to keep moving.

There is an answer to every question.

Ever since that day, he'd been looking. Searching. He stopped existing to his people. They knew him as a ghost now - a fable who sought to tear down everything in his wake. To learn through destruction. They didn't truly believe his existence, seeing it as some clever story to scare away anyone who bought into it.

Few knew his name anymore. He was nobody important before, just a librarian and scholar who spent his time writing and reading. Now? Now he was a monster, even among his own. That's how he came to be seen - rather, not seen. He made sure of that. He didn't want his face in anyone's sight, he didn't want his name on anyone's tongue, he didn't his words in anyone's mind.

There is an answer to every question.

Just keep searching. Seeking. Looking. Ruins of the past, something he cared for once, became nothing but piles of anguish. The remnants of his world, now shattered and in pieces. The echoes of lives from before, now a violent memory that tore at him with such ferocity that could never be matched.

There is an answer to every question.

He could still hear them. He could still see them. Their faces were forever burned in his mind, and, no matter how hard, he couldn't forget. He wanted to forget. Why wasn't he allowed to leave the past behind?

There is an answer to every question.

He'd do it for Her. She gave it all up for some long shot dream - some desperation that made it seem like that absurd little plot would work. She wanted things like they were before. She quoted his words right back to him.

"There is an answer to every question."

The pain of that day still followed him. The regret. Why didn't he stop Her? Why didn't he stop it? He knew it wouldn't work. He knew they were wrong. But She begged him not to interfere.

And he just let Her walk away, arms embracing the end.

It changed nothing.

Why did he let Her do it?

There is an answer to every question.

She wanted things like they were.

There is an answer to every question.

She wanted it to where the war never happened.

There is an answer to every question.

It was Her last wish.

There is an answer to every question.

He would find a way to change everything back.

There is an answer to every question.

So why couldn't he find it?!


It was the soft scuffling of feet that brought him out of his years-long trance. A familiar sound. One that he hadn't heard in years.

His lips quivered and his eyes stung at the memory. She was always a shy one, even though She had the gall to sneak into his library. His head turned and saw nothing. Of course. Hiding. He leaned out and saw two sets of eyes peering at him wide and in fear. They were...

"Human."

He hadn't used his voice for so, so long. It was scratchy, it actually hurt a bit. He stepped in front of them, leaning closer. They were so small, so fragile. They must've used one of the hidden doorways. But they needed a demon with them if they wished to pass. He learned it from his books he would gather after the fall. But there was no demon with them.

His nose twitched as he inhaled. He could almost smell it on them. Stolen blood was coursing through their veins. The smallest of the two, the girl, hesitantly took a step forward. The boy tried to grab her, pull her away, but she pushed his hand off. Her eyes were locked with his own - it looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. There was some strange, internal force driving her to take that tiny step, to meet his gaze.

Desperation.

"Can..." Her voice cracked, her body shivering. He could see those tears beginning to form in her eyes as she tried to speak as clearly as she could. "Can you take us home?"

Her voice was so quiet. It was the same tone that She used to use, so fearful that he would be mad at Her. It reminded him so much of Her, back before...everything.

He never could say no to Her.

Slowly, he nodded. He knew where they entered from - he'd visited it many times in wonder of what the other side would look like. He began his slow walk there, constantly glancing back to see if they were a figment of his imagination; his mind continuing to torture him so.

They were still there.

As he stood in front of the doorway, hidden to most demons, he felt a hand reach up and tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see violet eyes looking up at him, a glimmer of hope in all the fear that swirled inside.

"Will you come with us?"

He looked back. Back at all of it - of Hell. Hell. He could remember it all before it was called such, of its beauty and color. He had been looking.

He nodded down to Her.

There is an answer to every question.

Sometimes you just weren't meant to find it.

----------

He stared at the wilderness around them. Ruins that had deteriorated through time, overtaken with wildlife and color. He took a breath and found it refreshing. He could hear the song of birds, and it was calming rather than foreboding. He looked towards the two children with him. He felt a twist in his gut, the feeling of a cold hand squeezing his heart becoming almost unbearable.

She wasn't Crelies. She wasn't Crelies.

Crelies was gone.

He let Her go.

His eyes widened, frantic. He had let Crelies go. Her final wish. She wanted things to change, to be how they were before - he let Her go. Her final wish. He forgot. How could he forget?

"W-what's your name?" Her voice cut through the yellings of his mind, silencing it. She fidgeted, tugging at her sleeve and looking down.

He opened his mouth, but no words came at first. His mouth went dry. His name.

His name?

"Allelothrin."

He hadn't heard it in so, so long. She attempted to repeat it back to him but instead butchered the pronunciation. He couldn't help but give a small chuckle - the corners of his mouth turned upwards. It felt strange to smile. The anguish before seemed to fade, a sense of ease washing over. A strange sensation after all this time, one he thought he'd never feel again.

He took her mispronunciation, deciding to make it simpler for the girl.

"You may call me Allen."