Devil May Cry - Series Fan Fiction ❯ War of Minds ❯ Chapitre Deux ( Chapter 2 )

A/N: Whoops, been a while since I last updated. I'm not leaving this story, I love Carbrey, so sorry about the really, really long disappearance. I've had this chapter half-written for a while.

No real appearances by canon characters yet, either, so I won't bother with a disclaimer.

You may guess as to the identity of the voice, but it's a secret for now ;D

 

 

Carbrey woke to a horrible sense of déjà vu, and the worst headache in history. She attempted to stand, the pain in her head making her reel and collapse against the side of the building, breathing heavily and holding her hands tightly to her head. After a few minutes, the momentary blindness passed, though the sharp stabs behind her temples did not. She took a few experimental steps, her fingers running along the brick in case. Well, at least she could walk fine again. What was wrong with her? Falling asleep all over the place, without even any warning.

 

Actually, what most disturbed the young woman was not that she kept falling asleep, but rather that these periods of unconsciousness were not permeated by the nightmares that usually haunted her nights. She shuddered. That was a relief, she supposed, but…it was also worrying. She had lived with those nightmares for years, why should they stop now? Was it because she was falling asleep during the day? She shook her head, and immediately regretted it as the pounding escalated and her vision blurred once again. Okay, so her situation wasn't exactly stable. She needed to sit down.

 

Feeling too sick to move any more to find a bench, she just slid down against the wall, leaning her head back against the cool brick. It was silent, and cool air fanned her flushed cheeks. Carbrey relaxed slightly, her headache slowly ebbing. Suddenly, she sat up, eyes flying open and hands groping for where she'd dropped her crowbar when she fell. Faithful weapon in hand, she cowered back against the wall, tense and nervous now that this unknown noise had reached her ears.

 

The heavy footfalls were familiar, and for a moment she couldn't place why. But then it clicked - these were those same heavy steps from the shop. The (she hesitated to think the word, even in her fear) …monster. An uncalled for whimper escaped her lips as the violent marks of its passing flashed through her mind. Childishly, she cowered, closing her eyes tightly. The heavy steps got closer. Her heart pounded faster. Protectively, she pressed her wrists against her ears, determined not to hear anything. Perhaps if she shut out all signs of its being there, it would go away. She would wake up. It would have been a dream. The thuds - with their odd, disturbing squelch - were coming closer, closer. Loud enough to hurt her ears even though the ineffective shields of her arms. Carbrey risked a glance, her breath caught cold in her chest. The dark thrill of fear passed through her. Past one eyelash-blurred window into the world, she could see…she didn't know what. As far as she could tell it was just mass of flesh, animated by some dark means. She was frozen with fear, her breath short and sharp. Around her faithful crowbar, protectively shielding her head, Carbrey's knuckles were white.

 

And then…it stopped. She was afraid to relax for a few moments after she felt that looming presence disappear. Had she died? Was this what it was like to be dead? But there'd been no pain, no moment of intense understanding or omniscient relief. Or…whatever you were supposed to feel when you died. There was only a ringing sound in her ears and--wait. A ringing sound? Carbrey's senses were suddenly flooded as her mind rushed to catch up with the last few moments. Gunshots; there'd been gunshots, and a horrendous, unearthly cry. She allowed herself to relax, her muscles to unknot and loosen. Before her, an odd scene stood motionless in the grey surroundings.

 

Yes, there was the corpse of the..er…monster…thing. And a glint on the ground to the left of it would have to be bullet shells, right? Resting her elbows lightly on crossed legs, she didn't move for a while, allowing her body (and her mind) to catch up with her eyes, and relax. The crowbar clattering to the sidewalk, she uncomfortably rubbed sweat-drenched hands on her worn jeans. Out of the corner of her eye, though, a movement of sorts sent her scrambling for the reassuring iron again. The body of the monster…demon…thing seemed to be almost…fading? Heaving herself back up, Carbrey warily approached the disappearing corpse. In its place were odd, large gems, like rubies, but shaped in a way that rather disturbed her. She seemed to see pain-filled faces within their depths, and when she bent to pick one up, it disappeared in her hand after a few seconds of inspection. She decided to leave the rest alone. Who knew what these demonic jewels would do?

 

All thoughts of a threat put out of her mind now, she frowned, scanning the surrounding areas for whoever that had been that had saved her. Or…maybe it was all a dream. A hallucination. Perhaps she'd imagined it, and…yes. This seemed most likely, she'd imagined the whole thing. There had been no strange monster, and the gems were probably just colourful flyers that had flown out onto the streets. She forced herself to be content with this explanation, though she didn't believe it. After all, there was no wind.

 

Determinedly ignoring those traitorous thoughts, Carbrey set off in the direction of home, crowbar in hand.

 

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The mirror reflection always made her stop. She didn't like her reflection, but it wasn't because she was particularly ugly (or so pretty that it made her sick). She had an ordinary face. She had ordinary hair, not quite straight and not quite red, but ranging somewhere between classy blonde and strawberry blonde. Her face was definitely nothing out of the ordinary, it was a normal face like you saw every day. But she tended towards warm colours, Carbrey did. It was just a natural thing. Most everything she owned was some neutral or warm-ish shade of red, orange, brown, or whatever other warm colours existed. Bright colours did not find their way into her wardrobe. Nor did dark, depressing hues. No, she stayed nicely around a neutral-toned area, but it was her eyes that set it off.

 

Her eyes always made her stop when she looked in the mirror. Even when passing a shop window, she would do a subtle double-take at her reflection. Her eyes seemed so out of place - there, so stark and bright and blue, against all those neutral browns and greys. They seemed so cold, so hard, that she was almost scared. Why couldn't they be nice and normal, like her? Nothing interesting, just nice boring brown eyes, she would have been content with. Hazel, even, though that was a little too `interesting' for her tastes.

 

Sighing, she tore her eyes away from her reflection to, instead, focus on the (still drearily empty) street outside. The morning had not done anything to relieve that voice that kept crying out that something was wrong. There was no sunlight; rather, the streets seemed almost scarier, more haunted, with the thick mist that hung around, tainting everything grey and washing out the off-white sky…Stop this, that voice, the gut feeling, told her sternly. There's no need to make a fool of yourself. There's something going on, stop denying it, now get out there and do something about it.

 

Carbrey sighed. Wasn't it the third sign of madness when you argued with yourself and lost? Or something like that. She was no saviour of the world, hell, she couldn't even run half a mile without almost swallowing her lungs. Don't flatter yourself, this isn't a global thread, said that voice, in such a scathing tone that Carbrey just wanted to curl up and let the earth swallow her up. This isn't real, she told herself. You're not really arguing with yourself over saving the world…county…whatever. The voice was silent. She sighed, and picked up the crowbar, which she had kept beneath her pillow the last night. You're not really going crazy. She looked out the window again, almost expecting her newfound conscience to tell her to stop stalling and get on with it. I'm not your conscience, baby, it said matter-of-factly. Great. Now she had voices in her mind hitting on her?

 

The air was chilly, though it was quite late in the morning. Carbrey's grip on her crowbar instinctively tightened. This thing, this piece of iron was the only thing holding her to whatever scrap of sanity she had left. She didn't want to lose it. Ha ha, piped the voice sarcastically. I didn't think you were the joking type. Carbrey was about to reply (she was definitely treading the path to insanity) when a loud rumble shook the ground beneath her feet, inciting a whimper instead of the sharp retort she wanted. Hey, get back there! snapped the voice in a rather startled fashion, as Carbrey took off.