Fan Fiction ❯ A Deadly Gambit ❯ Chapter 4

It took Trish a few moments to realize what was wrong with the picture when she looked out the window. She cupped her hands against the pane to block out the interior lighting for a better look. The entire grounds was in total ruin. Naked, rotting tree branches, shriveled, dead plants, complete decay everywhere. "Babe, wanna take a look at this?"

She heard his footsteps as he walked back into the room, and stopped. "I don't think I do," he replied, but walked over to her anyway. His arm went around her waist as he looked over her shoulder, then he thunked his forehead lightly on the window frame. "Someone's having far too much fun with spells."

"Necromancy?" Trish asked, looking up at him.

Dante was quiet for a few moments, then shook his head. "I don't think so. Illusion, if I had to guess. The place was fine when we rode up, and nowhere near enough time's passed."

"What do you want to do next?"

"I don't think there's much to find up here, but let's be--" He stopped abruptly and whirled around. Trish looked to the doorway of the room as she heard little nails clattering over the wooden floor, and saw the Corgi zip past the doorway.

"Where does that damn dog keep coming from? It's like that reappearing midget on Happy Gilmore." Dante shook his head. "It better hope I don't catch it. Damn thing's led us to trouble twice before."

"It went to the stairs," Trish said. "There's not many other options we have as far as routes to take, anyway."

"It's probably real too, which means it's gotta take the same ways we go."

"So we go downstairs," Trish said, walking to the doorway.

"Yeah." She was pulled to a stop as Dante grabbed her arm, and moved past her. "I'll take point," he said firmly, drawing Ebony and Ivory. Trish didn't argue, and followed him as he calmly strode down the hall, looking down the stairs. "Where is that damn dog?"

Trish looked around him and put her forefinger and thumb in her mouth, whistling sharply. From somewhere downstairs, in the direction of the door, she heard him bark. Then, a few moments later came another whistle, this one much more distant, from somewhere outside.

"I don't throw my voice that well," Trish said.

"You make up for it in other areas." He gave her a cocky, leering grin, kissing her quickly before sitting on the bannister and sliding down, spinning quickly as soon as he hit the floor to cover any possible threats.

Trish followed suit, and started laughing when, just before she reached bottom, Dante tossed his guns into the air to catch her around the waist, quickly setting her on her feet, and then caught Ebony and Ivory with expert ease as they began to obey the law of gravity. He grinned at her and gave her a quick kiss.

"It's time we got back in stride," he said, walking to the door. "We've been moving way too slow. And I'm going to skin that little football of a dog."

"If it even is a dog," Trish pointed out, drawing Sparda again as she followed him.

"If it's not a dog, I'll feed it Ifrit." He stopped on the porch, looking around. "Let's find the cellar. It may be cliché, but we haven't checked it yet."

"I'm there." Trish frowned, looking back into the house. "But where's the cellar door?"

"Maybe this place has one of those outside doors?" He looked at her for a long moment. "You better not have predicted the future with that Wizard of Oz wisecrack earlier."

"Oh, yeah?" Trish drawled, putting one hand on her hip as she tossed out a playful retort. "Or what? You'll spank me?"

"Maybe I won't," Dante replied, shooting her a smirk that said 'so there!' plainer than words. "How's that for a threat?" He jogged down the steps, covering the yard with the guns, turning around to face the house.

Trish followed him, then shot him the most pitiful look she could muster. "Now yer just bein' mean."

Dante laughed and cocked his head toward the left of the house, heading in that direction. "C'mon."

Trish fell into step beside him, and glanced up at the second floor windows as they passed. The condition of the windows remained unchanged, but there was no longer a blue glow. "Huh. The aura's gone," she murmured, more to herself than to Dante, and looked around at their surroundings. The trees and shrubbery were very much alive. "Hmm. I'm thinking that aura had something to do with the illusion."

"It may have," Dante agreed, and edged around the fireplace at the end of the wing. "I see doors."

"Doors? Plural." Trish fell silent for a moment. "How much are we getting paid for this anyhow?"

"Seventy-five thousand," Dante replied. "We got forty-five up front."

Trish looked around him, studying the doors. One appeared to lead back into the house, although Trish couldn't recall seeing a corresponding one from the inside. The kitchen was on the other side of the house. The other door was a conventional cellar door, sloping into the ground. "Okay. So, if those things have numbers on them, or if a little man in a suit shows up yelling something about a plane, we take the money and run, deal?"

Dante smirked at her. "Are you trying to jinx us?"

Trish flashed him a grin. "Quick question before we go on. Did you notice a door inside that could be that door?"

He didn't answer immediately. "Not the kitchen, it's over there," he mused. "Come to think of it, I didn't. Maybe it was plastered over?"

"Maybe, or maybe it leads to a dimension of sight, a dimension of sound, a dimension of mind." Trish gave him a smartalecky grin when he glared at her.

"One of these days, all these jinxes are gonna turn around and bite us in the ass," he said, moving toward the doors.

"Want me to get them open while you cover it?"

"Do it."

Trish studied the double doors of the cellar, considering the best way to lift them both at once. It wasn't bolted, so she moved to one side, sticking Sparda's tip under the handle farthest from her, and grabbed the other with her free hand. She flipped the opposite door up while stepping backward, pulling the near door open.

Dante stood a few feet back, both guns trained on the dark depths. "Clear. I'll go down first."

Trish nodded, and waited until he several steps down, then entered as well, turning a bit to walk sideways, facing behind them for any threats that might come up the rear. Then she walked right into Dante, who had stopped abruptly.

"I hate you, Trish," he said, and she blinked. "This can't get any more clichéd."

"Huh? What?"

"Just get a look at this."

Trish glanced over his shoulder and her eyes widened.

It was a normal cellar...for about all of five feet into the room. Then the floor became ancient stone, and the far wall had a similar arched entryway framed by burning torches. Beyond the doorway, she could see the stone wall curving downward along a twisting spiral of steps down a narrow staircase. A faint glow against the rocks suggested more torches farther inside.

"It's not my fault!" she finally protested.

"Our employer's damn lucky that this is here. I'd have wanted more, otherwise."

Trish shot him an askance look. "Why's that? I'm wanting more because this is here."

"Maybe, but with this here, it seems to me that whatever's here needs to be wiped out." Dante cautiously moved toward the entryway. "You coming?"

Trish turned around again to cover their rear, holding Sparda ready. "Well, not yet," she replied, smirking a bit. "I'm not that much of a mercenary type that the mere talk of money'll do it for me."

He chuckled quietly. "Pity, that. Takes half the fun out of what I could do."

They both fell silent then, moving in perfect, stealthy unison down the staircase. Trish fought down the urge to look down to see what was coming next. She trusted Dante, and let him worry about whatever lay ahead. She was just waiting for something else to happen. They were hitting cliché after cliché, and at the rate they were going, Trish half-expected a huge boulder to come following them down the staircase, a flood of vermin or other things to spill down the stairs, or for the stairs to just disappear completely.

Or perhaps something straight out of Scooby-Doo, with a perfectly human perpetrator in a bad mask sneaking up behind them with a mallet.

She felt Dante stop and lean backward ever so slightly, stopping her descent and bracing her for a moment before moving forward. Trish took two more steps down, then stepped back onto the dirt floor. The shadows of numerous candles or torches cast flickering shadows engaged in a merry-mad dance on the walls, which curved outward and upward, still lined with stone. She stood still, her back against Dante's, waiting for him to make a move. Curiosity was eating away at her, but for the time being, their back was her responsibility.

Then, someone who was not Dante spoke. Surprised, Trish turned a bit to look past him.

"You two fucks have a lot of nerve!"

Dante narrowed his eyes, watching as a young woman clad in a flowing black robe, probably not even out of her teens yet, rose from the huge stone throne where she had been sitting. The damnable Corgi was in the middle of the room, wagging its tail as it watched them.

He took aim at her, cocking the guns. Trish started to move away from him, letting him deal with the woman while she did a quick recon of the cavernous, dimly-lit room. "Sit. Back. Down," he ordered, snapping each word, "and put your hands in the air. Maybe then I won't kill you."

"You wouldn't have a chance!" she sneered, and aimed her hands at the ground, starting to chant.

Well, he did warn her. Dante opened fire, but the bullets struck a shield of some sort, ricocheting. Trish dove to avoid the stray bullets, and the Corgi yelped, skittering back to cower under the throne.

"Shit!" he swore, putting the guns away as he drew Alastor. "Shut 'er up, babe!"

He didn't have to tell Trish twice. His wife raced toward the sorceress, moving with superhuman speed, and jumped up, flipping in the air and twisting Sparda downward as she moved above the woman, ready to bring Sparda down through the shield. Dante surged forward as well, but a movement in the shadows caught his attention. "Trish, look out!" he shouted as he skidded to a halt, trying to warn her as a huge stone golem swung its massive arm to swat her away.

Trish didn't have a chance to evade. He heard her yelp over the sound of rock striking flesh, and then the sickening thud as her body collided with the wall. Dante snarled, narrowing his eyes dangerously. He desperately wanted to check on Trish, but reminded himself that even if she were injured, she would heal fairly rapidly. Right now, the golem, which towered over him at a good fifteen feet, and, to his estimation, was as wide as Dante was tall, demanded his attention.

The sorceress patted her open mouth in an imitation of a yawn, putting on a show of boredom. "You're going to die," she announced in a blase tone. "Do try to put on a good show."

"You little bitch," Dante heard Trish snarl, and heard her getting back to her feet. Inwardly, he relaxed a little, putting more of his attention on the golem. It was big, and it was strong, but to their advantage it was also slow.

"Now it's my turn!" Trish said, and her voice was from higher up than before. Behind him, Dante heard a surge of power, and a tremendous rip as electricity crackled through the air, impacting on the shield.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw it was still holding. They'd have to worry about her later. The golem was the first priority...and an idea came to mind. "Go for the legs, babe!" he ordered, quickly sheathing Alastor as he willed Ifrit to take form on his hands.

"Don't go anywhere, bitch," Trish spat, and whirled about to dodge another incoming attack from the Golem, then she dropped to the ground, standing in front of it, her hands on her hips and a saucy grin on her face. "Wanna play tag?" she taunted.

"You don't know what you're dealing with!" the woman shouted.

Dante remained back, clenching his fist as Ifrit's blaze steadily grew. He smirked darkly as he watched Trish hold her hand out, not even bothering to look at the young sorceress as she casually extended her middle finger in her direction.

"Eat me," Trish retorted, her tone almost bored.

Dante reflexively tensed up as the golem brought his massive fists down at Trish, and she didn't seem to be planning to move. But just before they struck, she darted forward in a powerful sprint, ducking between the Golem's legs to blast it from behind, knocking it off-balance.

Dante shook his head and tsked. "Slow and clumsy. Definitely stoned. Guess he didn't learn to just say no." He raced forward, nimbly darting up the golem's arms and smashed his inferno-enveloped fists into its head.

Her gambit paid off, and the golem teetered for a moment before landing heavily on the floor. Stones rattled and dust fell as the resulting miniature earthquake shook things up. Dante backflipped off its shoulders as flames erupted all around him, and landed as hard as he could on the back of the golem's head.

Chunks of rock shattered where he landed, then he felt the golem's weight shift Dante looked around quickly, and realized too late what it was doing, glancing to Trish just in time to see one of its legs smack her like a battering ram, sending her crashing into yet another wall.

"Trish!" he shouted, hearing her scream. Viciously, he punched the golem's head again, watching as she rolled onto her side, coughing painfully and holding her ribs.

"I'm okay," she called out, coughing again and settling back, waiting for whatever injuries she had sustained to heal. "Just git 'im!"

That sounded like a workable plan to him. Time to get serious. Flames surged to the surface as he willed his body to take on the far more demonic form of Ifrit.