Fan Fiction ❯ Devil May Cry: Damned Souls ❯ An Angel Come Calling - Day 1 ( Chapter 3 )

Dante's head feels like a truck has just rammed into it. His throat somewhat is sore too, like a thousand knives piercing into its delicate skin, threatening to ripple it apart. He tries to clear the ugly sensation away from his throat but can't. Eyeing a trashcan near his foot, an idea strikes him and he grabs it. Snorting in very loudly, he lets out a large glob of `stuff' from his throat into it. He snorts and spits again until the stuff in his throat is cleared. Yeah. That certainly feels good.

He sees Trish coming over to his desk with a mug of coffee in her hand. She looks disgusted, no doubt about what he did with the trashcan, but she tries to ignore it. Dante mumbles something to her, a thank you, and carefully sips the hot contents from the mug. Yeah, that feels good. It's going down his throat smoothly and calming his twisted-knot stomach too.

What a way to go… he thinks dully to himself. He meets a complete stranger who tells him of potentially important news right when he's drinking and going for a hangover in the next few hours. Couldn't she have appeared when his mind was clear or something? He turns on the radio next to him, trying to concentrate on the heavy rock than his hangover.

"I took the liberty of going to the local library to pick up some books on this `Satan,' fellow, while you were in the bathroom puking," Trish bluntly says from across the room.

"And?" Dante bobs his head to the beat of the music, soon putting his legs over the desk to rest more comfortably.

"Not much that we haven't heard before."

"Wonderful…"

"But one of the books I scanned over this morning was… interesting," Trish says and holds up a black book she has in her hands.

Dante smiles. Just seeing Trish with the book brings him back memories, where he'd remember seeing his mother, late at night, reading a book before going to sleep. In fact, she was inspired to name him after some author. Dante Alighieri, wasn't it? Even his brother was named after a book-related name. He looks at Trish, still holding the warm smile. Either it's a coincidence that Trish loves to read, or maybe it's just in the genes.

"How long did it take you to `scan over' it, Trish?"

"About thirty minutes. Why?"

Dante chuckles. Yep, mom sure was a fast reader too.

"Nothing," he replies and continues listening to the radio. This time, he motions his hands, as if he's playing his drums. "So what did you find that was `interesting'?"

"Well, the source the author used to base his assumptions on Satan for one."

"Uh-huh, so? What about him?"

"The source comes from a powerful prophet, a sick and twisted one at that: Elijah. Supposedly, this `prophet' was also the one who created the Book of the Dead…"

"Wait a minute," Dante quickly stops her, putting down his legs from the desk and turning off the radio. Stone-faced. "The woman talked about that. The Book of the Dead, I mean."

"What? What did she say?"

"Something about it being the only thing to free my mother's and brother's souls from hell. But… is THAT even real?"

"Again, I wouldn't know. I'm only going on what the author of this book states. He could be wrong or be one of those wacky characters out to gain publicity to earn a buck."

"Yeah. But… let's ASSUME that it's true, okay? What exactly does that author talk about?"

"Well, for one, the Book of the Dead is well hidden somewhere in Earth. In fact, it's so well hidden that not even Satan can find it himself. Supposedly, an angel sent from God, or as the book states, the Holy One, was told to conceal its locations."

"Why? What's so big about this book?"

"The Book of the Dead is, if it even exists, a powerful book. It calls on the powers of darkness to consume all light. Elijah was able to devise it with his visions."

"Then, was Elijah working with Satan?"

"No. Elijah once served under the Holy One. He was given special gifts, as everyone here on this world is. While Satan might be powerful, he doesn't have the power of creation and gifts like the Holy One does. He's only in control of darkness. Anyway, somewhere along the way, Elijah became corrupted. He used his gifts against the Holy One's will. The Holy One, seeing that Elijah's powerful visions could possibly disturb the dark and light balance, became worried. The Holy One became even more distraught once he learned that Elijah was composing his visions into a book, the Book of the Dead. He used the skin of those he murdered for its pages and cover, and their blood for ink."

"Whoa… that's pretty sick."

"Yeah, but it gets worse. The Book of the Dead was designed to give darkness the upper hand. Thus, consuming anything with light. As an outcome, each passage was beneficial to Satan and his evil minions. Fortunately, according to story, before Satan was able to obtain this book, one of the Holy One's angels retrieved it and hid it. The angel hid it so far and so well that no one, even to this day, can find it."

"And Elijah? What happened to him?"

"Shortly after his book was taken, he was also taken by the angels to prevent him from composing another book like it."

"So, even though he was doing all this `evil' he still went to Heaven?"

"Not really, he's in Purgatory, as the author states. Heaven can't touch him. But neither can Hell. It'll be like that for eternity for him."

Dante absorbs the information given by Trish. Great. Even if this stuff is real, if Satan himself can't find that damn book then what makes that clubwoman think HE can? Before he can further go into that thought, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," Dante shouts from where he's seated.

The doorknob slowly twists. From a window, both Trish and Dante are able to view a young, red-haired and freckled face man fumble to get inside DNC. He wears a cheap brown suit that's too big for his scrawny body frame. Even the shiny black shoes are too large! There seems to be a slight indication that the man wanted to go for a sophisticated look, as if dressing himself for an interview. But the thin glasses and tacky brown suit design makes him look more like a total nerd. Everything just… clashes.

Dante chuckles as the man struggles with the doorknob. Jesus, how much trouble should it be in opening a simple door? Feeling sorry for the guy, Dante motions Trish to help him.

Trish greets the young man the moment she opens the door for him, trying hard not to laugh at his appearance. A large shower of light touches the back of the young man, illuminating his presence into the DNC quarters. For a while, he doesn't even notice the woman. He just stands there, viewing the interior of DNC with great interest. In a way, he looks like a child who's visiting his first toy store ever. Precious. Wide-eyed. Thrilled. There's definitely something about him. There's something naïve but pure.

"Can we help you?" Trish asks, "Do you know the password?"

"Uh, excuse me," the young man says politely, "Password?"

"Yeah," Dante walks over to him, stopping near his near-nude poster girl. He slumps against it. "You know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Sorry, I don't. I need a password to enter here?" he asks nervously, fiddling his fingers with a beautifully crafted necklace containing an exotic white pearl.

"Look, we only talk to people who know the password. Surely, you'd know it by now if you found DNC from one of our past clients."

"But I… I've never met one of your clients," the freckled face man says slowly. "Is there… any other way I can talk to you?"

"Nope. You might as well turn around since I won't take on any other assignment."

"Any other assignment?" the man quotes very confused.

"Yeah. If you want a normal hit man, then go down this street and take a left, stop at the corner. He's the big guy with the large tattoo on his forehead. You can't miss him."

"Hit man?" Again, the man is confused.

"Look," Dante starts, beginning to become irritated, "I don't know how much I can help you. Just take my advice and go."

"But I can't. I have to talk to you first."

"I'm not taking on any other assignment, freckled-face, so get lost."

"But what exactly is… an assignment?" the young man asks, trying his best to understand.

"If you don't know what I do for a living, then why are you here in the first place?" laughs Dante, "If you decided to do a little touring across this fine city, I suggest you go somewhere else. I'm busy."

"Touring? What does that mean?"

Dante raises an eyebrow. Man, where has this nerd been in the past few centuries? He's totally out of it, not knowing a damn thing about anything. Is he high on something? Or is he trying to get on his nerves with these stupid questions he keeps asking?

"Do you even KNOW who I am?" Dante asks.

"No."

"And you came to talk to me?"

"Yes."

Both Trish and Dante laugh. Jesus! And they thought they knew every psycho there was in this blue planet. Dante strolls over to the young man, taking his arm and leading him out.

"Sorry, but I don't have time for this," he explains, "I hope you have a grand day, man, provided that you even KNOW what `grand' means."

"Please!" the young man struggles, "I need to talk to you! It's really important!"

Trish watches Dante help the man out of DNC, still smiling. The grin slowly fades when she senses something. She quickly turns and notices Alastor glowing against the wall where it's hung next to Sparda. Slowly, she nears it. More electricity surges, so much that it electrocutes all the trophy heads on the wall near it. The loud noise catches Dante's attention and he momentarily lets go of the young man who's still struggling to get back in.

"Trish?"

"I… I don't know…" she answers, puzzled. "Alastor just…"

Trish sees a bolt of electricity shoot out from Alastor again. She immediately ducks, as does Dante when he sees the electricity bounce off of Sparda's metal and towards his direction. Grounded, the two demon hunters continue watching the ancient weapon firing electricity, damaging anything that it comes into contact with.

"Shit!" Dante spits from the floor, "It's pissed off!"

He glances back to see if the young man's been hit or if he's gotten lost already. Surprisingly, the freckled face still remains, viewing everything in curiosity, standing still.

"Get out!" commands Dante, "It's dangerous here!"

But the man remains near the front entrance of DNC. Watching. Dante mutters an obscene word before crawling toward Alastor, hoping that he can somehow stop it. Afterwards, he's seriously going to kick that puny-freckled-face-guy in the ass.

Proceeding carefully on the floor, Dante can barely hear Trish's protest because of Alastor's racket, but he ignores her. He's got to stop Alastor. Whatever is going on, Alastor seems to be in a very bad mood today. In fact, he's never seen this side of Alastor before.

A large ramming noise occurs upstairs which makes him look up at the ceiling.

"The hell…?"

"Ifrit!" realizes Trish. "It must be acting up too!"

Ifrit… another ancient weapon that takes the form of metal gauntlets. He took these special gauntlets, along with several other weapons (including Alastor and Sparda), from Mallet Island on his quest to destroy Mundus. Ifrit has the power of fire and strength all in one.

Alastor, Sparda, and Ifrit helped him defeat Mundus. And now? Now Ifrit and Alastor are trashing up his place! What's the deal? Why is it only these two and not Sparda or any of the other weapons he took from Mallet Island? Is there a connection between Ifrit and Alastor?

Suddenly, Dante senses someone near him. Looking up, he sees the freckled face walking toward Alastor, not afraid. Dante opens his mouth to say something but immediately shuts it. Both Trish and him look amazingly at the man, realizing that each of Alastor's bolts of electricity mysteriously bounce off of him. It's as if he's wearing an invisible shield!

Calmly, the young man approaches Alastor. He gently smiles as he takes Alastor from its resting place. The moment his hand touches its handle, the electricity stops. Even Ifrit, who's obviously kept upstairs, has stopped. While Dante can only IMAGINE the damage Ifrit did to his bedroom, he's more curious of who this guy really is.

Quiet, the young man turns to face both Trish and Dante.

"I don't know what the `password' is," he says very softly, "but I really need to talk to the son of Sparda. It's really important. Does either of you two know where I can find him?"

Hours later, after Trish, Dante, and the young man help restore most of DNC back to its previous form, the three sit down to talk in the kitchen. The stranger has to fight the temptation to comment on how the kitchen, too, needs some fixing up, even if it wasn't affected during the fiasco hours ago. The dishes on the sink are piled up to the wall, filthy and filled with grime. Nearby is a stack of pizza boxes with age-old pizza still inside. He can even see a few cockroaches scurry into it, devouring anything left over. The dispenser a few feet away from him is also a sight for sore eyes. Broken bottles of beer and crumbled soda cans. A foul smell of, what, yogurt? Peels of bananas. A torn, dirty magazine. And some other stuff he doesn't want to go into. Here's hoping that the weird object he sees dangling down isn't what he think it is.

The stranger politely tells Trish `thank you' once she approaches him, a fixed sandwich in her hands. He can only pray that he doesn't find a roach in his sandwich.

Meanwhile, Dante sits back against his chair. Curious. Worried. Pissed. Man, it seems that when work is slow one week, the workload piles up on the next. Just a second ago, he was talking with that woman at the club, and now this guy comes around. He, too, knows everything about him, with the exception of his name, that is. Still, everyone seems to know who and what he is. What's going on here? Is someone giving out his phone number? Damn, phone people…

"All right," Dante crosses his arms across his chest, "tell me what's the deal. Why are you here and what did you want to talk to me about?"

The young man, eating a bit of his sandwich and eyeing it in wonder after tasting it, turns his attention to the white-haired man.

"Well, I'd like to introduce myself to you, Mr. Dante." He offers Dante his hand to shake. "My name's Socrates. Nice to meet you."

"Socrates?" Dante shakes his hand and then resumes crossing his arms across his chest, indifferent to him. "That's a weird name. You from around here?"

"Um, no."

"So you're a foreigner?"

"Yes, in a way I am."

"From where?" Trish asks, trying to make a friendly conversation.

"I… I wish I could tell you but… I'm afraid you wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Ha," chuckles Dante, "I've seen some crazy shit in my life. You'll probably be no different from the rest. So, go on. Enlighten us."

"Okay…" Socrates begins softly, twirling his necklace now. Nervous. "I'm an angel, sent by the Holy One. I'm, what you all like to call it, from Heaven."

Both Dante and Trish become abruptly quiet. None of them say a word. They don't even look at each other. It's as if they didn't hear Socrates right and are waiting for him to talk to them again. Socrates doesn't. Silence invades the kitchen.

"Is something wrong?" Socrates asks calmly, looking at the two in concern.

More silence.

"I'm an angel…" Socrates lets go of his necklace. "I'm from Heaven. What's wrong?"

"You're right," Dante finally remarks, "I don't believe you."

Socrates frowns, seeing Dante about to get up, most likely preparing to show him the boot. Socrates immediately clears his throat when Dante stands next to him and places a hand on his shoulder to help him out of his seat.

"I'm telling you the truth!" Socrates says desperately. "You, yourself, belong to a group of creatures that no one believes in. Why is it so hard to accept that creatures of light is just as real as creatures of darkness?"

Dante doesn't have an answer and momentarily stops. He glances at Trish, seeing if she believes this guy.

"Why are you here?" Trish asks the young man, voice curious but still skeptical.

"I was sent to prevent you from finding the Book of the Dead."

This makes Dante grimace, soon shifting his attention back to the young man. So he's here because of the book too. It's sort of adding up now.

"I know that someone has contacted you about it," Socrates continues. "Am I correct?"

"Yeah…" Dante answers uneasily, "So what? Why don't you want us to find it?"

"It's been hidden for decades, Dante, hidden to prevent the hands of evil from ever possessing it. If you unveil it, then you risk the lives of millions of people and creatures."

"So you're saying that we have a chance at finding it?"

"No. But I understand that the power of darkness seems to think so. They figure a child of both light and dark will be able to unmask its location." Socrates points at Dante's amulet, which Trish wears around her neck. "That amulet once belonged to your father, Dante, who then gave it to your mother to give to you and your brother. But that amulet holds special powers, more than meets the eye."

"So we can find it with this?" Trish asks, touching the ruby jewel.

Socrates becomes silent. He knows he's revealing too much. After all, he only came here to DISCOURAGE Dante and his companion from ever finding the Book of Dead. Now, now he's doing the COMPLETE opposite! He's giving them the answers they need. Man… the Holy One should've chosen another angel. He's just not cut out for this.

"Well?" Dante looks at him, waiting for an answer.

"Look," Socrates gets up. Maybe it IS a good idea to leave now. After all, he did what the Holy One ordered him to do, which was to tell the son of Sparda to back off. Whatever happens next, it isn't his fault! "I'm going now. Please, take my advice and don't look for it."

Before Socrates gets within an inch from where he sits, Dante shoves him back down to his chair, glaring at him coldly. He kneels down to meet the timid angel at eye-level.

"I want answers," Dante simply states, "And I want them now."

"I'm sorry," Socrates shakes his head, nervous. "I can't. I… I really can't."

"You can and you will, wing boy."

Wing boy? Jeez, what did he do to deserve this! His first assignment here on Earth and he's screwing up big time. He can't allow this to happen. He has to get control of the situation again. If the others could do it then so can he. Right?

"I'm sorry," Socrates tries to sound confident, even if his palms are sweating from nervousness, "I'm leaving now. I've done my part."

"I don't care if we've got to talk to your `employer'," explains Trish from behind, ganging up on the fresh meat. "We're going to get some answers. Now go on and tell us. Dante's mother's and brother's souls are at stake here!"

Socrates frowns. "What?"

"Didn't the `Holy One' tell you?" Dante cocks an eyebrow. Surprised that Socrates looks puzzled. "My mother's and brother's souls are locked in hell, by Satan. This book is the only way I can free them. If I've got to run through Satan and his gang, so be it. But I need your help. I only want the damn book for this reason. I'll return it once I'm through so that lives won't be at stake here, wing boy."

"But… once it's found there's no going back!" says Socrates, horrified. "This is too delicate a situation and Satan is COUNTING on you to come for it so that he can unleash its powers in two days from now!"

"What?" Dante asks, "What happens in two days from now? And what's he planning to do with the book?"

"In two days, an eclipse will occur. This eclipse is special because this was the very day the book was born, on Leap year during a bloody fight. When the eclipse occurs, the book's powers will be unleashed and Satan will have the power to undo all the works your father did!"

"Excuse me?"

"That's right, Dante. The book has the power to reshape history! While the book can call on the dead and other stuff, its TRUE potentials can only be unleashed during its birth date. Satan wants to UNDO Sparda since he is the reason why the humans prevailed over evil!"

"So Satan wants my old man off his Christmas list…" Dante turns around. Thinking.

Shit… This scenario reminds him of that sci-fi movie he saw once with the killer robot and the blond babe… Houston, we definitely have a problem here, Dante wonders. On one hand, he can free his mother and brother's souls. On the other, he risks everything and everyone if he lets Satan grab the book. What's a devil hunter got to do to get some easy answers?

"You told me that the amulet was the key in finding the book's whereabouts," speaks Dante again, addressing Socrates, "How?"

Stubbornly, Socrates shakes his head. "No. I can't tell you, Dante."

Dante takes a step forward toward the angel. Trish backs away from Socrates. She's seen Dante angry before, but nothing like this. She thinks of intervening, thinks of reminding Dante that he's dealing with an angel, but she doesn't. She frowns, however, when Dante's frustrated face slowly changes, as if something just struck him from behind. He's silent and his eyes soften a bit. Dante doesn't beat the answers out of the angel as she's seen him done to other jackasses. Instead, Dante reveals a human quality that's new to her as it's probably new to HIM.

"Please, Socrates…" Dante whispers, in slight despair, "I don't have a clue if they're really there… but in my guts I do. I… I can't live knowing that Satan has them in hell. They need freedom and I need… peace. Please, wing boy… help me."

Socrates holds his breathe. Man… this is all new to him. Had the Holy One told him about Dante's mother and brother being trapped in hell, he'd probably be prepared. Actually… no, he thinks honestly of himself. No. He wouldn't. He never was the type to ignore concerns anyway. In fact, the reason why the Holy One hardly assigned him tasks on Earth was because he was TOO soft. He always collapsed once a human came with a serious issue. The world could end and STILL he'd help the depressed person with his or hers problems. Ironic enough, this is what's happening. Dante is risking everyone's lives by finding the book. But… he knows that Dante, like all people, needs closure. He needs it. If Satan has already given him a time limit, then Dante can be rest assured that once that time is up, there will be NO way of freeing them. They'll be stuck there forever…

"I'll help…" Socrates replies quietly, knowing that he'll get in a heap of trouble from the top guy after this, provided if there's even a tomorrow. "I just want one thing in return."

"Yeah? Request ahead, wing boy."

"Stop calling me `wing boy,' please."

Dante grins.