Fan Fiction ❯ Devil May Cry: Damned Souls ❯ Gaze at the Mischief ( Chapter 5 )

Drips of water emerge from the outer heavens, splashing heavily down to the green fields consumed with gorgeous green grass, tall and proud trees, and large rocky, mountains. The maniac wind twirls and spins around them, full with life and passion. Blood red roses found across the ponderous plains of land sways violently back and forth. Back and forth. The tips of their blushed petals drip lusciously, rainwater splashing and bathing them with utter delight. The clouds above grow darker, forming together to become a sea of gray. Lighting strikes from afar. For a moment, the sky brightens with an eerie red color. It fades away. There's another lighting strike. Again, the heavens are paved with bloody red. It's certainly a wondrous color, especially when a brief glimpse of yellow light comes from the hidden sun.

Silently, a man with silver hair gazes up at the sky. His face is a mixture of content and pain. Dante sits naked on a grassy field with the rain pouring down on his back, drenching his hair. The devil hunter remains still, his knees under his chin, arms wrapped around his legs. The rain feels cold. Glooming. Bitter. It soaks his silvery white hair and face, dripping down to the rest of his exposed skin. The recent Devil Trigger burned off all of his clothes, leaving him as naked as a baby. He shudders a bit when the knives of raindrops touch his shoulders. Even as Trish stands over him and tries to shield him from the rain with her body, he still manages to get wet. But to him, none of it matters. None of it.

Brushing back strands of wet hair from his face Dante sinks his head on his knees, not wanting to see the fire and smoke coming from afar. He softly curses under his breath, thinking over a thousand thoughts and mentally being at a thousand places at once. He knows it's wrong to think about the past. He knows that it's useless to stay there. But he's been doing that for the rest of his life, hasn't he? Cursed with the loss of his beloved mother and brother, he's been stuck in time, unwilling to move forward, unwilling to move backward too. Vengeance is all that feeds him, gives him life, and gives him purpose. Else, he'd be a drifter… a bastard child with no comfort to guide him. His vengeance may be bitter, but it is also sweet.

There's a part of him that quietly reminds him of his task. It cautiously reminds him that if he sticks around here in the rain any longer he'll most likely catch pneumonia. He needs to find shelter for a while and some clothes. He needs weapons, the feel of metal under his gloved hands, a symbol of assurance. He needs to get to the mountains and somehow activate his amulet without the kid. He needs to save his mother and brother and destroy the bastard that has them. Fuck the consequences. Fuck what everyone thinks. Fuck everything. He'll take on the damn army of the undead if need be. Lord, have pity on the fuckers who are gonna get theirs.

But why does he get the notion of all of this feeling wrong? Why does he feel… different? Out of place? Content? Shit, he should've been more careful and cautious before the attacks began.

Dante feels something lightly hit his ankle. His eyes find a red rose there, bending slightly towards his ankle as the wind brushes up against its frail figure. Dante picks up the welted thorn rose from its resting place. A part of its petals have fallen off and it looks darker than the rest of the roses. Yet, possesses a light within it that makes it unique. Special. Dante raises it at eyelevel, eying it dully. It reminds him of Socrates. Socrates…

He remembers the screaming, the sound of death coming from the innocent people that were in the train. He replays the entire events up to him sitting here. The screaming. The pain. The anger. The passion. Dante tries to pinpoint what went wrong, what could've been done to prevent it from happening. Sure, it's delusional of him to think that he has the power to change things. Sure, wondering than taking action accomplishes nothing. But since his mother and brother's death… he can't help but to feel guilty about everything and everyone. He can't help but to feel… that he could've done SOMETHING.

Socrates' face haunts him again. As he slowly caresses the remaining petals of the rose he daydreams himself running to the angel, the fired lion approaching them. He sees himself grab the kid, jumping off the train with him. And after that, after seeing the train explode into a million pieces, he sees wing boy smiling. He sees him thanking him for saving his life.

Or maybe he could've fought the lion. Maybe… he could've had Socrates take Trish and jump off the train while he battled the lion. Yeah. Socrates and Trish would be out of harm's way while he'd take out his almighty sword, Alastor, and fight the lion demon with all his strength. He'd plunge the tip of his steel into the lion, hearing its agonizing pain. He'd strike again, towards its head. He'd smile once the lion subsided its attacks, retreating. Blowing it a farewell kiss, he'd jump off the train before it'd explode.

Damn… he should've let him jump out with Trish first. He should've fought!

(Yeah, but what about IT? He couldn't have fought the masked demons without IT.) Dante blinks, suddenly remembering IT. He remembers how horrendous IT was, almost killing Trish when she intervened with its killing. Never before has he lay or even thought of laying a harsh hand against Trish. Yet, he almost allowed IT to kill her. He felt its undeniable power and hunger. He felt the blood of kills seep through its cruel veins, burning for more. Mater Christi, what if he hadn't intervened in time! What if he let that Devil kill Trish? He'd never forgive himself. He was able to stop IT this time around, but what if it happens again? What if he can't control IT? (What if he doesn't WANT to control? What if he wants to be IT? What if he… actually likes it…?) No! Rages Dante. No…

Dante shakes his head, dropping the rose. Closing his eyes. Christ… where are these thoughts coming from? Why is he so inspired by them? Why does he hate but love them? No. He can't take this anymore. He… can't trust himself to Devil trigger again. He just can't risk it. There's so much at stake if he lets himself go. If it weren't for IT, he'd have enough strength to take out the lion and Socrates would be here right now! (But… IT has become so powerful… IT can't be stopped…) True. IT has become powerful. IT has become so powerful to the point that IT burnt off his clothes. That's never happened before.

And the visions too… those impure and terrifying visions that usually follow after Devil triggering… they've gotten much worse. Dante swallows hard, trying hard not to recall the worse of the images he saw running through his head. But… they're engraved in him, attached to his mind like a parasite possessing him. Christ… those images…

Trish was in them. His father. His mother. Vergil. Everyone he loved and cared for, they all were there. And he was there too. Laughing insanely as he watched them all combust into a burst of flames. Laughing. Laughing… The mysterious red haired woman was among them too. Nude. Opened. He took her. Possessed her body… As everyone around them burned into their own demises, there they were… in the middle of it all. They were naked, committing the most intimate, insensible, and inhumane act there ever was. He tasted her and she tasted him. He drank her blood and she drank his. Together, they became one. Together, they hated the world and humanity. And he loved it. He absolutely loved every minute of it. The Devil within craved for it, wanting more and more. The image faded then, ending with the seductress screeching in laughter as he accepted his part and she hers. (He'll never escape them… They're a part of him…)

This is all the reason for him to stop while he's ahead. He can't depend on Devil triggering anymore. His feelings for the red haired woman are still surreal after all, despite her being the one responsible for Socrates' and everyone's death and him not knowing a real thing about her. He doesn't even know her name. Devil triggering will only make things worse since it blurs his mind with wild fantasies that frighten him to the bone. Every ounce of his common sense wants to kill this woman with his bare hands. He wants to slay the person responsible for everything that's happened so far. And yet, because of this unrecognized alien part of him that's invoked during his Devil trigger state, he wants more of this… pain. There's this horrifying side to him that wants her, wants to be with her, and wants to follow up the act in his terrifying visions. He can still smell her right now. He can still smell her rosy fragrance. Mercy, is he still under her spell?

He should've killed her when he had the chance to, he tells himself frustratingly.

In a way, he's glad that Alastor is lost to the train along with everything else. It means no more Devil triggering. He won't even THINK of taking Sparda from Trish as a replacement. For all he cares, he wished he never found and took those two swords from Mallet Island. He hopes Alastor can burn to the point where it's incinerated, just like everything else in his life.

Dante looks down at the rose that fell from his hand, ignoring the smoke that's drifting above the sky now despite the heavy rain. His eyes grow soft again.

"Dante…" he hears.

Trish… She's been quiet for a long time, watching over him, letting him think. Trish knows well than to show him pity or sympathy over Socrates' death. After all, it's not like the angel and him were best friends or anything. And she also knows that he's used to this kind of thing happening, used to the stench of death. But, being the compassionate woman that she is, she can't help but to feel concern for him.

"Dante…" Trish says again, her voice very quiet. "I'm sorry…"

There it is. `I'm sorry.' She's sorry. Bullshit! `Sorry'? Sorry for what, honey? What the fuck did you do to make this shit happen? You weren't the one that transformed everyone into those demons. You weren't the one to cause that fire lion to appear out of nowhere. No, darling, you've nothing to feel sorry about. I do, though…

"Dante? We've… we've got to get moving…" Trish slowly continues, uncertain of her own words. "That woman might still be out there. We're too weak to take her on."

Dante doesn't say anything. Thunder strikes from a distant. He knows that the mysterious woman is long gone even though he doesn't really have the slightest clue on how. He practically has her scent all over his body. (Need to know if she's near? Need to know if she's just around the corner? Then check out the hardness she creates for him and that'll tell you if she's around.)

He chews on his lower lip, trying to get that nasty thought out of his head. Yet, despite his great efforts, there they are. And as much as he'd like to get out of the rain and follow Trish's advice it's pretty embarrassing to stand up with her nearby and `it' still running amuck. Trish just might get the impression that he's one of those sick freaks who get turned on after almost getting killed. Christ… WHY WON'T THESE FEELINGS GO AWAY!

Suddenly, he hears a sound. It distracts his train of thought. Dante slowly raises his head from his knees, looking straight ahead toward the fire and smoke afar. His demonic hearing senses is picking up a noise that the human ear, alone, cannot possibly hear. A scent later follows… a familiar scent.

"Dante…?" begins Trish, seeing how strange Dante looks.

He gets up, being mindful of not letting Trish see his erection. But, as strange as it may be, it slowly subsides. The sound coming from the explosion resets his entire agenda, giving him new purpose. Nevertheless, he covers himself with both hands and slowly walks across the grassy field. Damn his demonic powers for robbing him of his clothes and dignity.

The wind kicks up a notch and the rain pours heavily on him. The grass feels wet as his exposed fleshed feet set down on them. He feels some of their water drench between his toes but he ignores the sensations. Advancing forward, Dante makes his way toward the scent while Trish quickly follows from behind.

"You're going to get pneumonia, Dante," Trish warns as she tries to catch up to him. "We need to get you some clothes and find shelter until the raining stops."

Dante ignores her. He continues walking towards the fire and smoke. The rain starts to finally cool off both the fire from the train as well as the fire from his body. The heated passion he felt just seconds ago is gone now. Call it will or call it a distraction, but he's managed to subside his desires and thoughts to concentrate on the scent he's caught. It's becoming stronger… He quickens his pace.

"Dante!" pleads Trish, "Stop! Please!"

The scent becomes almost unbearable now as he nears the wreckage. Determination fills his face. He soon breaks into a run across the grassy field, desperately reaching for the edge of a cliff and bridge where the train stumbled down just moments ago.

"Dante! Damn it!" Trish runs as fast as she can, seeing Dante running at full speed ahead. She calls out to him again. "He's dead! Socrates is dead! That scent you're picking up is probably from his corpse!"

Again, Dante ignores her. Running. He's more determined to find his assumption true than Trish's. For crying out loud, what if the angel is alive? He's an angel, isn't he? Angels can't die, right? No… of course not, he convinces himself. He's… he's got to find out. He owes the kid that much. He failed wing boy once. He'll be damned if he fails him again.

"Socrates!" Dante yells as he nears the cliff where the wreckage is. "Socrates!"

Trish chases from behind. She instantly grabs Dante's arm before he can reach the edge of the cliff. "Christ, Dante, stop!"

"He's alive… I can pick up his scent!"

"So can I, but he's dead!"

"How do you know, Trish? The only way we can find out is if we check it out for ourselves. Now get your hand off me."

"Yeah," Trish remarks sarcastically and lets go of his arm. "Good idea, Dante. Lets go down to the wreckage to see if Socrates is still alive. And meanwhile, we can look forward to round two with the bitch we just went through. And who knows? Maybe that fire lion is still alive too, or those demons. Wouldn't it be great to see if we can take them ALL out? Yeah, let's stay here and get our heads blown to pieces!"

Dante gives her a cold glare.

"She isn't here," he tells her simply. "It's safe."

"Really? How do YOU know she isn't here? Don't tell me you've obtained demonic psychic powers too, Dante."

Dante hesitates. His voice becomes quiet. "Trust me… she isn't here."

Trish looks at him for a very long time in silence. Wondering. Concerned. She wished she could trust him. She wished she could just let things be and move on. She wished she could never doubt him or his judgments. After all, Dante is a man of principle. Vengeance may fill his veins but he's able to block those emotions of his out. He's able to keep his cool and laugh at even the mightiest of foes. These past days, however, he's become a stranger to her. He's become nothing more than the shadow of the man she once stood beside so proudly. He's felt differently since the moment the bald man, a few days ago, stepped into their office offering a preposition. It all stems back to the demon woman he let go, doesn't it? He's hiding something from her. That she knows well. But WHAT he is hiding remains to be a mystery. Everything about him and this mission… she feels a connection. And that connection feels so wrong. No matter how close she edges to the truth it slips through her fingers. Why is that?

The sound of rocks crumbing down makes her face stiff. She recovers Pluto from her holster belt. There's something underneath them, right under the edge of the cliff they stand on. Pointing at the direction, Trish takes a step back and waits for whatever it is to surface. She frowns, however, once she picks up the scent. No… it can't be…

Dante immediately goes on his knees and glances down the cliff from the edge. He sees two hands clinging tightly onto a metallic object that's pierced into the wall of the cliff. They're human hands.

"Socrates?" He tries to keep his voice calm. "That you?"

A moment of silence followed by rocks crumbling down.

"Um…" a timid voice finally echoes from below, "A little help here would be nice…"

"Trish!" Dante orders. "Get to Socrates, he's down there!"

The cliff is a long way down and bits of fire from the explosion earlier still loom about, almost reaching Socrates. He tries to remain calm, attempting not to look down. Funny, he's afraid of heights. How weird is that?

Socrates swallows hard, trying to humor himself with jokes and not concentrate on the long way down. He holds tightly with both hands onto Alastor's handle. His feet dangle in the air, swaying with the wind, his leather jacket flapping annoyingly. He feels the rain and wind brush up against his body, threatening to compromise his hold. The angel squints his eyes as a drop of rain splashes directly at his left eye. A large gush of wind soon catches him and Socrates nearly loses one of his hand's grips. Quickly, he puts the hand over Alastor's handle again. He feels his sweaty hands beginning to slip. There's another hard swallow from Socrates. If someone doesn't come down here very soon he's not going to last much longer.

Trish is already midway down the cliff. Expertly, she grabs onto one rock to get to another. Her high-heeled boots search for hard rocks to stand on and succeed. Strange, she's never done rock climbing before but she sure is a natural, she smiles. Her grin fades away soon. The rocks below are a bit smooth. Thus, they aren't stable enough for her to hold onto them. She extends out her left hand. Her half-inch long fingernails turn metal black and stretch out painlessly, easily reaching four inches longer. She stabs her steel-strong fingernails into the rocky wall and extends the other hand out to do the same with it. She resumes climbing down until she reaches the angel.

"Socrates…" inserts Trish softly, "You're alive… I thought you were dead."

"Well, technically, I am, Trish," Socrates warmly jokes.

Trish grins. "Grab onto my back, wing boy. I'll climb the both of us back up."

Skeptically, Socrates cocks an eye at her as she climbs a little down for him to climb on top of her back. He remains still.

"Um… are you sure? I mean… I weigh a lot. We might fall."

"Ha! Apparently, you don't know how strong us demon chicks can be, do you?" Trish bats her eyes and smiles innocently. "Now, c'mon, wing boy. I promise you that we won't fall. You've got to trust me."

Socrates gazes down, already getting dizzy just glancing at the ground way below his being. He really isn't looking forward to staying here for the rest of his life. The fact that his strength is failing him and the rain and wind is increasing with velocity makes him realize how urgent the situation is. He can stay here and fall. Or he can trust Trish.

He glances up at Trish. He's seen her fight and how strong she is. She might appear fragile to the outsider but she's got balls as hard as Dante. Though, that's not the reason why he hesitates. There's something else, something that he doesn't want to think about right now since it makes him… nervous. No. It's better not to think about that right now, Socrates reminds himself. You've got a mission. You've… you've got to follow it through.

Socrates smiles, carefully climbing onto her back and being mindful of Sparda that's holstered there. Deep down, however, the small voice continues to rage. Trust her. Trust her. Trust her. She won't let you fall…

On top of the cliff, Dante anxiously waits for the two to surface. He would've done the retrieving himself if need be but Trish finally sensed what he sensed. She sensed a man who was still breathing, still full with life. Hard to believe since, about a minute ago, he was thinking of Socrates as another victim from a demon assault. But Socrates isn't just `another' person. He's an angel who has decided to help him free his mother and brother, even if it means severe consequences should they fail. Both of them have lots to lose if they don't succeed. And once things go sour, it's all downhill from there. At least he can see THIS as a slight victory. Socrates is alive. He's a survivor, just like Trish and him are.

Dante grins the moment he sees a bare hand reach the edge of the cliff. Immediately, he grabs the hand and pulls to assist.

Socrates pushes himself up from Trish's back, allowing Dante to help him. The moment he stands on ground, he turns a little red when he suddenly realizes something. It was something he didn't really pay attention the first time through during the train fight. Now, it's pretty funny.

"Uh, Dante…" he says nervously, "Would you like to borrow my jacket? At least, for you to cover your, uh…"

Without another word, Socrates takes off his jacket and hands it over to Dante who, blushed himself, wraps it around his waist.

"It's laundry day," Trish jokes once she reaches ground. "So what now?"

"Yeah," Dante looks at Socrates. "Where exactly are we going? And how far is it?"

Socrates points straight ahead with Alastor. Both Trish and Dante glance at the direction, soon eying massively beautiful and white, mountains. It's a couple miles away from them and there's a vast green forest between the distant.

"Hard to believe that it's the vortex of all evil, right?' Socrates injects. "Then again, we should've seen this coming."

"Yeah…" answers Dante very quietly.

"The mountains are a part of an Indian reservation so we might have to do some talking to get through. In fact, this entire area is a part of the Indian reservation."

"Indian reservation?" Dante looks away from the mountains, back to Socrates.

Socrates nods. "Yeah. Apache Indians, way before white settlers came, consumed this land. They came here to prevent the great evil the mountains possessed from ever escaping. Some of them even hunted and killed demon creatures that emerged from the core of the mountains. They've always known about the evil here."

"And are they STILL aware of it?" Trish asks.

"Some still are, but not many. Most of the believers are from the older generations, old chiefs. The recent generations, on the other hand, think that it's all baloney."

Dante stares at the mountains again. An unsettlingly feeling invades over him. He soon looks around the grassy field and then the forest.

"It's so quiet," he says. "Too damn quiet…"

Trish nods. "Yeah… I'm even picking up some demonic scents not that far away."

"In that case…" Socrates throws Dante his sword.

Dante takes Alastor, a bit uncomfortable with it after the train fiasco. A part of him curses at the fact that Alastor remains. It didn't incinerate as he first hoped. It's here…with him. In a way, it reminds him of the monkey's paw tale. With the monkey's paw, one would be granted wishes. Money. Power. Anything. They were given the world with it. And yet, there was always a downside to every time one used it. Someone always died or some gain was always lost. The monkey's paw was pure evil, no matter the potentials it held. Alastor is just like that. It's full of greatness but wickedness as well. It may have helped him slay Mundus. And just a few minutes ago, it saved Socrates' life. But those images from it, those terrifying and… familiar ones, they're evil. Pure evil.

He can't Devil trigger, Dante concludes. Whatever happens, he'll only resort to melee and weapon fighting from here on out. Demon art combat is just too risky to commit to, even if the situation seriously calls for it.

"Here're your guns, Dante," Socrates uncovers Ebony & Ivory from his waist's belt.

Dante blinks. He sees Socrates holding both his weapons and extending them out to him. He sighs as he reclaims them. He thought Ebony & Ivory were lost to him in the wreckage. They're more than weapons, after all. He's closer to them than he is with anyone. Each time he has them with him, he remembers how precious life is, how precious it is preserve life. Dante glances at his pistols sideways. About the only bad news here, though, is that Ebony & Ivory don't have enough bullets in them to take down a mass of demons they might come across. The gun clips were all in the train. Wonderful.

"Did you bring any holy water with you, doll face?"

"Yeah," Trish taps her hand on three pouches attached to her belt.

"Good, we might be a little short of arms," he says and starts walking for the forest.

Trish and Socrates soon follow. Socrates tries not to laugh, seeing how Dante is walking very manly but at the same time wearing a jacket tied around his waist. How much of a riot is THAT? The humor slowly subsides, however, once uneasiness settles over him. Socrates stops a moment to look at the forest they have to cross to reach the mountains. For some reason, the green and seemingly innocent forest now looks obscenely evil.

An hour passes and the rain finally stops. The clouds remain dark gray and the wind continues to roar, breezing on and off again. The forest's trees move, swaying left to right. They're extremely tall, as if reaching the tip of the sky itself. Their dark arms are stretched in all directions, painfully twisted. From afar, they look like dark silhouette figures of hideous creatures, threatening to attack anyone that dares to cross them. Drops of water drip soundlessly from the tips of their lifeless leaves. They drip and echo onto the puddles of water that have been formed from the recent rain. The muddy ground, itself, seems alive as well. Leaves from the trees fall on it and build. One can almost swear that it moves with a mind of its own.

Once in awhile, thunder strikes from a great distant, flashing the sky bright white. Trish nearly becomes startled, reflexively reaching for Sparda on her back. Once the flash goes away she resumes breathing in. She can feel Dante's eyes on her. They're probably amused. But can he blame her? She hates this entire mission. There's something about it that makes her… scared.

"Son of a bitch…" curses Dante suddenly.

"Who are you calling a `son of a bitch'?" Trish raises an eyebrow. Surprised.

"Not to you, babe. I just realized something."

"Yes? What?" Socrates wants to know, realizing how angry Dante looks now.

"All my CD's and stuff…" Dante disappointingly shakes his head. Sad. "Fucking explosion blew `em away. This is so depressing…"

Trish and Socrates frown, hearing how serious and wounded Dante is. They soon look at each other. Curves form on their lips and shortly after, both explode in a heap of laughter.

"What?" Dante asks confused, not understanding. "What's so funny?"

"Jesus, Dante," Trish chuckles, "I thought you were worried about something serious!"

"Ex-cuse moi?" exclaims Dante, shocked. "That WAS serious! That was my fucking pride and joy collection! Fucking Rob Zombie and Static X… I had to bid on Ebay to buy most of their CD's for a reasonable price! They don't come cheap, y' know!"

"Cheapskate…" comments Trish with a large grin on her face. "I always knew you were such a cheapskate, Dante. Buying off of Ebay… Ha! Only cheapskate people bid on Ebay. I bet your email addy is `cheap_guy@hotmail.com.'"

"No, m' darling," corrects Dante with a sly smile to mimic Trish's. "Only SMART people, such as myself thank you, bid on Ebay. It's people who buy a CD for twenty bucks when they could save at least five who need their oil changed. And I'll have you know…"

As Dante continues to gripe, Socrates and Trish continue to laugh, not really paying attention to him. No matter how much Dante argues Trish always manages to make a successful comeback remark because, let's face it, Dante really IS a cheap guy. Why else would he have DNC located at a low-rented complex and wear the same clothes everyday? Ha! It looks like her sense of humor has finally kick in to mega after all. But, man, this feels a lot better, Trish thinks seriously inside. Before, she was nearly shitting on her pants. Now… the tension has lessen.

"What's a Rob Zombie again?" Socrates asks Dante. Confused.

"EXCUSE ME! You mean to tell me that you don't know who Rob Zombie is?"

"Uh-oh…" Trish smiles at Socrates, shaking her head and feeling sorry for him. When it comes to demons Dante is all hunter. But when it comes to music and anything he seriously obsesses over… lord have mercy! "Now you're done for. I think you just did your first mistake, wing boy."

"But…" he starts, nervous, "I honestly don't know what a `Rob Zombie' is."

" `What a Rob Zombie is'?" quotes Dante, bewildered, "What the hell?"

"I wouldn't recommend you getting him any angrier than he is right now, wing boy," Trish humorously warns. "Dante has a very short temper. You should see what he does to furniture… In fact, he did a TON of damage with the furniture back on Mallet Island."

"Hey, I was jus' practicing my sword swing," inserts Dante as he twirls his gun, Ebony, with a finger. " `Sides, it's not like Mundus minded. I figured I did the guy a favor since his place needed a makeover, y' know."

Trish laughs, totally agreeing. "I can just see you Devil triggering for the purpose of smashing a chair, ha!"

"Devil triggering?" asks Socrates.

"Yeah, that's what Dante calls it when he transforms into a demon."

"Oh."

"But speaking of Mundus," Dante says, "I wonder who owned that castle in Mallet Island. From what I read from its library, there was a cult who worshipped Mundus there."

"Wait a minute…" Trish frowns and soon jokes, "You were actually taking the time to READ from the library? While taking out demons at the same time? Damn, Dante, I don't think I'll ever figure you out."

"Whatever. C'mon, Trish. I'm being serious here. You know anything on the castle? Do you know who built it? The cult, perhaps?"

"The original owner was King Alexander the third," Socrates answers out of the blue, making both Dante and Trish turn their heads at him. "The cult started to form during the time of the fighting but didn't take into full effect until after the battle. You see… a couple of Mundus' followers were once loyal servants of the King. Yet, seeing Mundus as a powerful God, they decided to switch sides and assassinated King Alexander before the struggle between demon and humans had started. Thus, leaving one of Alexander's sons in charge of the Kingdom of Mallet, which wasn't an island back in the days but, instead, part of a continent. Anyway, the murderers were, to say the least, very secretive. No one knew who assassinated King Alexander, even when Sparda defeated Mundus. It was way later on, when Sparda had won and the people decided to move from Mallet in hopes of leaving their battled scars behind, that the group of assassins became a cult and worked to resurrect Mundus.

Though they never succeeded in resurrecting Mundus during their time there, they did master many arts of black magic by acquiring information throughout the world. Because of that, they were able to separate Mallet from the rest of the continent in the Eastern Europeans. Not only did they accomplish that but also, they were able to MOVE the `island' from one place onto the next. Therefore, if a person ever located the island, they wouldn't be able to see it at the same place again. In other words, the cult was successful in making the island ALIVE and a perfect breathing ground for Mundus."

"Wow…" Dante comments, "I never knew you had so much information on you, Socrates. You're practically a super computer."

"Well, I try to stay informed," Socrates slightly blushes.

"All right," Trish finally says. "Now that we've got THAT out of the way, do you mind telling us who was that woman we just fought, Socrates? Seeing how `informed' you are."

"Siren," he answers very seriously, "Her name's Siren and she's everything the name says. Her enchanting beauty and voice can summon even the strongest of men."

"Yeah, I noticed," Trish glances at Dante. Smiling.

She half expected for Dante to smirk. Surprisingly, he doesn't. In fact, she can't help but to see how fast Dante has lost his lively attitude just a second ago. It's like someone pulled the switch off of his happier side. Out with the ole' Happy Dante and in with the usual Grumpy.

"Siren is one of David's faithful supporters," Socrates continues, "She has the power to possess, manipulate, and create. In fact, she is one of the founders of the several creatures you faced in Mallet Island."

"Yeah, I recognized those scissor creatures from Mallet Island. Dante and me like to call them Sin Scissors or Sin Scythes, depending on the weapon they have."

"You actually CALL them names?" Socrates cocks an eye at Trish.

"Yeah. Categorizing them makes things easier for us to know who's who since there seem to be a lot of demons to go around."

"Yes. And it'll probably get worse since Siren is just ONE of David's minions."

"What do you mean?" Trish stops walking, looking at Socrates very seriously.

"I mean that David has several other followers. I'm not sure who or how many, but I can guarantee you that they're not the sociable type."

"They as powerful as Siren?" Dante wants to know.

"Without a doubt."

"Terrific. As if Siren wasn't enough for us to handle…"

"What else can you tell us about her, Socrates?" Trish asks, "And why did she call Dante her `new love'?"

"Because Siren's history is a depressing one. Many of the townswomen in England were jealous of Siren's beautiful appearance. Men AND woman, both married and single, practically flocked to her, wanting her. At about the time the New World began, she settled in with the rest of the Puritans. She was the daughter of a preacher, a strict and often abusive man who both beat and molested her when she was just a child. As she grew older however, she met and fell madly in love with a man coming from the east coast. He was deeply enchanted by her beauty. From that moment forth, she remained faithful to him and only him.

"Unfortunately, the man she fell in love with was married and had five children. Divorce was also out of the question. And her father was still the abusive man that he always was. Siren finally concluded that happiness was out of their reach.

"Too bad her man didn't think so. He decided to take matters into their own hands. Convincing her that they were soul mates and that any risk was worth it, they set out to kill his wife and her father."

Sighing, Socrates shakes his head.

"They didn't get away with it, obviously. Immediately, when the town folks came to obtain the lovers, the man accused Siren of being a witch. He claimed that Siren bewitched him and made him hack up his wife into a million pieces and chop up each of his own children's heads. The town's folks bought it and burned Siren at the stake while the man went unscratched. This happened at the stroke of a bell where a storm had come right after her execution."

"Was she really a witch? Did she really have this power?"

"No. She was human all the way."

"And the man? What happened to him?"

"Nothing happened to him during his stay on Earth. He lived and died a normal life. In fact, he even had the `decency' of marrying again and had three sons from it. Talk about a man without a guilty conscience, right? But all came back to him tenfold when judgment day came for him. He was punished by being resurrected as a mosquito. It may sound funny at first, but can you honestly tell me that you haven't killed a mosquito without much regard for it?"

Trish thinks.

"That's what I thought," inserts Socrates with a nod.

"Now can you get to the part on what she wants from me?" Dante asks, his voice very hard and serious.

"She wants love," answers Socrates, "She's been searching for true love for over an eternity now. She went to hell after killing her father. There, David promised to give her love again if she obeyed his every command. It looks like she's found her `ideal' mate."

Socrates glances at Dante carefully. Dante doesn't say anything.

"Ironic enough," continues the angel, "David granted Siren the powers that the townspeople accused her of having in the first place. Weird fate, huh?"

"Do you think David sent Siren to attack us?" asks Trish, awfully quiet and concerned.

"I don't know who else could since Siren only obeys David. So, I'd say yes."

"But… that doesn't make sense…" Trish shakes her head, confused, "If he sent Siren after us, then he knows that we're going after the book. But… Doesn't he WANT us to find the book in the first place? Why is he sending Siren to attack us if he's depending on us?"

Socrates becomes silent; he starts to fiddle with his necklace. Trish looks at Dante.

"I don't like this, Dante," she says extremely worried. "I don't like this one bit. Everything about this feels so… wrong."

Again with the `this feels wrong' statement from Trish. Dante looks back at his partner. Dully. If he was given a dollar for each time she said that then he'd be a millionaire by now. She's been saying this since forever, as it seems. Yet, she's right. Regardless of how tired he is to hear her favorite worrying phrase, he absolutely agrees. He knows that his mission is to rescue his mother and brother. They're depending on him. However, he can't ignore the eerie sensations that's disturbing Trish too. Something fishy is going on. He can't quite place his finger on it. It's there… like a splinter in his mind that he can't get out.

Dante rubs the back of his head, feeling a slight headache coming. Everything feels like a dream. It's like nothing here is real. It's all just an illusion. He keeps thinking that he's going to wake up at any moment now. This second. Maybe the next. But it never happens. He keeps opening his eyes to view this world. Christ, what REALLY is going on here?

"Tell us about Siren's connection to Mallet Island," Dante finally inquires to Socrates.

"David sent Siren to help Mundus," the angel answers, "She created many of the demons you were forced to kill. While her creatures' attempt to kill you may have failed, this is kind of bad. Bad because, through your battles, Siren already knows what you're capable of doing. And what you're not."

"What?" inserts Trish and adds sarcastically, "Well, that's just peachy…"

"I thought Mundus was trying to overthrow David," Dante crosses his arms across his chest. "Why would David help Mundus if he were trying to do that?"

"Because David and Mundus are actually great allies. Remember, we all have different realms. Mundus wants to conquer another realm from David's so he really isn't going against David. He just wants a piece of the pie. Both of them have everything to gain if they ally themselves."

"Wait a minute…" Dante looks at Trish and then at Socrates, "I just had a thought… Do you suppose that it was David who helped Mundus destroy the seal my father trapped him in? Is that why he escaped?"

"I'd probably bet my harp on that," Socrates jokes.

Dante isn't amused. Instead, he clenches his fists. That little shit… So that's how Mundus escaped, he finally realizes. David helped set him free. But… why? Why a few weeks ago? Why not after his father's death? Or even before that? It's as if David waited for the right time. Right time? Right time for WHAT?

He starts to walk, knowing that his answers are waiting for him. If they don't get moving again then they're just delaying the inevitable. The faster they get to wherever they're going the better. Hard to believe, though, that if what Socrates says is true, it'll lead him to the past.

The past… His father. Dante's eyes grow soft. Will he see him? And if he does, what is he going to say? There are so many questions and things that he's been wanting to tell him. He remembers the days how Vergil and him would daydream, seeing their father despite the fact that he was long dead before either of them knew how to talk. They were, what, ten months old before he died? Amazing, considering the fact that their father had lived over two thousand years. He met their mother about that medieval era too. If it weren't for the red amulet, she would've died a long time ago. However, it kept her from aging so that the two would live by each other's side for as long as he lived.

During that time, he protected Earth, doing a similar gig as the one he's taken up on in DNC. Once America started to develop weapons like guns, it was only a matter of time before his father partly traded his sword in for his famous pistols and raised hell for the underworld.

Once his father died, his mother decided that it was time for her to `age'. Therefore, she gave Vergil and him the amulet. Why his mother and father waited so long to have Vergil and him, he'll probably never know. But it must've been painful for father to have realized that after living for so long in Earth he'd die shortly after the time his brother and him were born. How did he feel? Did… he cry?

Both Trish and Socrates follow his lead. As they penetrate deeper into the forest, the wind picks up a notch. It's times like this that he wished he had a backup trench coat. Damn, he suddenly remembers. His trench coat. He had to fight for it and it cost him an arm and a leg. After all, finding red leather is hard to come by these days. It might be because most men don't look good in red, if he doesn't mind himself boldly saying.

"So how did you survive the train, wing boy?" Dante asks.

"It all happened so fast that I can't remember the details," Socrates explains, "All I can really recall is seeing the bridge and the lion. I jumped out without knowing where I was going to land. Even then, I nearly made it. If it weren't for Alastor I would've fallen and died."

"Died?" Trish asks, holding herself with her arms and looking up at the dark gray sky. "How does an angel die again?"

"Angels don't," Socrates says, "But humans do. You see… I'm kind of… BORROWING this body for awhile."

"Yikes," Dante grins. "I can see where you're going with this."

"So I guess this isn't how you really look like?" Trish says.

"No…" Socrates replies softly.

"Then tell us who you were in your other lifetime, tell us what you looked like," Trish gently requests.

"I'm sorry… I can't…" Socrates says, terribly quiet.

"Why not?" asks Dante, "What's the shame in it?"

"Because…"

"Because what?"

Socrates stays silent. His mouth remains shut. Trish senses something awfully sorrowful here and walks right in front of the angel, stopping him in his tracks.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's all right," Trish gives him a warm smile and touches his shoulder. "I'm sorry for bringing this up."

"No…" murmurs Socrates, "That's okay…"

"For an angel you sure aren't the merrier type they always show in the movies," Dante comments rather disappointedly.

"Look… I just don't want to talk about it. It brings back… ugly memories."

"They always say it's good for the `soul' to confront the past in order to move on to the future," Dante continues. "It's kind of funny that I'm telling you this. You, of all people."

Socrates tries to smile but can't.

"Ignore him," Trish tells Socrates with a grin, "He doesn't know what he's talking about. It's a part of his nature to be such an asshole at times. Just ignore him."

Right before Trish can continue, she sees how painful the look on the angel's face is. It's sad. Terribly sad. She frowns abruptly when she notices the angel shredding a tear on his left eye. He quickly wipes it away.

"Socrates…?" Trish softly says. "Are you… all right?"

"Um, yeah," he replies, trying to sound better, "Of course I am."

Dante stops walking and notices the angel's blushed and puffy cheeks.

"That's not what I see from where I'm standing, wing boy…"

Trish gives Dante a hard look, indicating for him to knock his shit off already. Trish glances back at the angel, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Socrates, please… talk to me. What's wrong?"

The angel simply shakes his head. "I'm sorry. It's just… bad memories."

Socrates looks away, not wanting to go into them. He doesn't even want to remember them. They're too painful. When he became an angel, he expected things to be different for him. But they weren't. And then HE found him. And HE loved him more than the other one. His Holy One… Slowly, he sinks to his knees and lowers his head. Dante and Trish can see small drops of tears dripping from his face onto the ground of spoiled dirt and leaves.

"I was born in Greece…" Socrates finds himself blurting out loud, not even aware of it, "My mother was a prostitute. Back then they really didn't know how to abort a child so she had me. After she did, she left me near the garbage area. She was glad too since I developed a rare bone disease when I was born. It wasn't life-threatening but made me look… really ugly. Deformed, or `special' as people call it today. A couple of homeless people found me and raised me. They never had a child and so, they figured that they wanted to take me in. They became my stepparents."

Socrates' mouth goes dry. Remembering. He remembers it all vividly. That's the trouble with his memories. They're all vivid, right down to the end.

"They were really good to me. They fed me as much as they could and gave me clothes wherever they could find some from people's garbage. You might be amaze what good stuff you can find from people's garbage cans these days," he tries to humor. He falls short. Crying. "They were… good people. They just didn't let me go out from our hideout. I scared a lot of people with my appearance, that's why. And even among the unfortunate people of Greece, I really did feel like an outcast. People used to call me…"

He stops, thinking of an ugly word he hasn't heard in a long time. A word that had so much of an effect back then.

"A war had come," he says, "and many people were accusing other people for the war. After all, up to that point, Greece was in its triumphant moment. The high class, especially, was enjoying the good life. And why not? They were rich and had the world at their feet while their unfortunate `servants' were struggling to get through a day. They obsessively felt that they were the image of God and that this was why Greece was so prosperous. They felt that destiny had given them this beautiful place and status.

When the war came, however, they were eager to blame someone for the downfall. They didn't want to believe that Greece was just as liable for war as any other place in the world. They thought Greece was… different. People, innocent people, were sent to their executions when they said something that was `evil.' Even family relatives turned against each other. No one could so much as whisper their sentiments without suffering the consequences. It soon got to the point that the people of Greece blamed the homeless. They thought the homeless were jealous of them and therefore, cursed them. They found and killed my stepparents. And then they found me…"

The words coming from Socrates' mouth are stuttered and broken with tears.

"I was thirteen years old when one of them killed me, soon placing my corpse in the disposable area of the city so no one would ever see me again. My body just rotted until there was nothing left but my bones…"

He shakes his head, replaying his own death. He sees himself struggle against the heavy white man who pushed him down into the water. It was cold, so cold. His body jerked involuntarily the moment the chilling water surrounded him.

From below, he made out three blurry figures, all looking down at him. He barely heard their muffled conversation. They were talking to each other, or at least, that's what he thought they were doing. When he finally heard one of them blurt out that word, that ugly word, his feet and hands were beginning to feel numb. Eyes wide. Arms stretched out awkwardly. Head thrown back. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't get the man off of him. He couldn't for the life of him. He just COULDN'T push those strong and heavy hands wrapped around his tiny and frail throat away.

He remembers his lungs filling with water, choking and gagging for air. He remembers the figures above him laughing, their faces appearing twisted and obscene, glaring at him with cool comfort. Pleased. Again, they said that terrible word. Devil.

He was only thirteen years old but he already knew what prejudice and pure hatred was. He saw them in his murderer's eyes. But he also looked beyond that, for he too saw those same eyes in all of humanity. No matter how pure or `saved' a person was he was able to see the true inner evil everyone possessed, clearly viewing it with both dismay and concern.

"They thought I was a devil," he finally concludes, voice in a slight whisper, "They thought that I was a spawn of Hades because of the way I looked."

The two devil hunters don't mutter a word. Both Trish and Dante can't believe what they're hearing. They can't even apprehend the situation Socrates was forced to face. They never realized that this seemingly nerdy and naïve angel had such a tough upbringing. A part of Dante's head senses the irony in this all. It senses the irony in his death and even in Siren's. But he can't summon the strength to think about it. Jesus, he thinks bitterly. Jesus…

Socrates wipes the tears away from his face. He slowly stands up, trying to smile, trying to remind Dante and Trish that angels are SUPPOSE to symbolize hope. Happiness. Not grief. Not sorrow. Not pain.

"I guess it doesn't matter anymore. People will always see evil wherever they WANT to see evil," the angel says, his voice somewhat hard but still timid. "If they're not careful, they soon become that evil they despise."

"That they do, my friend!" a man's voice echoes from within the forest. "Fucking pathetic bastards, aren't they?"

Dante and Trish frown, hearing the voice speak and echo across the forest. The grimace they form worsens once they notice a fog suddenly looming over the entire area, slowly creeping over the forest with a will of its own. The devil hunters stand still, reading this as a bad sign. Even the air has become somewhat stale and chilly. Immediately, Dante and Trish look and search for the source of it. Dante's eyes narrow coldly when he gets the feeling of someone staring at him. Tensed, his hands grip tightly onto his guns with Alastor surging with electricity that's held under Dante's armpit.

"My, my, my…" the man's voice continues, his voice coming from everywhere. "Ain't this sweet? Looks like I have visitors today. And here I was, thinking that I was the loneliest man in the entire universe."

Whoever he is, they can't see him. The trees are blocking everything. Dante purses his lips together. He's curious, but ready to kick some ass if necessary. Last time he played it easy it caused the lives of innocent people and almost took the angel's life too. No. This ain't going to happen again. Not on his watch.

Dante gives a quick glance at Socrates, realizing how much pale he looks. It's similar to the expression he gave prior to Siren's attack.

"Well?" Dante asks the angel quietly. "Got any ideas on who this guy is? Is he with David?"

Socrates keeps quiet, staring at the forest in a daze. Oblivious. Dante mutters a curse word under his breath, a strand of hair covering the darkness his light blue eyes hold. Great, he thinks sarcastically to himself. In other times, Socrates is a chatterbox that just can't find the will to shut up. And now, when he really needs him to talk, `Mr.-know-it-all' can't get a thing out of his mouth.

Dante shakes his head, rethinking this thought. No. He's being too hard on the kid, especially after hearing his confession. If he were in Socrates' shoes he'd probably act the same way. Probably worse. Yeah. He doesn't need Socrates to talk right now. His silence, alone, can be translated as bad news anyway.

A storm is coming and it'll probably be the shit storm of all time like the last one. Dante grimaces at that last thought. He continues viewing the eerie forest with all his human and demon senses he has with him. He hears the crack of twigs not that far away. He grabs Socrates by the arm and pulls the angel close to him so that he can keep a good eye on him in case things turn sour or for the worse.

Dante hands Socrates Ivory, regardless of how the angel protests in taking it. He can see why the protest. Angels carry harps. Not grenade launchers. But this isn't a grenade launcher and this isn't the time to debate. After giving him a hard look, Socrates complies. Good, Dante thinks. It's better to have him armed than defenseless. Dante quickly turns and gives Trish a silent hand gesture, wanting her to flank his left and check the area there.

Nodding in silence, Trish complies, moving as quietly and precise like a panther ready to find and attack her prey. Good girl, he nods to himself mentally in satisfaction.

They've only worked with each other for a few weeks since the Mallet Island fiasco. Yet, Trish is a fast learner, catching on the `do's and don'ts' in the art of devil hunting. Sure, she's a rookie. Hell, back on Mallet Island, her powers were as good as useless until he needed them at the end to take out that bastard, Mundus. But the girl can kick some ass. There's no denying that fact. If anything, `employing' Trish was actually a smart move for BOTH him and her.

Trish moves ahead very slowly and carefully, sometimes cracking delicate twigs underneath her long and black boots. Her senses tell her that the source of the voice is near. Far, but near enough. She can practically taste the guy if such a thing even existed for her. Trish peers into a group of intertwined trees, observing them steadily. She could've sworn she saw movement coming from them. Her breathing grows short and quiet. The less noise she makes the better, she tells herself.

Trish's leg lifts and goes over a log as she advances about the perimeter. The scent is getting somewhat closer. Wait a minute… she just saw a shadow pass her. She thinks of calling out to Dante but has second thoughts of it. If she cries out to him then she might alert the stalker to her exact location and possibly be ambushed. No. Too risky.

The female devil hunter quietly removes Sparda, knowing that if she's the one to find him, then she's the one to have to take him out. Those were the rules Dante told her on her first devil hunting assignment. Lucky for her, she wasn't the one to find the enemy during that time. Dante was a step ahead. Today, however, she's not so lucky and Dante isn't around to catch the scent she's caught on.

Sparda's metal gleams as she unsheathes it. She mentally prepares herself for the worse to come. She holds Sparda with just one hand despite its heavy weight, drawing it close to her very-feminine right hip. Anticipating for an attack, the demon woman swallows hard and moves into an area that has a large opening, free from trees and other obstacles as such.

"Whoa!" the mysterious man suddenly shouts in disbelief, almost causing Trish to jump to the nearest tree near her. "Now I KNOW I should've prepared for visitors! Ain't you such a babe, hot stuff! Got a name? Or should I call you mine?"

Trish hears the sound of leaves moving. Shit. He knows where she is. He's closing in. Breathing hard, Trish turns to find Dante's location. He's already heading for her position along with Socrates. She sees his familiar figure not that far away.

"You can call me your worse enemy if you don't show yourself!" Trish decides to call out, no longer going for stealth mode since her target already knows her location.

The sound of more leaves rustling again.

Dante moves in to Trish's whereabouts. A part of the asshole in him bitches at the fact that Trish was the one to track the demon first. He subsides that asshole, however, and reminds himself to concentrate on the seriousness of the issue. This isn't the typical demon hunting he's used to. These boys play hard. If the kid is right and there are more of David's minions out there that are as powerful as Siren, then he's going to need to stay focus. He can't afford to play the cocky cowboy this time around, not with his mother and brother's soul at stake.

He draws near to Trish, his demon scent going wild. He's sniffing and hearing over thirty demons nearby. Wherever they're approaching from they're moving in very fast, circling over their positions to avoid him getting a precise lock on them. They smell familiar too. Obviously, they're demons he's faced before. Recently? No. He doesn't think so. But he's faced them not that long ago. See, the trouble is that most of these demons have the same smell. They have that same fucking `I-haven't-taken-a-bath-since-the-dawn-of-time' smell that makes recognizing one from another nearly impossible. Yeah. Totally gross. And their movements are also kind of similar. But beyond them, beyond it all, there's a scent that grabs his attention. It's a powerful one. Big time.

Suddenly, the whirl of movement emerges from behind. It's coming from the big one. Dante immediately pushes Socrates aside so that no harm can come to the angel. He spins around, twirling and pointing his Ebony forward. His eyes turn cold once he locates the papa of all.

A tall twenty-something man stands there, one of which possesses extremely waist-long and beautiful black-night hair. He's extremely handsome with pale-like features and a long, perfect face. He stands there, motionless but without a care in the world. His finger cut-off gloved hands hang casually by his sides.

In one of the gloved hands contains a bizarre jet-black metal gauntlet. The gauntlet takes the shape of a dragon with an open and small hole where the eye is supposed to be. The bracelet of the gauntlet also contains four beautifully crafted, mini-sized orbs: red, blue, gray, and white.

Behind his light clear purple sunglasses he wears stylishly, his blazing eyes of the same color look at Dante in a bit amusement. His head tilts slightly, getting another view of Dante from sideways. The man doesn't attack Dante but delivers a grin that suggests a dark agenda.

The mysterious male is dressed in all dark purple clothing. A short leather purple jacket with matching tight pants. The skeleton necklaces worn around his neck mix well with the steel-cold buckle of his belt that contains the face of a skeleton seeming to scream. Mouth open, eyes glaring. Overall, the clothing looks expensive and chosen with great consideration. A man who enjoys style, Dante concludes. The leather jacket, alone, just spells `a million dollars'. His steel-toed black cowboy boots glisten as he takes a couple of steps forward. The tight black shirt and pants stick to his well-toned and muscular body so tightly that it's practically a part of him. Though Dante can't get a full look of it, the mysterious man has a large and dark sword holstered on his back.

His slick black hair sways a little under the breeze. He stops right in front of Dante, strands of long hair over his left face. The man doesn't look at Dante, though. Instead, he first glances at Trish very sensually and removes his light purple shades very slowly. Grinning.

"Hey, there, beautiful," he delivers Trish a quick and suave smile, licking his lips. "Want to go watch a movie with me? Or make-out there? Or, shit, play a role-playing video game in my Playstation 4? Either way, it suits me just fine…"

The man walks around the three very casually, as if he's an important man. He stops again when he notices Socrates across him who appears nervous. The angel looks at him in utter silence. The dark haired figure grins at the timid and younger man.

"Nice to see you, Socrates," he speaks again, smoothly and without a care, "Looks like I ain't the only one assigned a task. Did your `Holy One' finally decide to test you? Or did you ask him for this gig to prove your worthiness?"

Socrates doesn't say anything. Nervousness is soon replaced by frustration. The timid angel clenches his fists. He's angry but unable to summon the courage to talk.

The black haired man ignores the angel, no longer amused. He returns his attention to Dante only to chuckle at the near-nude devil hunter.

"Don't tell me my Siren cast a spell over your clothes and made them vanish into thin air, man. I had no idea she was THAT obsessed and perverted."

"Who are you?" Dante points Alastor at the man.

"Name's Imp," Imp grins and defies Dante by fearlessly licking the tip of Alastor with his pierced tongue, causing it to surge with electricity.

Dante quickly pulls his sword away. Disgusted.

"Are you with David?" Dante asks.

"Me?" laughs Imp, "With David? Pu-lease! Shit, no. I'm just one of his bastard children he had here on Earth when he decided to get his `freak' on. If it were up to me, I'd be in Las Vegas having myself a good time. But my old man wanted me to check up on you, Dante. The lazy bastard. Seems like he digs your kind of work. Sheeit, he looks at you as the child he never had. What an asshole, right?"

"You know my name?"

"Du-uh! Like I wouldn't have called you `Dante' if I didn't know it, man."

"You've got a big mouth, `Imp'."

"Funny, my old man said the same thing. Big mouth. Yeah, that's me."

"Why are you here?" Trish inquires and joins Dante.

"Oooh, the hot one decides to finally speak…" Imp grins and licks his lips again.

"Enough of your bullshit," growls Trish, "Why are you here?"

"Well, if I told you why, then I'd have to tell you why Siren is here, and then I'd have to tell you all the truth, and then that would put me in deep doo-doo, and then that'd TOTALLY ruin the surprise." He shakes his head and shrugs. "Jeez, folks, sorry. But I'd prefer to keep to myself, thank-you-very-much. I get to live longer, y' know what I mean?"

"You're screwed anyway, Imp," Dante cocks his gun, preparing to fire.

Imp laughs. "Ha! Like shooting me is gonna accomplish anything, y' geezer? I'll let you in on a little secret, devil boy… don't trust your eyes. Don't trust yourself. In fact, don't fucking trust anything. You might not like what you see once you see the truth, but it's certainly better than going in blind like you are right now. Each action and thought you take during these three days will affect the final day when all answers will be revealed."

Dante remains still, looking at Socrates for answers. What the hell is he talking about? He wants to ask him. This guy is talking nonsense. Truth? What truth? He can't make out anything Imp is saying. It's like Imp is speaking in riddles or something.

Unfortunately, for him, Socrates remains quiet. Angry. Unable to offer Dante answers. Dante has a hunch that Socrates has had a run-in with Imp before. Socrates probably had a run-in with David's entire gang since he knows who and what they are.

"Hey," Imp addresses Dante casually, "I'm curious… do you know what happens in three days from now? Do you… have any idea why it's so special and why my old man chose it?"

"Because that's the birth of the book, asshole." Dante rolls his eyes. "Please ask me something that I DON'T know."

Imp smiles. It's a steady and twisted one. "Yeah. That's what I expected. Man… you really ARE clueless to what's really going on… I'd have expected YOU, of all people, to know why it is so important. You. Ha! Isn't this a riot? Riot, that's what I'm saying!"

"What are you bragging about now, Imp?" Dante grits his teeth. "I'm tired of your shit. If you got something to say, then say it. Stop wasting my time."

"Time?" Imp says with a slight nod. "Funny, that's really funny. You're telling me that I'm wasting your time when, in reality, you're the one wasting time by talking about time and me wasting that time, time, in which, you don't have much of."

"Shut up!" Dante frustrates, annoyed.

Imp laughs, pleased somehow. Dante feels heat running through his body. Every inch of him wants to put this guy out of submission. Every piece of him wants this man's bones to crack. Everything about him is so tempting to break.

His thoughts subside a bit as his eyes catch a bit of the sword holstered behind Imp's back. He's never seen it before but recognizes it. Recognizes it? From where? Wait a minute…

Dante's eyes narrow and then widen in shock. That sword! Yes, he's seen it before! The images back in the train station's restroom… The image of the dark man killing Trish… That's the sword! That's the sword that killed her!

"Like it?" Imp stops laughing, noticing how Dante views his sword in great interest. "It's the sword of Exxon. Only the true King of Hell can wield it and unravel its powers."

Dante's fists clench so tightly that the blood running through his hands stop to circulate. That sword… That fucking sword… Imp is the one! He's the bastard that kills Trish!

Angrily, Dante swings Alastor across Imp's chest. Blood spurts from the other man's chest, spraying the ground. Imp staggers back, just as surprised as Trish and Socrates are.

"Dante!" yells Trish, confused.

She nearly runs to him until Socrates' hand holds her back. His youthful face expresses concern, begging her to stay out of it. Trish tries to push Socrates off but his hand remains firm on her shoulder, not wanting her to get in-between the dangerous situation. The angel gives her another disturbed appearance, not saying a word but saying everything at the same time. Trish blinks, slowly subsiding her struggle. She looks back at the two men fighting and understands. Even though she hates it, she understands that it'll only do Dante more harm if she intervenes. And besides, that rage he holds. There's something going on here.

Without warning, Dante goes after Imp again with an aggressive downwards sword slash. Immediately, Imp takes out Exxon and blocks the hunter's attacks. The sound of cold metal clashes against each other, both cracking with electricity. The two men lock swords again with Dante glaring coldly at Imp and Imp giving him a cocky grin. Each of their muscles flexes and contract as both men use their strength to hold each other off.

"SOMEONE needs to take a chill pill, y' know…" Imp manages to inform as he fights Dante's inhuman pressure with his own.

"Bastard," Dante frustratingly mutters, not really caring what the dark haired man says. "I won't let you kill her!"

"Her?" Imp almost laughs as their metals squeeze together again. "Kill who?"

"You know what I'm talking about!"

"Jeez-Louise, Dante," Imp grunts when Dante implies more pressure, surprisingly clueless, "I think you need psychiatric help because I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar!" screams Dante and miraculously manages to slice the other man's forearm with a swipe of his sword.

"Too bad…" the dark haired replies once his wound immediately heals, "And I was beginning to like you a little, devil boy…"

Despite the devil hunter steadily getting the advantage over Imp, the mischievous man amazingly slashes Exxon downward to lower Alastor's defenses. Before Dante can react to the new position, Imp executes an uppercut to Dante's chin with his free hand. It is soon followed by a roundhouse high kick that sends Dante to the air, quickly hitting the ground with a heavy thump.

Imp commits a very high back flip that creates a large gap between him and the devil hunter. With a fashionably quick move, he both spins and holsters Exxon to its resting place.

"Time to stop wasting time, devil boy, and get down to business, baby! Yeah!"

Both Trish and Socrates notice how cold the air has become. It's becoming chilling to the bone, causing the hairs at the back of their necks to rise. Small flakes fall from the sky. Some of them are oddly colored by… blood?

With a heavy grunt, Dante gets up from the ground. He never realized that Imp was so strong. Then again, this is his first time meeting him and, as he just heard, he's the son of a powerful devil. He has no idea what this guy is capable of doing or how twisted he is.

Dante looks up just in time to see Imp extending his left arm with the black gauntlet.

Imp admirably touches the bracelet of the gauntlet, caressing it as if he were caressing a kitten. Imp chuckles softly once he removes one of the orbs there, the blue one. He inserts the blue orb into a small gap located at the dragon's eye. The gauntlet glows with a blue hue. Amazingly, the dragon gauntlet actually blinks once before closing its eye, locking the blue orb into place. Several long and tentacle-like spikes soon emerge from the steel of the black metal. Alive. Imp closes his eyes, as if ready to brace himself. Abruptly, the black spikes painfully stab themselves in his arms, digging cunningly into his flesh.

From where they stand, Dante, Trish, and Socrates see Imp's agonizing expression, his entire body now glowing with a blue color. Imp hollers like a madman, though, trying to ignore the pain. Spike after spike coming from the gauntlet continues to stab his entire body, not just the arms. His legs. His chest. His back. Everywhere. Soon laughing, the dark haired man's eyes snap open, blazing a blue color as if set on fire. Electricity surges throughout his body. His skin ripples. He seems to be… transforming.

"Mater Christi…" whispers Dante in realization, "Imp… he can Devil Trigger…"

Before Dante, Socrates, and Trish can get a good look on Imp's new transformation, the wind abruptly turns violent, whirling like a blizzard with rains of blood pouring down. Red snow falls from the heavens, gushing downward very fast. It soon colors the entire sky above crimson, creating a haunting look.

Shortly after, Dante, Trish, and Socrates feel the ground beginning to tremble, like a huge earthquake. Parts of the ground splits apart and caves in deep into the muddy ground.

"Hold on!" Socrates yells as he covers his face from the harsh wind and quickly grabs hold of a tree's trunk with both hands.

"What's going on?" Trish tries to see through the gushes of red snow and wind. They touch her face so hard that they cause tiny slashes across her delicately pale skin.

Dante puts Ebony in the pocket of the leather jacket wrapped around his waist. With one hand still holding Alastor, Dante wraps his fingers around a thick branch of a tree once he starts to feel the pressure of the wind pressing against him. He holds on as tight as he can, feeling his body being tossed around like a ragged doll. The wind now lifts him to the air.

Damn! He curses and stabs his now-black and long fingernails into the wood of the branch. His other hand attempts to keep Alastor in its grips. Dante wraps his arm around the branch to make the task easier. The branch breaks off, however, and Dante finds himself flying with the wind until he smacks aggressively against another tree. A part of its sharp branches sticks out and slices his exposed chest, a line of blood seeping through his flesh. He ignores the pain, though. Desperately, the hunter hugs the tree so that he'll remain pinned to it for as long as the wind keeps pushing him forward.

Meanwhile, Trish has managed to stab Sparda into the ground and holds on to its handle. Her lower body lifts upward and her fingers feel slippery. The grasp that Sparda has won't last long since the ground is too muddy. Its steel is slowly rising up with the wind, with her along with it! The willful woman closes her eyes, hoping that the wind somehow stops, hoping that it's not going to end like this.

Surprisingly enough, her wish comes true.

The wind slowly settles down. The snow stops falling too. Its scarlet color starts to soak and paint the ground red as the snow melts. Trish can feel everything decrease in strength, realizing how her body is steadily reaching the ground again. Gravity kicks in inevitably and she falls back to the Earth. The wind now reduced to only a breeze.

The female hunter quickly stands up, eagerly knowing the fate of her fellow comrades. From where she is, she can't find Dante or Socrates. Taking a couple of steps forward and preparing to call out to them, Trish frowns the moment her demon senses start to aggravate her. It's picking up several demons nearby. Some are not that far away while others are too terribly close. She blinks the moment she feels someone standing behind her. She turns around.

Trish doesn't have enough time to scream.

Elsewhere, Dante and Socrates slowly come to. Dante's muscles ache slightly from the recent struggle against the wind and small quarrel with Imp. He finds Socrates not far from him and walks over to the still-grounded Socrates. He offers a hand to help lift the angel up. Socrates takes it and stands. The two study each other for a moment. Grinning foolishly. Both of them are consumed by mud and cold blood from the snow, especially Dante who's extremely grateful that the wind didn't snatch away his only clothing. Then, he'd really be pissed.

Dante looks up, realizing that he can't see Trish anywhere.

"Yo, Trish!" he hollers out loud and removes a block of mud clinging to his silver hair.

Silence.

"Trish?" he asks, waiting for an answer.

His face is slightly concerned. There's still no answer.

"C'mon, baby, talk to me," Dante calls out again.

Nothing.

"Something's wrong," Dante later says uneasily when Socrates meets him within an inch.

"Trish!" Socrates yells this time, "Trish, where are you? Answer us!"

Again, nothing.

Dante's jaw dances. Now he knows something is wrong. Did she fly off? Buddha, he certainly hopes not.

"C'mon…" he mumbles to Socrates, trying not to sound worried. For his own sake. "Let's go find her."

The two men immediately advance forward, looking left and right. Up and down. Everything, Dante notes uneasily, is silent. Even the breeze of the wind is mute. It's as if everything has come to a halt. Dante swallows hard, trying not to think of this as a bad thing even though he knows better. He clenches Alastor's handle and removes Ebony from the jacket's pockets as an extra safety precaution.

"Trish!" Socrates continues to yell out loud as they walk deeper, wanting an answer back. "Trish! Talk to us! Where are you?"

He lowers his pace, making sure that he's covering every bit of the area. Still, no sign of the black clad woman. His mouth forms a white line as he sucks his lips in. He glances back at Dante to ask him if he's catching her scent. Socrates grimaces, however, once he sees Dante come to a complete stop, eyes narrowly cold.

"Dante?" he starts, "What's wrong? Have you found her?"

Dante doesn't say anything. Instead, he circles around, trying to view everything. He isn't looking for Trish, Socrates knows. By the looks of it, he's looking for something else.

"Dante?" he asks again.

"Quiet," Dante finally replies, very quiet.

Socrates complies.

"I'm picking up several scents," Dante silently explains, "Several of `em."

Yeah. Several. They're the same ones he picked up before meeting Imp. Great, he tells himself. Not only is Trish missing and Imp has gone off somewhere, but also he feels the demons he felt earlier on.

Socrates' displays a concerned face. Those scents Dante is picking up can only mean demons are nearby, he calculates. Is Trish all right? Or…? He looks down at the pistol in his hands. Funny, he's never used a gun before. He never liked these things. They're so destructive and a part of the violence spreading through humanity. But that's nothing compared to the violence an individual holds deep in him or her, right? Socrates wipes a bead of sweat from his eyebrow and glares away from Ivory. Something catches the corner of his eye.

Dante doesn't notice Socrates moving away from him. He's too concerned with those signals. Wherever those demons are, they're preparing for an ambush that's for sure. They're looking at him right this second, seeing any potential weaknesses he holds. Well, then, c'mon. C'mon and bring your game, assholes. The reaper is here and the time for damnation has come. Meet the rest of your brothers and sisters, fuckers, Dante grins.

The smile transforms into a near gasp. Wait a minute… there's that large scent again. It's from Imp. Shit. So the bastard didn't leave yet, huh? He should've… for his sake. He's not going to let him kill Trish. That boy is gonna get his ass kicked, he'll make sure of it.

Again, the smirk crosses Dante's face as he readies himself.

"Dante!" he suddenly hears.

Instantly, he whirls around at the voice of Socrates'. Jesus, he didn't even realize wing boy left his sight until now.

"I found her!" Socrates says, though a bit in distraught.

Dante's eyes widen. He temporarily abandons the demon scents and runs to Socrates' position, trying to read the slight dismay in Socrates' voice. Trish! Lord, please let her be okay. He hopes that he isn't too late.

Fast, he dashes past the trees until he spots Socrates' familiar figure. When Dante meets up with the angel, his mouth is gaped wide open. Trish!

Trish. She stands in the middle of the forest. Her entire body, consumed with walls of ice. Trapped inside it. Her body position indicates her first reaction. One leg is slightly picked up from the ground, as if she wanted to run, while her arms are spread over her face in a defensive manner. Even her hair is frozen in place, some of it upward.

"Trish!" Dante exclaims.

Trish blinks, telling Dante that she's alive. However, she can't speak. Her entire face is still under the blocks of ice, mouth slightly open. Instinctively, Dante pounds his fist against the wall of ice, not caring if it causes his bare hands to bleed red. Socrates tries to help and kicks at the ice. When their efforts don't work, Dante resorts to Alastor and uses it to slice through. His face turns red when he sees that Alastor doesn't work either. This ice is the work of evil.

He stops hitting the ice once he sniffs the demon scents. Socrates notices the face he makes and slowly turns around. Silent.

The demons appear like ape-men made of pure ice. Their claws are sharp and each stand six feet tall. Their faces are nothing but curves and sharp turns created by ice. There are about twenty of them, each circling around the three.

"Frosts…" Dante mutters under his breath.

Frosts… some of the worse demon creatures he had to fight back on Mallet Island. As if battling Sin Scissors and Sin Scythes wasn't bad enough, these guys usually brought the house down. Not only did they attack in pairs, take a horrendous number of hits before finally buying it, but also, if he didn't work fast enough to dispose of them quickly they'd immediately recuperate all their wounds. Frosts literally froze anything that they touched. But it's strange. None of them had ice that was as hard as the one Trish is captured in. He usually was able to break it with Alastor or, better yet, Ifrit. Damn, he should've taken Ifrit along.

"Like my new look?" he abruptly hears a voice inside his mind.

Dante instantly recognizes the voice there.

"Imp…" he says out loud.

Dante turns for the source of the voice. His white blue eyes stare in disbelief, finally grasping Imp's new transformation. Jesus…