Fan Fiction ❯ Devil May Cry: Damned Souls ❯ Destination to No Return – Day Two ( Chapter 7 )

Author's Note: Whoof! It's been a YEAR and a half since I updated this long story! You can blame school and my art muse for that. I'm not even sure I got all my grammar mistakes and stuff alike so I'll be editing this baby again soon. But I decided to post it anyway so that readers don't get the impression I've stopped writing it altogether. I might add or subtract some things in this chapter so don't be surprised to see it change within a week or so. It ain't magic. It's just plain ole' stupid me. :-p I guess it helps to know that this is one of those mystery stories where there's a clue in each chapter. This story has an interesting plot twist but in order to pull it off I've got to make sure each paragraph remains consistent. And it doesn't help when I take long breaks from this story and FORGET what I put in what paragraph and why I did. LOL

Thanks everyone who has reviewed my story!!! Six reviews! WOW! It makes me SO HAPPY to know that there's an audience reading my fanfic! It makes all these long hours writing this sucker worth it. Thanks you guys!

All right, since I know people don't want to read this anymore, I'll get straight into something really important. In case you haven't looked at the content yet, you'll notice I added Hentai. I didn't think I would have at first to but there IS a scene in here that's, well, not for kiddies. I'm still keeping it R-rated since the sex here is the type of sex you'd see in just about any R-rated film, LOL. They'll be some more but how explicit they are I'm still not sure. I'm not really keen on writing scenes that have it because I'm very shy about it. But for a story like this and its plot twist I can't overlook it. So, without further ado, here's the long awaited chapter 7.

Chapter 7: Destination to No Return - Day Two

Out in the open field of glistening white-bluish snow where randomly placed trees are all that accompany her, a lone woman gazes up at the massive structure of the vanilla colored mountains. She wears a heavy dark coat that reaches all the way down to her knees. White animal fur, most likely from a silver wolf, sticks out from the coat's collar. Likewise out of the sleeves. Her pale white face is partially covered by the coat's hood, creating a dark shadow over her attractive features. About the only thing viewable are her cherry red lips that are slightly parted, visible air coming in and out through it. Thick gloves cover both her hands, offering as much warmth as they can provide. The woman also possesses knee-high black boots, built to withstand heavy weather like this one.

The lone woman hugs herself with both arms to flee from the devastating cold weather, her eyes studying the architect of the mountains very carefully. Somewhere at the peak of them lies an evil of untold power. Somewhere at the peak of them lies… the beginning and end of time. She senses it, almost touching it with the tips of her fingers. If only she could do something about it. She might not be as powerful as Mundus or Dante but her will alone can move THESE mountains.

Snow begins to fall and a strange red mist emerges from one of the peaks of the mountains, moving cunningly upward like a snake. Slithering. Devouring the sky above. Trish immediately lowers the hood from her face. She expresses a cross of surprise and acknowledgment. She glances up at the red mist. It's getting worse by the minute, she notes. It's just as bad as wing boy informed her earlier on.

"Trish?"

And speaking of wing boy…

"Trish?" he calls out again, a little bit in distress.

He's a few feet away, kneeling down and petting the pack of hounds bred to sleigh. He, too, wears heavy clothing to keep from getting cold. Boots. Gloves. About the only thing he doesn't have is a hood. Instead, a thick and long black scarf covers the bottom part of his face. Each time he moves it shifts with him. To protect his eyes he wears large goggles colored a bright neon-like blue color.

The healthy, bunch of dogs bark happily, eagerly licking Socrates' gloved fingers. Jumping up, tongues sticking out. The freckled face young man chuckles as he gets off the wooden-made sleigh, his boots making a crunch sound against the snow.

"All right, guys," he says cheerfully to the pack of dogs, "Knock it off, will you?"

The dogs continue to bark and leap. Socrates continues to hold the smile as he temporarily abandons them. He strolls over to Trish's direction, soon putting his hands deep into his coat's pocket. Sheesh, he never realized it could be THIS cold! Such an odd weather this is. It's not supposed to be this cold and yet, it's snowing and freezing well below zero degrees.

"So?" he asks her, briefly glancing back at the dogs and smiling even more.

Trish nods. It's a grave and dreadful one at that.

"It's just as you said," she answers quietly and returns her attention towards the mountains' peaks. "The mist has appeared again and it seems to be getting bigger. Jesus, Socrates, what the hell is it? And are we going to expect trouble from David once we get there? An ambush?"

"Probably," replies Socrates. His smile fades away. In its place is his usual intellectual look. "We can't escape the possibility that he might have his demons standing ready right now."

"Wonderful…" she says, using one of Dante's favorite sarcastic quotes when things don't go his way.

Trish sighs. Christ, why can't things be easy for them? Provided that they DID get the book, they're still left with the fact that David already knows what they're doing. Once they return, he could take them for all he cares. Which still brings her to the unanswered question: Why? He wants that book as much as they do. So why the hell is he intervening? Why not just let them find the book and THEN attack? Mundus sure would've done that. Something here doesn't add up.

The dogs begin to whimper when the red mist starts to expand more from the mountains. Trish checks her watch. It reads 7:33am.

"Let's get going," suggests a very grim Trish. "We still need to put up our defenses before nightfall, when the demons like to come out to play."

Socrates nods and the two walk toward the sleigh. As before, the dogs bark happily. They leap up and down. Despite Trish being demon, they resume their happy posture. Trish can't help but to grin and feel warm inside. It's funny that animals don't necessarily have to go on looks alone like people do. They can sniff out a good guy from a bad guy. Which reminds her, maybe Dante and her should purchase a Doberman for security purposes? It'll make their job much easier in future assignments.

The red haired man takes the rope and yanks it gently up and down, commanding the dogs to mush. In an instant, the sleigh Trish and Socrates sit on begins to move at an incredible speed. Trish puts her hood back on to block out the harsh wind against her face.

"So how long are we going to be in the past again, Socrates?" she asks at the very beginning of the ride.

"Well, time moves VERY slowly. Seconds here would be hours there. So I'd say we could be there an ENTIRE day and still make it before the eclipse in this time era."

"Really? How's that possible?"

"Have you ever seen two clocks by each other and ticking at the same time?"

"Yeah, I have."

"Have you ever noticed that every once in awhile, they don't tick at the same time?"

"Yeah, I've noticed that. Why do you ask?"

"That's because, if you pay close attention, you'll see that a nanosecond has escaped time itself," he explains, "Even as I'm speaking, time is `skipping' a beat. We can't visually see it happen or feel it happen. The watch or clock, on the other hand, can. Try placing two clocks together and watch them tick together. And then see them go out of beat a few moments later. What's actually happening here is that, for second or so, a nanosecond is being lost into the past. This is why we're able to slip through time itself. These lost nanoseconds give us the chance to go back through time."

"And we actually have a full day because of that?"

"Precisely. And with the help of Dante's Bangle of Time gadget, we can get a 3-hour head start too. Unlike all the clocks in the world, this special gadget actually loses twice the amount of nanoseconds."

"And the more nanoseconds lost… the more time we have in the past," Trish finally understands.

"Yep. Like I said, time in the past is slower than the time in the present. So with a full day and three hours, we should actually make it before the eclipse occurs."

"So the time at the past is equal to the time of present?"

"Yes. When we come back to this present, we should be here few minutes before the eclipse. And then… we'll see if we made a change."

"Great. Then we all should be able to retrieve the Book of the Dead without much time pressure."

Socrates momentarily pauses.

"What is it?" Trish realizes.

"Trish…" he glances a bit down as he continues to steer the dogs forward. After an extensive interval he says, "I think you should stay behind and leave it up to me and Dante."

"What?" laughs the demon woman in disbelief, "You're kidding, right? Of course I'm going along. Dante and I work together. Always."

"But the people here, Trish. They need protection," he explains and adjusts his scarf. "Who'll help them when David sends more demons out to the village? They'll be long dead before we can get our hands on the book. Don't you see, Trish? These folks need you."

"Why can't YOU stay behind?"

"C'mon, ME?" scoffs the young man, laughing at the thought and yanking the rope a little faster. "Look, Trish, I know how you feel. But you're more suited for this ordeal. You've been trained by BOTH Mundus and Dante to handle anything that might come your way, far more than me. Me? I don't even like swords!"

"But…"

"And besides," Socrates continues, cutting her off, "Dante needs me around once we successfully travel back through time."

"More than me, huh?"

"Unfortunately… yes."

"Why?" comes Trish's hard response.

"Because I'll have a better chance in locating the cloaked angel than you do. It doesn't make sense to tag you along when we're running on a tight schedule and have innocent lives that need tending to."

Trish smirks and looks straight ahead at the snowy path, agitated. Frustrated. Fuck. First Dante and now Socrates. What is she? A fifth wheel? Why does everyone make her feel like she's not `important' enough to handle the big issues? Sheeit, why did she even COME here if she was going to be put on the sideline during the game?

"How's Dante?" Trish asks, hoping that by changing the subject she'll feel a little better.

"In good condition," Socrates answers. "I checked on him before accompanying you here. He was fast asleep."

"Was he tossing and turning?" she inquires, a bit concerned.

"Yes," behind his goggles, Socrates blinks. "Why?"

"It's nothing," Trish shakes her head and shrugs.

"No, really, Trish… what is it?"

"It's just that…" she starts rather uncomfortably, "It's just that he's been doing that for awhile now. It's not like him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" she pauses. After awhile, she finally looks at Socrates. "Dante hasn't been his usual self these days. I don't know if I'm being paranoid or not, but he's been acting so different lately. It's like he's an entirely new person. Darker, somehow."

"I saw what happened in the train," the young man tells her, awfully nervous. "I saw when he devil triggered and…"

"Almost killed me," she finishes his sentence. "I know. But don't you see? He never was like that before. When he devil triggered he never was that… evil."

She lowers her head. Depressed. "I'm worried about him. It's bad enough that he still hasn't gotten over his mother and brother's death. He fights for them. And now this shit… It's this type of thing that can make anyone go mad…"

Socrates doesn't say anything. For some reason, he can't think of the right words to tell her right now. It is obvious Trish cares for him, probably more so than she does herself. If anyone would know him it would be her. Something's going on with Dante. Something very unsettlingly is happening. Somewhere deep down himself, Socrates feels guilty for that.

"You'll… you'll take good care of the jerk for me when you two go off?" Trish observes him with a sincere expression. "Right? Do you promise me that?"

A slight hesitation.

"Of course I will. I promise. And whatever happens, Trish… I'll do whatever I can to make things right for you and him."

Socrates smiles, grateful that Trish has finally given in to his idea of her staying behind. But a part of him still feels guilty.

Meanwhile, Trish doesn't add anything else. After all, what else is there to say? She wants to go but Socrates is right. The faster they get the book the better things will be. But… will things between Dante and her REALLY be the same again? She remains quiet, her thoughts numb.

Sipping a hot cup of fresh coffee with one hand and holding a second cup with another, Joseph stands just outside his door's entrance, carefully monitoring his people working hard outside their cabin homes. The entire land is filled with snow. The trees are covered by it as well as the roofs of the cabins. It's almost like a winter wonderland here. Normally when so much snow would fill this land there was cause for celebration. It was nature's gift. And for that, they'd eat. Gather together and share stories of the great past and accomplishments. Let the children have fun and play in the snow. Yes, when it snow it was a cause for celebration.

Unfortunately, this is not one of those times.

Covered from head-to-toe to bear with the cold weather, several men and woman are busy at work, carrying wood and chopping down trees or making handmade weapons. Some of the horses they purchased months back are also being used to speed this tedious process up. Either they help carry wood or are ridden to get to an area within a short time. At one point they thought of using them as a means of escaping. But there weren't enough horses for everyone and they weren't fast enough to outrun a demon most of the time. They had bought twenty of them. Now there's only four.

Joseph looks over his people again. They all look like prisoners of war. The men and women laboriously work to survive. The red haired one is right, he thinks. They can't live like this for a moment longer. It's time to fight back and reclaim what was taken from them. No longer can they rely on hope. Now is the time for plan and action. May the Spirits aid them in their quest against the evil that has spewed at their very homes. They need to establish offenses and defenses than sit back and get killed one by one. It gets worse at night, with someone always disappearing only to be found later with whatever remains left of him or her. Last time it was a child. A child…

The sky above has turned gruesome somehow. Yet, to him and his people living under these dreadful conditions, this phenomenal is but a little indication for the worse things to come. He can feel it come. The Spirits told him so when he slumbered just yesterday. He heard the wolves howl loudly and the sound of screaming in a distant, the cries from his warriors and people. Yes. IT is coming. The great evil HAS awakened and like his ancestries before him he must do all that he can to prevent this plague from reaching the outside of their homes.

"Not true!" he hears a child's voice squeal nearby.

A pack of children stand near a waterwheel that currently stands still. The unexpected cold weather has caused the water to freeze. The wheel, itself, has frozen into place as well, unable to move at all. Three boys and a girl remain there, currently involved in an argument of some sort. They all range from age six to ten, each carrying with them a youthful yet curious face. The three males appear to be of the same height but the girl isn't. She's much smaller than them. She pouts, her tiny hands clenched into fists.

"Not true!" she says in her native tongue again, her face growing into a frown. "Stop telling me lies!"

"But it's true!" one of the boys replies with an evil grin on his face. "She always goes after little girls. It's even said that the witch EATS them afterwards."

"Not true!"

"She flies across the sky," another inserts, spreading his arms far away from himself and pretending to glide with them. "The witch watches for little girls. Once she finds some, she follows them! Even if you spot her a mile away you can't outrun her. She's too fast! The witch will get you, the witch will get you!"

"But it doesn't end there," the final boy joins in on the sick fun, "That's just the beginning. After she eats you she peels the skin off from your bones and uses it as…"

"That's enough," Joseph intervenes and places the cups of coffee on one of the ledges of the waterwheel. He crosses his arms across his chest as he glares at the boys, displeased.

"We were just playing with her! Honest!" one of them begins to justify.

The little girl starts to cry, covering her wet face with her small hands. Afraid. Even so, the three boys laugh at this, unable to control themselves. Joseph kneels beside the child, holding her with his arms. He gazes up at the three males.

"Don't you boys have anything else to do than create more fear here? As if there wasn't enough already?"

"I'm not `fraid," the second boy responds, conjuring up the most toughest face he can devise. "Besides, my dad told me that he was going to kill the witch himself! He was going to kill her and the whole rest of `em! That's what he said!"

"For your sake, I hope so," Joseph whispers to himself. In a louder voice he tells them, "Get going. And behave or the witch won't be the only person your father will have to deal with."

The three boys remain silent, trying not to stare into Joseph's harsh eyes. After awhile one of them sighs and starts walking away. Witches and demons they can handle. But their fathers? No sir! Anything but that!

"C'mon, guys," one of them calls out, "Let's find something else to play with."

"Yeah," they agree with a smirk and quickly follow.

Joseph watches them leave, hoping that they don't scare anyone else. It's bad enough that what they say might be true, but to use it as a form of a prank? No. He can't allow that. He'll have to talk to their fathers during dinnertime, at least to settle matters. If they're alive that is. In any account, they can't afford to spread panic, not with the delicate situation they're forced to face right now.

"Is it really true?" he hears a tiny voice ask.

Joseph smiles as he turns his head to face the little girl. Better to give the child a confident face than something to worry her. "No, young one, it isn't."

"Are you sure?"

A pause. "Yes. Of course I am."

It might be because he's an adult. Or it might be because he's always been the trusted man in the village. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it might be that she's willing to accept any type of wishful thinking. Whatever the case, the girl believes him. She finds a way to smile and accept his opinion as truth. She wraps her frail arms around Joseph's neck and hugs him tightly, as if she were clinging onto life itself. He hugs her back, giving her all the support that she needs. Finally, after a moment or so, the child kisses his cheek and lets go to run off.

"Stay inside," Joseph warns in a warm voice.

"I will," she giggles as she retreats to her home.

Joseph sighs, depressed at how this terrible ordeal has affected not only the adults, but the children too. No longer can they run into the forest and play like they used to. No more swimming by the river. No more fishing. No more cookouts. No more life, in other words. All that remains is the constant growing of fear and anxiety. How long is this going to last? How long will he wake up in the middle of the night, panicked?

"Natiche," he calls out the moment he sees a familiar face walk past him.

Joseph's son is a few meters away, carrying pieces of five feet long chopped wood. Each has sharp edges, trimmed to the very tips. Natiche abruptly stops when he hears his father call out to him. He may have stopped but Natiche doesn't turn around to greet the man who created him.

"What?" he asks in a cold voice, "What do you want?"

Adjusting his heavy jacket a bit, Joseph takes the cups he left by the waterwheel and meets his son where he stands. He walks around to face him and offers the second cup of coffee to him. "Here, son. I just made some. Drink."

"Drink?" Natiche just stares at the cup of coffee, "I'm busy right now, in case you haven't noticed. Why don't you have those strangers drink the coffee instead? I'm sure they'll be grateful… before they kill us all."

"Natiche," Joseph breathes out, becoming slightly aggravated. Second day with Dante and his friends and nothing has changed between him and his son. "Son, how many times do I have to tell you that they aren't like the others? They're here to help. Please. Give them a chance."

"Chance?" Natiche laughs and starts walking away, not taking the cup of coffee. "Chance was what got us in this shit in the first place, old fool!"

"Natiche, please…" Joseph cries out to him, seeing Natiche walk away from him.

Natiche ignores him. He hates ignoring him, but for some reason it makes him a bit happy. And why not? It's his fault! His fault for letting them in. His fault for everything after. What's the point of talking to a man who's too damn gullible to listen to his warnings anyway? Don't the deaths of their people mean anything to him?

The strangers with them now are just like the strangers before, Natiche grimly reminds himself. They don't want to help. They probably were sent here to finish them all off. Or they're probably here to spy on them. Yes. That must be it. Each time he sees the guy with the white hair he keeps getting a strange vibe from him.

Who gives a damn about the man that came here long ago to destroy the evil then? For all he knows, his father probably made up that story to give all of them hope. Like hell he'll fall for the strangers' lies and the possibility of that white haired man being on their side. He's on to them. He won't get fooled like last time. He made that mistake already and it cost him his brothers. Now he's all that's left of his family's legacy. It's up to him to look after things.

Natiche heads toward a group of men currently putting up a large fence with heavy and sharp logs. Each log looks recently chopped. Small splinters stick out. The smell of lumber fills his nostrils. He takes a moment to pause, seeing everyone in the village pitch in. It's all old fashion here. No… Nothing's changed since he left this place long ago.

He should've never returned. He shouldn't have come back home. But the divorce and years of hard drinking forced him here. He spent five years of his life with his then wife. And during that time, he was a successful artist in New York City, creating one masterpiece after another. They lived in a great department. Had a dog. Had lots of friends. Ate at the good restaurants. They were thinking of having children but somehow the timing never seemed right. And then one day… he screwed up. His wife found him screwing with another woman, some person he met at a gallery somewhere. Lauren left him soon afterwards.

He tried to make things good again but couldn't. Even when they got back together things weren't the same and a month later they opted for a divorce. He went from one therapist to another. He even took a trip to Africa to help overcome his life's obstacles. Yet, no matter where he went, he was always depressed. He soon became a full fledge alcoholic, thinking he could ignore the pain. When things got out of hand, with him winding up in jail for a month, a silly thought popped in. Arizona. Go back. Go back to his childhood.

He never liked this place. It was way too old fashion for him and he swore when he was young that he'd leave it. And guess what? It STILL is old fashion. It's just how it looked when he left this hole.

Natiche finds himself chuckling, at a thought or an irony. One can't tell which. After all, ordinary people get to go back to their childhood place and remember the person they once were. They spend their time trying to regain that innocence within. Him? Ha. He's here fighting for his very life against forces too surreal for even him, against a force he never even considered to be real in the first place. He always figured those tales of demons and evil was meant to scare and tame children into behaving well.

"Natiche," one of the men putting up the fence hollers to him all of a sudden. "What took you so long? I was beginning to think you'd let us do all the work."

"Mani…" Natiche grins a little, looking at a man who only wears a shirt and shorts despite the cold weather.

Mani was crazy when they were best friends in their youth, and he's STILL crazy today. He's been doing these stunts since he was a babe, causing him to get into trouble almost daily. Unlike him, Mani never wanted to leave this awful place. He preferred sticking around to "build up his character" as well as stay in tuned with his heritage. He probably doesn't even know how to use a fucking cellular phone, the maniac. But now look at him. Six feet tall with a hard body that would make Arnold Schwarznegger feel proud. And a heart full of warmth and courage. My, has he been gone for that long?

"Sorry, Mani," Natiche apologies, "An annoying fly got to me. Anyway, are you almost finished with the fence?"

"Almost," the opposite man replies and then wearily smiles, "But we still got lots to do so why don't you get your hands dirty and help, `city boy'?"

"But I already did, `Tarzan'," Natiche laughs, "I designed the fence for us to build, didn't I? It should hold up to any resistance those nasty demons throw at us."

"You wish!" Mani chuckles as he helps Natiche with the heavy logs he carries over his shoulder. "You're an artist, not an architect."

"Hey, I took a class in architecture. That counts, right?"

"College, bah!" spits Mani. "You spend money in trying to better yourself. Waste of time if you ask me."

"Ah, you're just jealous because you didn't have college potential," he teases.

"No, I'm jealous that you're the one doing less work around here."

Natiche grins a bit as he accompanies Mani near a fence where a group of men stand by, ready for the incoming logs. Together, Natiche and Mani stack the five feet long logs up vertically, stabbing them firmly into the ground. They hold them tightly while the other men begin tying the logs together with a handmade rope. At first glance, the extremely long rope looks like it'll give in to just a breeze. However, as the rope encircles and locks around the thick piles of vertical wood, Natiche can see its true inner strength. Something about that strikes him somehow.

"C'mon, you never once considered leaving this shithole?" Natiche continues their conversation.

"Hey, this `shithole' is home. Granted, there's enough bullcrap to go around but it's still home. And speaking of which, I think you stepped on some."

Natiche looks under his shoe. Sure enough, Mani is right. Annoyed, Natiche curses and tries to wipe away the animal waste on a batch of snowy grass while the group of men laugh. He can hear some of them say `city boy.' Gosh, even today they mock him.

"Home sweet home," he sarcastically whispers under his breath.

"Relax, Natiche," assure Mani but with a serious tone, "We won't be here for too long. We'll either leave or die."

A long wave of silence washes over them. The group of men stop laughing and pause from their work. Natiche is somewhat surprised since he's never remembered Mani ever being so serious. But what he says definitely hits a nerve.

"It was too much to hope for…" one of the men finally joins in a somber note. He picks up a shovel and resumes digging into the snow and dirt. His face red with pain and anger.

"I know," another man grimly states, "Damn train…"

Natiche swallows hard, unable to move or think. He doesn't even have to see them look up at him. He already knows that they are. And why not? It was him who told them about the train idea. And gave them hope.

They've been waiting for a train to arrive since forever. This transporter was the only thing that could've gotten them out of here. Buses are too far between. Cars hardly come here since this area is restricted from "the general public". Because a bill passed a few years ago, Indians have been given their million acres of deserved land and privacy. He knows that Indians at the south have decided to keep the borders open to everyone while others, like them, have decided to seclude themselves from the polluted-driven cities in order to preserve what was left of their heritage. Only a train visits the village to give them food, clothing, and other necessities. It only comes twice a month. That's it. They have no electricity. They have no phones. No televisions. Not even a radio. In other words, they are shut off from the world. About the only town even near here is over a thousand miles away.

When he first heard about a train that delivers their food, it gave him an idea. It could've been their chance of escape. They could've reached the nearest town around with it and call the local authorities there. Who cared if they didn't believe in demons? Let them investigate the mountains and they'll see for themselves. Then the marines will come in, or whoever, and blow these demons sky-high. But that all came to shit, didn't it? Yesterday, their only salvation in escaping this horrible place exploded. Not only did the passengers inside it die, but a piece of their hope as well.

"Then we'll have to wait for the next train to arrive this month," Natiche finally answers to the set of stiff faces staring at him. "I'm sure someone will look into yesterday's explosion anyway. They're bound to wonder where the passengers that died are. They'll track the train's course and eventually come here. Then they'll know the truth."

"The truth?" one of them laughs bitterly, "The truth about the deaths of those people on the train? Or about the demons?"

"Hopefully, both," he states simply.

"And maybe they won't come here after all," the final man in the group states as matter-of-fact. "What then?"

"They will come. They have to."

"But what if they don't? What happens next? What will we do?"

"We'll just have to be ready and mindful then. And skeptical."

"Skeptical?" Mani cocks an eyebrow, "Skeptical of what?"

"Of him," Natiche nods his head toward a direction.

Mani and the other men turn to see what has Natiche's attention. From afar, they see a white haired man lifting up a large and very heavy portion of a fence. Gosh, they need at least fifteen people to lift something like that up. This guy is doing it by himself.

"What the hell is he?" one of the men mutters to himself.

Dante pushes the large log of wood up with all this strength. Muscles flex and sweat pours. He grunts as he pushes this log up more, making sure that it stands straight and doesn't tilt. When he accomplishes this task, he quickly secures this piece by tying a rope around the rest of logs that also stand vertically. Dante exhales sharply, looking up at the work he's done so far. Two more pieces and that should do it. Granted, this won't stand a chance against the Frosts, but it'll prevent most demons that love to leap up and attack a moment to pause. Dante takes the axe nearby and heads for a very long tree directly behind him. He wears a red and black flannel shirt made of pure wool. His leather brown pants cling to him tightly, offering tons of warmth despite how thin they look from the outside. Heavy, brown, and knee-high boots crunch against the ice as he approaches the tree.

Before readying his axe, Dante wipes the sweat from his forehead and looks around, at the wilderness. He never thought that the wilderness, of all places, would be a perfect environment for him. He feels calm, at peace with himself. Usually, he goes to nightclubs, strip joints, or concerts to get some heavy relaxation. But none of those modern life activities can compare to the awesome feelings he has right now.

He grins and lifts up the axe. With great power, he strikes the midsection of the tree. Because he uses so much force, a boom effect occurs, nearly shaking the ground itself. Several people witness this and draw closer, watching Dante hit the tree with such incredible power. Soon, a crowd gathers, awing at Dante.

"He's really cute," one of the women whispers and giggles to her friends.

"Man, what sort of food does he eat?" another adds. "I want some of that."

"Superman!" a boy squeals in excitement, "It's Superman! He's come to save us!"

Meanwhile, as the spectators continue to murmur admiration toward the white haired man, Natiche and Mani watch Dante closely. Mani already knows what's on Natiche's mind. Natiche's hands are clenched, tightly breaking away any blood circulation going through his hand. Before Mani can stop him Natiche is already heading toward the gathering with an ugly look on his face.

"Timber!" Dante playfully yells once the tree starts to descend and breaks off, always wanting to say that.

The crowd cheers, laughing wholeheartedly and clapping. Even the children giggle in delight, the little boys envying Dante's strength and the little girls envying his handsome looks.

"Thank you," Dante grins at his audience and bends to bow, "Thank you."

"Dante," he suddenly hears ahead and looks up from his curtsy.

"Trish?"

Trish and Socrates emerge from the crowd, pushing and shoving their way through. Socrates tries to keep the crowd back as Trish advances toward his direction. Trish looks at the gatherers in astonishment before directing her gaze back at her partner.

"What are you doing?" Trish says, mouth open in shock, "You're supposed to be resting. Not providing these people with entertainment!"

Dante wipes at the sweat on his forehead, still smiling. "Beats having no television, right? `Sides, I can't sleep all day. I need something to do. I feel like shit if I just rest in bed and do nothing. I feel a lot better anyway, babe."

"Uh," Socrates tells the crowd as he backs away to get closer to Dante and Trish, "You all should finish what you're doing. There's, uh, nothing to see here."

"What IS he?" he hears a man yell from the crowd. Amazed.

"Just an ordinary man who likes to… uh… lift weights a lot." Socrates continues urging the crowd away. Once they do he walks within a foot of Dante.

"Jeez, Dante, weren't you the one to tell me to keep your profile `concealed'? You want to tell everyone what you really are?"

"C'mon, stop bitching at me, man. I'm cool. No one knows."

"YET, if you keep doing these stunts."

Dante rolls his eyes at Socrates. His eyes roll to Trish. "So where did the two of you go, anyway? When I woke up you two weren't in sight. I hate it when lovers love me then split. No letter. No call."

"Dante," Socrates ignores, "Trish and I have been doing some thinking…."

"About?"

"I won't be going with you when you travel to get the Book of the Dead, Dante," Trish says. "I'm staying behind."

"What?" he glances at Trish sideways, curious.

"Trish needs to protect the people while we go off," quickly explains Socrates.

"We? As in, you and me?" Dante chuckles and shakes his head when the young man nods. "Sorry. No offense, wing boy, but I only work with people I already know like the back of my hand. Maybe YOU should stay behind and leave it to me and Trish to find the book."

Trish smiles sweetly at Socrates in a `I-told-you-so' manner.

"I already told you," Socrates argues, "Finding this angel is like finding a needle in a haystack. I'm the only one who has a better chance in discovering his or hers identity than the both of you combined. This is a delicate situation you're dealing with and you'll be lost without my guidance. Going back through the past isn't a walk in the park, as they say. It's more like taking an electrical appliance through a car wash."

"What do you mean?" Trish inquires, not knowing this herself.

"Yeah," adds Dante, "Enlighten us."

"I mean…" he makes a hand gesture, trying to see where to begin. "Time has its effects. The actions we do can effectively change the things to come. If we so much as say or do something wrong then we've already upset the past. Don't you see? The longer we stay in the past the more of a chance we'll have in doing something that can ultimately effect Sparda's actions. And that could mean that humanity pays the price for it."

Dante and Trish begin to understand.

"And like I told Trish," continues Socrates. "I'm not nearly as powerful as you two. I'm better off helping you than these people."

"Could've fooled me," Dante scratches his eyebrow, "You do a wicked light show."

"Yeah, but you already saw that Imp was not affected by it."

"Who's to say that Imp will be around here when we go?" Dante asks, his voice a little rough. "Wouldn't he be after us?"

"No. Knowing David he'll have someone look over these people while we're away."

Dante stops, considering what Socrates says. He looks back at Trish.

"And you think my girl can take him down? Provided that he sticks around here in the first place?" he asks the young man skeptically, but still looking at Trish. "Sheeit, Socrates, even `I' couldn't take Imp down, let alone Trish. What makes you think that she stands a chance against him?"

"Excuse me?" Trish butts into the conversation, eyebrows raised and hands on hips. "I can take on anything anyone throws at me, Dante."

"Yeah?" Dante chuckles cynically, "And this comes from the same person who was the first one to get nailed by Imp?"

"He caught me off guard," she explains herself.

"Exactly. And next time you fuck up it'll mean your ass."

"I won't let it happen again."

"Whatever."

"I'm staying," Trish says out loud, with conviction. "I don't have to rely on you to watch my back. I can take care of myself just fine."

Dante looks at her. He knows damn well that Trish can be just as stubborn as he is when she's pushed too far. Sure, she's willing to compromise but not if she feels that whatever she wants to do is right. Can he blame her for wanting this? To prove herself to him and everyone else? He can't keep clipping her wings. The girl's got to fly. She's got to take chances and make mistakes. Yeah, the cynical voice replies, and that mistake can cost Trish her life.

Dante remembers the dream and visions. In each one, Trish dies. Her head is cut off. If he lets her stay behind with Imp… there's no telling what will happen while he's away. She might be okay but what if those dreams are a premonition of the things to come? It can't be a coincidence that he saw Imp carrying the same sword he saw in his dreams. It just can't be.

"I can do it, Dante," Trish says softly, "You have to believe in me. I can do it."

He blinks. Belief. Yeah. Belief is powerful. Yes. He DOES have to believe in her, the same way she believes in him. She believed in him once and he defeated Mundus. Maybe… maybe things will turn out for the best. He hopes.

"All right, Trish," he replies, his voice serious as ever. "Stay. But stand ready. If that fucker comes this way you axe him with extreme prejudice. Crystal on that?"

"Clear."

Dante slowly nods in approval but starts to have second thoughts. Maybe this really isn't a good idea. In fact… maybe he's just activated the launch sequence. He should probably…

"Nice show you put on for us," Dante hears Natiche's voice emerge from behind.

Dante's eyes narrow coldly as he turns to see Natiche looking deep into his eyes. Aw, hell, not this guy again…

"For a sick guy, you sure have a lot of spirit in you yet," Natiche continues in a very cynical voice. "Then again, it could all just be an act, right?"

"What's your problem, pal?" Dante cocks his head sideways. "You've been on me from the start. What have I done to get on your shitty list?"

"It's you. You're my problem." Natiche takes a couple of steps forward until he's right in Dante's face. "I don't like you. I don't trust you. Why don't you come clean before I do something everyone here is too chicken-shit to do?"

Dante thinks of the saying the first thing in his mind but stops midway when he notices Trish quickly joining Natiche and him, most likely to stop the friction going on. If she doesn't do something about this then things are likely to get ugly real soon. He ain't a patient guy. Nor is he the type to back off when push comes to shove.

"All right," Trish tells the two men as gently as possible. "Let's knock it off. Aren't you forgetting that we're fighting a war here?"

"Tell that to him," Dante's eyes lock into Natiche's. Neither man stands down.

"I've every right to be suspicious about you, asshole. You're just like the others."

"Asshole?" quotes Dante, "Oh, that's very mature of you, prick."

"Knock it off you two, I mean it! It's bad enough we've got to deal with the problems we have right now. We don't need this shit now."

"Lay off," Natiche pushes Trish to the side. "You're not entitled to tell me what to do."

"Don't you lay a hand on her again!" Dante readies his fist for a punch but Socrates hurriedly grabs Dante's arm to prevent him from delivering the blow.

He uses all of his strength to hold Dante down. Jesus. Dante isn't in devil trigger form but holding him off is like trying to hold off an elephant!

"Let go, wing boy!" demands Dante, "I mean it!"

"All of you! Stop!"

All four of them halt the moment they hear Joseph's voice boom overhead. Dante slowly lowers his arm while Natiche takes a step away from Trish and him. He curses under his breath.

"That'll be enough fighting," Joseph demands as he reaches them. "Save it for when we really need. This is childish."

"Childish?" snorts Natiche, "I'll tell you whose childish. You are! I can't BELIEVE you'd choose these strangers over me! Over your own son!"

"I'm not choosing anyone over anything. And you'll do well to remember that, Natiche. Now stop this nonsense of yours. It's creating panic for everyone."

"Oh, that's right… it's MY fault now, is it?"

"Natiche -"

"No! Forget it!" Natiche storms off, joining the men near the fence again.

As he walks away, Dante straightens up his flannel shirt. "Boy has a habit of walkin' off when things get out of hand. First he starts shit up but when things don't go his way, he leaves. Coward."

"My son is nervous, Dante," Joseph comments very seriously. "He's nervous of you."

"What's there to be nervous of, Joseph? Don't you know we're on your team? That we're here to help? We're not like David and his pack."

"Perhaps. But we're not entirely sure of who you are either. Or your true purpose here."

Dante keeps quiet, not at all surprised by Joseph's reply. As much as he'd like, he can't tell him everything. It's best to keep things silent. It makes things easier. But it also makes things difficult in regards to trust.

Joseph looks at Dante for a minute with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What's the status on the parameter defenses?" requests Socrates, trying to break up the tension currently building right now.

"The fence at the north and south of the village are up," Joseph reports, "Hopefully, the fence in the west will be up before nightfall."

"Great," Socrates answers with a smile. "Good to know there's something positive here."

"And the east?" inquires Dante. "What about the east part of the village?"

"It's… secured," Joseph replies softly.

Socrates, Trish, and Dante notice the face Joseph makes. Dante is the most curious, however. The east part of the village, according to what he heard, has never been attacked. In fact, none of the demons emerged from that direction when the assaults first began. Why was that? What stopped them?

"The area leading to the east path of the village… contains a sacred resting place," explains Joseph.

"You mean there's a burial ground around there?" Trish asks.

Joseph nods.

"Why didn't you tell us about this burial ground before?" Dante asks, "Demons can't go there. It's too sacred that any demon who dares set foot on it involuntarily self combusts. You all can hide out there rather than hang out here in the open, where you can be some devil's lunch."

"We thought about that but while the sacred ground itself is safe the area around it isn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"David has blocked our path to the cemetery with his evil minions. Each time we try to reach this sacred ground we are ambushed. As long as we don't attempt to go there the demons stationed there won't attack us. Either way, from this perspective, the east area is the least of our concerns."

"Hey, I just got at idea" Socrates whispers to Dante and nudges him away from Joseph and Trish so that they can talk in private.

Both Joseph and Trish watch them in silence. Deep down, Trish feels a slight hint of anger flare.

"This can be our lucky break!" Socrates whispers to Dante excitedly.

"Huh?"

"The east path also leads to the mountains. It'll take us a little longer than the alternative routes, but we can still make a break for our destination while only dealing with the devils blocking the sacred area. We'll be there in no time."

"Wonderful," Dante replies grimly, "but there's one small problem there."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"This kind of thing affects me too," answers Dante almost bitterly.

Socrates pauses for a long time. "What do you mean? You're human, aren't you?"

"Yes. Last time I checked I am. But I'm also part demon too, buddy. While I won't self-combust like the other demons all my powers and strength will be drained. Worse, if I stick around there longer than necessary I could die."

"But… How do you know? I mean… you're human too, Dante."

"Trust me. It's happened to me before…" He looks away, trying to hide away the pain on his face. "…a long time ago to be exact."

He remembers a cemetery he visited a long time ago. He remembers the names on those tombstones too. Eva and Vergil. Loving mother and wife. Loving brother and son. Damn, it was bad enough they were dead but as a child, he couldn't visit their burials as he wanted to. He was too weak and fragile to stay in sacred ground for too long. His demon blood was already blossoming, showing him new powers. But they were also the ones responsible for his inability to set foot on that cemetery. He felt his entire body grow numb and he vomited out his own blood. He was horrified when he saw that blood turn into fire the moment it made contact with the grass of the cemetery. He couldn't remain there for long.

"I guess we'll have to find another way," Socrates mentions quietly, breaking away Dante's line of concentration.

"No…" Dante shakes his head. "You're right. East path is the way to go. That's why David built a fort there. He knows it too. But we'll deal with that later on."

"Yeah," Socrates agrees and turns his attention back to Joseph who seems curious of what he and Dante are discussing. "What about weapons? Did you gather all your weapons into one room like I said, Joseph?"

"Yes. But we've yet to do a weapons inventory checklist. We've been too busy erecting the fence and securing other areas of the village. I'd do it myself but I doubt I'll have a checklist done before dinnertime."

"Then I'll help," Trish offers. "I don't have much to do anyway."

Joseph nods in approval. He pauses for a long time before saying anything else. Instead, he looks up at the sky and notices a red mist building there.

"Did you see it?" he asks suddenly.

"See what?" asks Dante, confused.

"That," he points at the red mist.

Dante looks at the red mist with a completely surprised expression. He didn't realize the small red mist in the sky until now. And with the sunlight shining against it, it's hard to even notice it without close observation. Fuck. How long has it been there?

"It's coming from the mountains," Trish answers Joseph in a stiff voice. "I sensed a terrible evil within."

"Do you know what it is?" Joseph asks.

"No," she shakes her head.

"How did you sense that?" inquires Dante. "In fact, how do you know it's coming from the mountains in the first place and not somewhere else?"

"Because Socrates and I went to visit the mountains an hour ago. Strange enough, there weren't any demons where we were scoping things out."

Dante's eyes narrow with a questionable look on his face. "So that's where you two went… Why didn't you both tell me about this?"

"The red mist emerged late last night," Socrates explains, "Sometime after you fell asleep. Trish and I decided to check it out."

"You were sick," Trish adds when she sees Dante express a stiff face. "We didn't want to stress you out with this."

"I don't care if I'm blind or near death like yesterday, honey, you've gotta give me intel."

Trish and Socrates slowly nod, realizing that information is vital for Dante.

"Do you know what it is, son?" Joseph asks Dante, curious more than ever. Or fearful. One can't determine.

Dante slowly shakes his head. "No. Can't say I've ever seen one of those, but whatever it is, it's not a freak of nature. Someone made that mist appear."

Siren? David? Could they have done this? He's not sure. If only Trish and Socrates invited him to tag on their trip. He'd probably have a better idea.

Even now, the red mist continues expanding itself. Scouring the blue sky and consuming it with crimson. Birds flee from its path, terrified by its presence while the wind howls in anger. Joseph's lower jaw dances as it gets even colder.

"I'll be getting to that weapon's inventory checklist now. The faster the better."

"Right," agrees Trish. "Dante, I'll be with Joseph if you need me. See you at dinner."

"See you, sidekick."

Trish follows Joseph and disappears among the crowd of busy people.

Dante nods as he watches her leave. Then turns for a mug of water on the ground. He sits down on a bench made of pinewood. If he could, he'd admire its architect since it really does look inspirational. On the flat top of it, curves and lines compose a wonderful image of three children glaring up at a sun, raising their hands on top of their heads. He wonders what it will be like when the sun becomes no more, when the eclipse arrives. Will the eclipse tomorrow be the end of all light in this planet? Will the world be covered in… darkness? It's kind of funny that these things always happen when there's an eclipse. It's become a cliché even, he humors to himself.

He glances up at the sun, still thinking about the eclipse but also on other matters. Will they set up the defenses before nightfall? Hopefully so. Demons like to attack at night. They like the dark. They like the fear it invokes in their prey even more. He'd better get back to work but right now he'll take a small break. Dante chugs down the mug of water to keep his body cool. Funny, the weather is easily twenty below but doing laborious work can do a lot to a tired man.

Socrates sits right next to him and removes his goggles, throwing them on the snowy ground. He keeps quiet, his hands crossed on his lap. He looks like a priest, waiting for a confession. His mouth opens to say something but he holds back.

"I'm all right, y' know," mutters the silvered-haired man, already reading wing boy's thoughts at the moment.

"I know you are, Dante, but that fever nearly took the life out of you. We couldn't risk you coming along this morning. And besides, you should be in bed right now, not out here."

"I'm a fighter, wing boy. Mundus couldn't take me down and neither did that fever. `Sides, I feel perfectly fine."

"But still… Don't you think you're overdoing it?"

"No. I'm just getting started."

"It's not a good idea for you to be doing so much labor since things will get ugly once we reach our destination."

"And it's not a good idea for me to just sit around and do nothing either." He observes Socrates with a look of determination. "These people need help and I'm gonna do all that I can to ease things around here. `Sides, we'll get to the mountains eventually, by force if need be. And then we can find that damn book and free my mother and brother's souls. End of story."

"That fever was as bad as they come. I'm just so astonished to see you out here after considering how close to death you were last night."

"I'm a fast healer," adds Dante quickly.

"Even Trish is concerned," Socrates continues persistently, "She tells me you haven't been yourself lately."

"She over-exaggerates a lot."

"Really? Or are you afraid that she's right? Maybe this fever was the product of all the stress you've been through. Maybe it's a warning telling you to ease down a bit."

"Or maybe," he puts the mug down and looks him straight in the eye, "you're just wrong. I'm fine for crying out loud."

Nevertheless, Socrates puts a hand over Dante's forehead to check his temperature, making sure he speaks truth. Dante aggressively slaps the hand away before he can register how warm it is.

"You just don't listen well, do you?" scoffs Dante very frustratingly, "I told you that I'm fine! F-I-N-E. Can you register that, Socrates? Are you computing? Is your damn brain set on stun or something?"

Socrates looks at Dante, a bit taken aback by Dante's harsh attitude. The young man swallows the large clump formed in his throat, his hands shaking nervously. He never was one to take comments like Dante's lightly. His body, no matter how much he tries to keep it in control, has a terrible habit of sweating and trembling when harsh words come into play. He… he was only concerned. That was all. He didn't mean to get Dante so upset. It was only right for him to ask and make sure his friend was all right. But are they even friends? Or simply, comrades?

"I'm sorry," he says very softly and stands to leave. "I didn't mean to get you angry…"

Dante's face turns a bit pale, appalled by his own insensitive nature. Jesus, he didn't have to be THAT much of an asshole. Socrates was concerned. What the hell gave him the right to jerk him around like that? To wing boy, of all people?

Before Socrates can walk away, he grabs the freckled face's arm to force him to stop.

"No… I'm the jerk," Dante says, talking to Socrates' back, still holding the arm to prevent him from moving. "I… I don't know what's come over me. Fuck, Socrates, I'm so used to people giving me crap, I've nearly forgotten what it was like to have people who actually give a damn about anything than themselves."

Dante lets go of the arm, deciding to let Socrates choose whether to forgive him or not.

"I had a fever like this once," he finds himself blurting out loud before Socrates takes the first step away from him. He doesn't know why this specific memory has crept up on him at this very moment, likewise on why he wants to talk about it. But for some reason, it seems logical. "It was when I was nine. My birthday."

Socrates stands still. Slowly, he turns around. His eyes reveal a strange quality in them. While he remains timid as ever, there seems to be a look of agony in them.

"Tell me more about that fever," the red haired man gently requests.

The two men stare at each other. One waiting for the next move. Dante makes the first. He digs up a memory only to realize how eerie it is. There are so many gaps in it, so many questions. The line of what really happened versus what never happened has become a blur throughout these many years. Gosh, how long has it been? And why is he thinking about it right now?

Socrates stands next to Dante, not choosing to sit but not choosing to leave either.

"It happened on my birthday like I said. By then, mom decided to move me and my bro, Vergil, to the state of Michigan," he manages to say. "Our house was pretty and there was a lake nearby. It got extremely cold during the winter."

Dante chuckles, remembering the times how he and Vergil would build snowmen. Vergil's snowmen always came out great while his always came out like crap. Their heads kept flopping out and the pressure of their vast bodies would give way. The buttons would get lost by night. The arms would sag down. Yet, Vergil was always there. He was always there to give him a hand. Vergil…

"It was our birthday, Vergil and mines. We were turning nine. That day was the coldest day ever. I had a fight with mom over some stupid thing so I went over to the lake. That's where I liked to spend my `off' time. It was a place where I could forget everything and daydream about meetin' my old man."

He can't help but to grin, remembering how he'd ALWAYS daydream that image. It was his one and only wish he ever made. In each of his birthdays he wished for nothing more than to see his father. And in each year, he was left disappointed. Days passed. Would-be stepfathers came and went. Soon, it was just the three of them, all bonded by a single extraordinary man. None of them could move backward but none of them could move forward either.

"Night was coming but I really didn't care," he continues. "I just stared up at the moon. I was in the middle of daydreaming when… something happened…"

He stops before going any further. Yes, this is the part where things get tricky. This is where that huge gap is. This is the part where he can't tell what happened and what didn't.

"What happened?" Socrates inquires after seeing Dante quiet for a long time. He finally sits down beside him, expressing his usual curious face.

Dante finds himself grimacing, unable to answer Socrates' question. He shakes his head.

"I really don't know myself, wing boy. All I can remember is me in the water. Drowning. And feeling so hot despite the cold weather. Vergil got me out and I was in the hospital for two weeks because I had a deadly fever. The docs never saw anything like it. They told my mom if it got any worse I would've been in a coma or worse, dead."

Dante looks up at Socrates, shaking his head as some realization hits him.

"It felt… it felt just like the one I had yesterday wing boy. Isn't that weird?"

Isn't that a coincidence? He feels like asking too. Dante blinks. Yes. WEIRD. He can clearly recall the water surrounding him. But he can recall something else too. He can almost see… a man. A dark man. A dark and very strange man. Yes. He was there. He was saying something to him but… No. It couldn't be. There couldn't have been a man. Could there?

"Sorry, my memory is still a blur," sighs Dante and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, "In fact, the docs told me that I suffered some memory loss. Even to this day I'm not sure if I recovered all my memories. One thing was for sure, though… things weren't ever the same again."

"What do you mean?"

A pause. Dante sighs, his face filled with confusion and discontent.

"Look, man," Dante begins without answering Socrates' question. He looks straight into Socrates' face again, this time with a warm expression on his face. "I didn't mean to go out on you like that again…"

This is the second time this has happened. The poor kid has become his personal, living and breathing punching bag for Christ's sake.

"I'll make you a deal," Dante starts to grin, to brighten up his companion's mood. "Next time I act like an asshole, punch me."

This causes Socrates to raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"No, I'm serious," chuckles Dante, "Hit me. Tell me to snap out of it. I don't care what you do, just as long as you get me out of my bitchy mood."

Socrates looks at Dante for a long time, registering what he just heard. He's not sure whether Dante is serious or not. Slowly, however, he smiles.

"You're serious?"

"Yeah."

"And here I thought that women were the only ones suffering from PMS," Socrates jokes.

"Hey!" Dante slaps the back of Socrates' head for thinking such a way. "I ain't no woman. The day I become one is the day pigs fly!"

Siren observes his lean muscular figure carefully from far away, watching him like a hawk. Her eyes brighten a bit, intense by what beauty she observes. She wants him. Oh, how she wants this man so badly. If only tomorrow was today! Then, she could have him. Then, they could be together. She just has to be patient and constantly remind herself that each hour grows closer. See? A second just flew by just now. Eventually, those seconds will add up to a minute. And those minutes will be hours. And those hours will be days. Yes. Soon. Soon, they will be together. They will be bonded into each other like animals. His strong arms will be wrapped around her body. His mouth will devour her lips and bosom and elsewhere. His white-blue eyes will probe into hers. Yes… they will become a glob of hot, sweaty flesh. Feasting off each other. Tasting each others-

"Yo, Siren, babe?" Imp breaks Siren's daydream, his all-too-familiar cocky voice approaching from behind her. "You got Dante in sight?"

Siren blinks, her hand clutching tightly onto the fabric of her provocative dress as an orgasm comes and goes. "Yes, Imp? What was that you say?"

Imp gives Siren an annoyed glance as she turns around to face him. He can only wonder what's on that dirty girl's mind right now, man. Sure, Siren is sophisticated and intellectual most of the time. Give her a job and she'll turn in her assignment. She's got `A' plus material, y' know what I mean? But show the woman a man like Dante and she becomes hornier than a heated dog durin' the summer. Jesus, someone hose this babe down before she explodes and takes him down with her.

Standing slumped against a very tall tree, Imp folds his arms together and crosses one leg over the other. The red sky reflecting off his long, pitch-black hair.

They're at the edge of a cliff overlooking the small village below. From him perspective, the people look like small, busy ants. All working and doing something `productive'. How very cute, he thinks lightheartedly.

Many forest trees surround him and Siren, covering every inch of ground and, thereby, masking their location from village onlookers that should happen to look up at the cliff they're on. The weather up here is chilly but it doesn't bother Imp at all. `Sides, he likes cold weather. It makes him feel numb all over.

Imp lowers his glasses slightly with a finger as he watches Siren with his purple eyes. The annoyed but now amused expression is still there on his face.

"I asked you if you had Dante in sight, babe," he repeats to her, "But seeing how you're too busy daydreaming you didn't hear that, did you? C'mon, woman, we ain't got all day. I'm missing the new season of `The Simpsons' because of this."

Siren doesn't say anything. Instead, she shoots one more glance at her beloved Dante. Nearby, Feral approached Siren and cuddles against her leg, seeking affection from its master. Siren pats its head once but obsessively continues watching Dante. Despite how far below he is from her, she can still pinpoint him from the rest of the tiny villagers. See? He's there, sitting right next to that Socrates, boy. So close yet so far away…

Imp disgustingly burps out loud and stretches his arms above his head. "That's it. I'm leavin'. I'm kinda tired of stayin' here, watchin' you have sick fantasies about that boy."

"Fine," Siren states simply yet resumes looking at Dante, "But be back here soon. It'll almost be time for Dante to leave this place. And present."

"Yeah, talk about a vacation spot. Going back through time ain't exactly on the brochure, y' know. Too bad he ain't going there for the reason that he thinks he's going there."

Siren smiles finally, shifting her attention to her companion. "Yes. Too bad."

"I kinda feel sorry for him, y' know," Imp replies, his voice a little soft as he joins Siren near the edge of the cliff. "Dante's just a pawn. Like the both of us. What he does won't make any difference anymore than me going against my old man. It's inevitable."

"Maybe you'd like to think of yourself as a pawn, dear, but I don't think I am. I'm thinking of this as a reward for all the times I've served under your father."

"C'mon, Siren, this is my dad we're talkin' about," he scoffs, "He's not the charitable type. He doesn't DO nice things unless it's to his advantage. I'm figurin' that there's more to what he's giving you than meets the eye, only you're too love struck to see this coming. Something's up."

"If you feel that this is wrong, then why are you here? Why are you following your father's orders? In fact, why did you fight Dante in the first place?"

He shrugs his shoulders, soon glancing down only to see Feral staring right at him.

"Dunno, Siren," he answers softly, "Part of me wants to distant myself from my father. And I feel by proving myself to him and getting his respect he'll leave me alone. Then there's the other part of me who wants to be worthy. He always thought low of me, y' know, even when I developed my powers at puberty. It was always Dante this. Dante that. But then there's this other part of me that's different. It's strange, even… This part of me actually hopes that I'm wrong… that Dante will get through this and get rid my old man and end my misery."

"And how do you plan on accomplishing that? By fighting him?"

"That's exactly my point, Siren. I AM helping Dante by fighting him. I'm… preparing him for the worse. Kinda giving him a heads-up, y' know. Or, heaven forbid, I could just be here to learn something."

"Learn something?" Siren laughs, "What does that mean? Learn what?"

"Dunno yet. I'll get back with you once I've learned it." He grins.

"You'll have enough time to think about it, I'll grant you that."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Your father sent word to me before I rendezvoused with you."

"What SORT of word?" Imp questions her carefully.

"You're to stay here with Feral and make sure this area is secured while I follow Dante through the portal. You'll keep the inhabitants busy until Dante is, well, you know…"

"Excuse me?" Imp smirks, "I thought I was tagging along. I ain't no babysitter."

"There's a conflict now. Dante brought his female companion along after all. An unseen event to your father. The good news, though, is that she means nothing to us at the moment. But when the time comes, she can serve as a potential threat to your father. And me."

"Female companion? Oh, you mean the hot blond babe I froze with Dante and nerd boy?" Imp realizes. "Funny, I thought my father would've seen her comin'."

"Apparently he didn't."

"He doesn't make mistakes, Siren," Imp reminds her and spits on the ground, "Either he's losing his edge or worse, he's lying to us. I'm telling; you, he's holding back on us. How is that he can predict an entire future ahead but not foresee the babe coming along in Dante's trip?"

Imp walks away. He stops only to add, "I think he WANTS me to stay here. I think he's been wanting this from the get-go. Too bad I'm so fucked up to know what move to make. And what not to."

"Stop being paranoid, Imp. It's annoying me."

"Good. Now you know how I feel about you and your damn daydreaming."

"Will you do as he pleases?"

Imp thinks a moment. "If it's what he wants… I guess I have no other choice. The guy has me figured out all the way through. Like I said, Siren, nothing I do will make a difference. I doubt Dante will fare any better either. We're all just pawns in my old man's sick little game. By the time I figure out what game that is, it'll be already too late."

With that, Imp deserts Siren. Feral licks Siren's leg, comforting her. However, as much as she'd like to believe what she wants to believe, she can't help but feel that Imp makes SOME kind of sense. Could she be as blind as he said her to be? Could David be… lying to her all along? Surely not! She's been his loyal servant. Not once has she disobeyed his command. And it's not like she has any plans on going against him or acting as selfish as Imp in the future anyway. If anyone should deserve a reward it should be her. He promised her love. He promised her Dante! Surely David wouldn't deceive her. Would he?

Trish takes off her dark sunglasses while she curiously watches the batch of impressive arsenal surrounding her being. Each of them is placed on metal racks placed against the walls of the room. The shack-like compartment harboring the village's weapons appeared small from the outside. Yet, it's much huger than she first thought. For a bunch of villagers who prefer to stay in a low profile and choose not to get involved in modern life within the Western culture, they sure are kept up-to-date. Some of the weapons are even the new models sold in the black market. Then again, them having these types of weapons shouldn't be any surprise. Joseph's first son, the one that's dead now, was a hunter of sorts. He collected guns that ranged from knives, rifles, Uzi guns, to pistols. There's even a grenade launcher! At least what's left of it anyway.

These Indians might want to keep their heritage and traditions but that doesn't mean they can't adapt either. If anything, the gun collection here is as vast as the one Dante has at home. Boy, the FBI would be all over these two guys if they knew what their special hobbies were.

Trish retrieves a PGA sniper rifle on the rack nearest to her. She checks the cartridge, studying the thin but very long bullets inside. Each of the bullets' tips is extremely sharp, giving an almost painful effect to anyone who's unfortunate enough to get in their way. Overall, the rifle is heavy but to her it's a piece of paper. Sheeit, she lifted Dante's motorcycle at one time and didn't break a sweat. It's times like this that being a demon has its benefits, even if there are few and far between.

"As you can see," Joseph says from across the compartment, his tone very informative. "This is all we have. It isn't many but it's something."

"You're kidding, right? You could take out a horde of demons with that grenade launcher of yours alone. And besides, it's better than fighting demons with rocks, am I correct?" Trish humors and puts the rifle back to its resting place.

She picks up another weapon and studies that one too. Again, this one is as lethal as the first. They obviously have the tools to hold the demons off until Dante and Socrates retrieve the Book of the Dead. They just need the wits and smarts to match it.

"Before I forget," Joseph inserts as he makes his way around a large table containing gun parts, "I have your weapons here. We found them a few meters away from you three."

"You did?"
"Yes."

Trish tries to ignore the awkwardness she feels but can't. This is just too weird. Why would Imp and Siren leave their weapons lying around? Wouldn't the smart thing to do be to take away their swords and guns? That would've given them the extra advantage. How very odd indeed. First, Imp freezes them. Then, he unfreezes them. And not only that, he's left them their weapons. Either this is a game to them or Imp and Siren have something else in mind.

The black clad woman waits patiently while Joseph enters another area of the shack. It's much smaller she could tell from her viewpoint. In fact, it's only the size of a closet. A minute passes and she hears Joseph rummaging through things. Finally, after awhile, he emerges carrying familiar weapons.

Joseph carries Alastor and Sparda with both hands. They look like they've just been cleaned recently. No doubt, Joseph's doing. Their metal gleams a bit as Joseph approaches Trish closer. The old man struggles a bit midway into the room, however, because of their massive weight. Dante's sword, alone, weighs as big as a truck. Trish grins and quickly runs to relieve Joseph of the tedious task.

"Thank you, Joseph," she tells him and looks at her own sword. "We owe you."

"Wait," Joseph replies and returns to the small back room only to come back with three more recognizable weapons. "Your guns."

After placing Alastor and Sparda on the table containing gun parts, Trish accepts Ebony, Ivory, and Pluto. They, too, appear as if they've been polished. She holsters Pluto in her gun belt. She has to keep herself from grinning. Having Pluto back is like having a pet come back home. Pluto sinks in, resting in its designated place. At least now, with Pluto, she feels a little better. Trish places Ebony and Ivory next to her sword on the table. Joseph, meanwhile, glances at the magnum gun admirably.

"I've never seen one like that before," he points to Pluto with a finger.

"Oh, this?" she taps the butt of Pluto, "My partner custom made this baby for me. His name is Pluto. Pretty nifty, right?"

"Yes. Very." He continues looking at it, even as Trish walks past him to observe the other weapons on the walls.

Trish finds more rifles. Some machine guns. A couple of shotguns. Lots of bullets to fit each weapon of destruction. They're going to need a good hour to get these all in the checklist. If only there was a gatling gun, she thinks light-heartedly. Then no demon would be able to stand a chance against them.

Her eyes widen in surprise when one weapon catches her attention all of a sudden. She strolls right next to it. Slowly.

The bow gun is equipped with automatic arrows and an-easy-to-use trigger device. Its figure is long and slender. Carefully, Trish removes it from the wall, looking at it as if she just saw the love of her life. The weight of it, despite its appearance, feels just right for her. Even as she cradles it under her armpit to aim up at the ceiling, it feels comfortable. Trish continues observing the bow gun in different angles. Under the dim lighting of the room, the metal of the weapon shines to her.

"Pretty nifty, right?" Joseph smiles, quoting her just now.

"Yes. Very." She quotes back and her white teeth show.

She continues observing it, watching its unique structure. Removing one of the arrows already installed in the weapon, Trish tenderly pecks at the tip of it. It's very sharp. Precise.

Trish can feel Joseph's eyes on her. She turns around to see him, already knowing exactly what he has in mind.

"All right," she gives him a smile and sees how Joseph's face lights up. "I give. I'll trade you my gun for this mean bitch here."

Trish quickly removes Pluto from her gun belt, almost at lightening speed. She tosses it up in the air for Joseph to catch. He grabs it instantly with an appreciative nod. Trish gives him a wink in return and then takes a seat on the table harboring Dante's and her weapons.

She removes one of the pouches on her gun belt containing holy water. Soon after, she takes the arrow she extracted earlier and dips the tip of it with the blessed water. She proceeds to do the same to the rest of the other arrows. All the while, however, something inside bugs her, something that she needs to get out in the open. The recent confrontation with Joseph's son has given her something to worry over. Dante isn't the type to waste time in getting to know a person. However, he doesn't realize how precious trust is. If they ARE going to stop David then they're going to need everyone's help. She's going to be here anyway. Might as well get involved with the people, right?

"You look like you're troubled, child," Joseph comments out of nowhere, realizing the disturbed face she makes.

Trish is quiet for some time. She dips another arrow with holy water.

"Don't worry, child. We'll make it out of here, if that's what's bothering you.

"Actually," Trish begins quietly, "it's not that."

"Then please," Joseph takes a seat across her, "tell me what it is."

She swallows hard, trying to figure out where to begin. Her mind is working but her mouth isn't. If only things were easy for her.

"Joseph… Dante and Socrates will be away for awhile. Just for a while."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'll be here to make sure everyone's all right," she quickly inserts, trying not to worry Joseph. Or make him any more suspicious of Dante as he already is.

"Where are they going?" he asks carefully, his voice very neutral.

A slight pause. "To the mountains."

A long moment of silence.

Joseph eyes her cautiously. His eyebrows grow in a slight frown while his lips curl a bit. After a long time, he looks Trish dead in the eye.

"But why? It's dangerous there. You know that. Many of my people have already died trying to reach it. Why not stay here and wait for help to arrive?" A small pause. "Or is there something else you're not telling me?"

"Look Joseph… you've got to trust me. It's not what you think."

"Then tell me. From the very beginning you've avoided all questions in regards to your reason being here. You came here for a purpose. I'd like to know what that purpose is."

Trish rubs the temples of her head, feeling an incoming headache approaching. "Dante and Socrates feel they can put a stop to this once and for all. They're planning on getting to David head-on."

"That's insane. No one can reach that… `man'. I don't think he's even human. When I sleep at night, I see him there. In my dreams. And in my dreams all I see are his eyes. And in those eyes lies an evil as pitch as black."

"I know you feel this way, Joseph, but we can't wait here. Eventually they'll come for us, for all of us. We need to make a stand."

"What's the point in making a stand if it means more lives at stake? I suggest we stay here. Until help arrives."

Trish pulls her hands away from her face, frustrated. Jesus. Doesn't he understand? They can't stay here! There's no telling what's going to happen tomorrow! David will do all that he can to cause her and everyone else here death and pain.

"How long will your friends be away?" Joseph says when he notices the very long moment of silence. It's obvious this woman is hiding something. But what that is remains a mystery. Can he and his people truly trust them? Or has Natiche been right all along?

"They should be back by tomorrow," she answers very briefly and adds, "Hopefully."

"Is there anything I can do to stop them from going there?"

"No," she wearily smiles a little this time. "Once Dante has his mind set on something it's pretty difficult to stop him. Besides… he's got a score to settle with David."

Joseph frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's… a personal matter for him."

Her eyes make contact with his. It is then that Joseph realizes how sincere her pain and frustration is. This isn't the look of some liar. Otherwise, this woman is one heck of an actress. But it seems true and to the heart. And… his instincts say so too. They've never been wrong before, have they?

"I'm sorry I can't tell you any more than that," Trish gently whispers, "But you've got to believe Dante. We're here to help."

"I truly would like to believe that."

Trish swallows hard. She's got to give Joseph a little more insight if she hopes for him to leave it alone. And at the same time, not give out TOO much information.

"Dante and I are a part of an independent agency. We're private investigators who investigate super natural forces such as this," Trish starts.

"Super natural forces…? So you mean you've dealt with this situation before?"

"Many times, yes." Trish retrieves a small card from the back pocket of her leather pants. She hands it over to him so he can get a good observation of it.

Joseph checks the card. It's a company card with the words `Devil Never Cry' imprinted on it. Sure enough, he sees Dante's and the woman's names printed there as well. An agency? An agency that actually looks into the supernatural? How very odd…

"So you came here to deal with the mysterious forces currently spewing here?" he asks while still looking down at the card.

"Yes."

He takes a moment. "And how did you know about our little `problem' here?"

Trish hesitates before answering that question. Truthfully, neither Dante nor she knew about the demons residing here. If not for Socrates and the Book of the Dead they probably would've never found out.

"Honestly, Joseph, we had no idea until we arrived here," she admits. "We came here to seek out David. We had no idea he had two others with him. Nor did we know about you guys and your problems here."

Joseph's eyes search Trish's, hoping to gain some newly found knowledge. Whoever they are, they're not the people Natiche has made them out to be. Besides, he should be a bit grateful. If what the woman says is true then Dante and his friends have decided to devote their obligation in, not only seeking David out, but to help them as well. Joseph nods understandingly.

"Maybe you DID know about it. Maybe you were destined to help us without even knowing it," he starts. "You might be the salvation we have prayed for."

Trish doesn't say anything. Rather, she smiles warmly.

"All right… I believe you, Trish. I believe you're here to help. I may not know everything about you all or your reason for being here. But… I'll take my chances. You have my trust, child. And if battle should come, you have my strength as well."

Trish feels relieved. While the other villagers have been skeptical, Joseph is the only one giving them the benefit of doubt. It's vital they preserve his trust. Otherwise, everything will be lost, possibly Dante's mother and brother.

"Thank you, Joseph. That means a lot."

He sighs, "Tonight after the dinner I'll help Dante and Socrates prepare for their journey."

"He'll appreciate that."

"But I do have one last question for you."

"Go ahead and shoot it out."

"Once your friends come back, what will happen then?" Joseph asks.

"Hopefully they've put a stop to David."

"And if they don't?"

"If they don't… we'll need to find a faster way out of here," she replies and equips the last arrow now blessed with holy water back into place. It makes a loud `ka-chunk' sound. "…With our own lives if necessary."

"I think that about does it," Socrates cheerfully says as both him and Dante secure the rope around the last piece of fence.

It's late in the afternoon and they've only completed the fence on the west side of the village. The one in the east still needs work and will probably take a good two hours to finish. Still, the west fence was the hardest to erect. It's also the most vital area of the village since it acts as the main entrance. It's been first initial attack since the day David arrived.

"I hope so," Dante replies a bit tired.

He looks up at the extremely long fence. At the upper tips of the west fence are barbwires with sharp knives entangled throughout to make for a more defense system. In his opinion, it won't stand a chance against enemies like Frosts. But this fence is certainly better than how things used to be. It should at least lower the deaths here. Not all demons are that bright anyway, he grins humorously.

"You look like shit," he suddenly hears Socrates say out of the blue.

Dante cocks an eyebrow at his use of words. Surprised. Socrates just shrugs.

"Hey, after being around you for awhile, I'm getting to build up on my up-to-date vocabulary."

Dante wants to laugh but, instead, winds up yawning.

"Seriously, Dante, get some rest. You can use it."

"I'll rest when David rests," he's about to say something else but finds himself yawning again. Seconds later, he sneezes. Crap, please tell him he's not catching a cold now!

It's not like him to be like this, to be so tired and worn out. Then again, that nasty fever did take its toll on him and he worked a helluva lot today. This chilly weather doesn't make things any better for him either. He's not as fit as he usually is. Maybe he'll work out later on, at least to get himself juiced up or something.

"Let's do a sweep and make sure the fences are secure enough," he suggests to Socrates.

"I've a better idea, let ME work on that while you get some rest. And take a bath while you're at it. You smell."

Dante sniffs in one of his armpits. He grins. "I smell great. Nothing cologne can't fix."

"Ugh, it's a wonder how Trish puts up with you," Socrates rolls his eyes.

"Whatever."

"C'mon, Dante. I'm being serious. For once, stop being so stubborn. Don't you want to be in full shape when we arrive at the mountains?"

"Yeah. And speaking of which, when exactly are we going?"

"I'm thinking at tonight."

"Tonight?" Dante raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. We still got a limit despite the Bangle of time and the time change between the past and present. The faster we arrive the faster we can help your mother and brother, right?"

Dante nods, fully understanding. And besides? What's the big deal? He ain't afraid of the dark. And he sure as hell ain't afraid of tackling any gruesome demon that might pop out of the forest to get them. He better do as Socrates suggested. He needs to be in full capacity. He can't afford to get sick and tired right now.

"All right. So where's a tub I can use?"

"Right there," Socrates points across where a cabin, the size of a storage room, sits.

"You're kidding, right?" Dante glances at the cabin with a bit a disappointment.

"No. That's the tub the village uses. In summer and springtime, they bath in the river while in the winter they use those tubs. There're about three of them around but one of them is currently being used while the second broke down yesterday. It only has cold water running."

The devil hunter sighs.

"You better get to that one before someone else does," advises Socrates.

Dante gazes at the cabin again, shaking his head left to right. After standing still for a second or so, he heads for it.

"By the way," Socrates calls out, "Dinnertime is around 6:00pm, so be ready by then."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…"

Dante yawns tiredly as he walks to the cabin Socrates refers to. He enters the empty and dimly lighted cabin that reflects a yellow-brown color. All that occupies it is a large tub made of wood with metal rings to keep it stable. It's at the center of the room, taking up most of the space. The steaming hot water causes each of the cabin's windows to become misty. Someone must've put in hot water for the next user. Someone please bless the Samaritan who did that he thinks to himself. Dante finds a towel and some clean clothes hanging on a rack nearby. The clothes come in all sizes but they definitely don't make a fashion statement. It's the same-o stuff he sees people wearing. Flannel shirts and pants. Gosh, what a nightmare.

He approaches one of the windows. He clears it with his fist, trying to get a good visual outside. It's darker than before. The ghostly trees wave back and forth. Some of the trees are close to the cabin. Their branches scrape against the window creating eerie sounds. Tiny snowflakes begin to fall, swaying and gliding before touching ground. Dante swallows hard, suddenly reminded of the terrible dream he had.

He turns away from the window and walks toward a large shelf attached to a wall. It contains several bars of white soap. He takes one of them and starts to toss it up and down with a hand. This may not be a Four Points Hotel, he thinks to himself, but it's sure better than some of the dumps he's been to. Even better, he's got first dibs on the tub. Meaning, he won't have to worry about finding pubic hairs or some other shit from the last person occupying it. Ah, the luxuries of being a demon slayer. And being first in line…

Unbuttoning his flannel shirt, he walks near the wooden-made tub and throws the shirt onto the floor. Yawning again, he sits at the ledge of the tub to unlace his boots. It's been a long and hard day for him. His muscles are aching from the recent workout he had and his stomach is currently demanding food. Whoever said chopping down trees and setting up defenses was an easy job apparently needs to get their ass whooped.

Dante carelessly flings his worn-out boots toward a wall. They smack hard against the wall before finally kissing the floor. He mumbles something underneath his breath when he undoes his pants, using a tone that's a mixture of exhaustion and hunger. He can only hope that tonight's dinner is well worth this waiting. How these people can wait this long for food after a hard day's work is just beyond him.

Naked now, he carefully places one leg into the steaming tub. His face winces a bit, feeling how hot it is. Eventually, however, the silvered haired man allows his body to take in the weight of heat. His face relaxes. Once it does, he puts the second foot inside the water. Slowly and carefully, Dante settles down until he's completely consumed by hot, misty water.

The devil hunter moans in bliss, his aching muscles growing numb all over and going slack at the same time. If this isn't heaven then he doesn't know what is. Oh, if only he could stay here forever. All he'd need then would be a bottle of the finest whine around, some decent food like, say, a well done T-bone steak, and a large television screen to watch his NFL sports and music videos. Now that would be something, wouldn't it?

Taking the soap he took from the shelf, he starts to apply water to it. The clear water becomes a blurry white color as the bar of soap contaminates it. He looks at it, somewhat sad. Soaps are clean and strong, but put them in water long enough and eventually they'll melt away.

Once the soap is thoroughly wet, Dante lifts the bar of soap from the water and uses it to scrub away any sweat and grime on his skin. First, he glides it across his chest, then to his face. It feels cool and refreshing. And good. It's been awhile since he's taken a long, good bath. Even back at home he was always rushed. Just when he was about to enjoy himself, the phone would ring with some urgent call from so-and-so who then demanded this-and-that.

Gosh, how long has it been? He can't really remember. Though, there were some good times in the past, when he was practically a baby. Mom had him and Vergil take baths in the tub at the same time. She brought them their favorite toys as well as filled the tub with those fun soap bubbles. She'd give him his naval ship and Vergil his annoying-but-ever-so-adored rubber ducky toy. Of course, his naval ship always kicked that rubber ducky in the ass since it came with a squirting gun. Ha, those were some funny moments there. Those were the moments where he'd like to relive again. Too bad there aren't many of those these days.

Everything's been on the flipside from the start. His visit to Mallet Island, in fact, had brought back painful memories. The moment Trish entered his place and told him what was going on he knew that the Mallet Island mission would be different from all the demon hunts he'd been to. Yes, Mallet Island had brought him painful memories. But even worse, Mallet Island brought him a man who, to this very moment, continues to haunt his mind. Nelo Angelo.

He knew from the get-go that there was something… familiar about that demon knight. The way he moved, the way he fought, to even the way he made him feel… He kept telling himself that he was just imagining things but once Nelo unmasked himself for their final fight, everything was revealed. Nelo had Vergil's face… It was his brother! At first, he assumed that Mundus had simply cloned his brother in the same manner he cloned his mother by creating Trish. But Nelo Angelo was different, wasn't he? Not only did Nelo bear the amulet their mother gave to them on their birthday, but he was also… struggling against himself. Twice did Nelo have the chance to kill him, and yet, he stopped. It was as if he was fighting his own inner demons. Did Mundus take Vergil's soul and twisted it to make Nelo Angelo? Did he kill his own brother? Did he actually kill him BY HIS OWN HAND?

Deep down Dante knows the answer to that. And it kills him. Looking up at the ceiling, he finally realizes it all. He's got to make things right again. He couldn't help Vergil in Mallet Island. But now… he's got a second chance to. He has the power to finally free his soul, away from devils like Mundus and David. He will do EVERYTHING to make sure of that. And hopefully, one day, Vergil will forgive him for what he had done.

He sighs and resumes moving the bar of soap over his body, trying to rinse himself clean even though they'll always be specks of dirt on him. No matter how much you try to clean it away, it'll always be there. The only thing a person can do is to keep that speck of dirt from growing and consuming everything.

As Dante thinks of that, he glides the soap across his forearm. He stops for a moment. Hesitant. The awkward symbol sits there. Watching him. Unwilling to be washed away.

Dante blinks, seeing the symbol almost shine under the dim lighting of the room. Slowly, his hand touches it. In some twisted, confusing way, he seems to admire it. Its fine lines create such an extravagant piece of artwork. Never before has he seen a tattoo like this. It's simple yet complicated at the same time. How in the world did he get this? When? Could his dream have anything to do with it? Even so, how can a dream do that unless someone put it there while he was asleep? There are so many questions… so many gaps to be filled.

His face frowns abruptly when he notices the veins surrounding his wrist beginning to move. They move like ripples in water. Slowly, making their movement appear grotesque. Dante touches one of these veins, touching it curiously. He sees that some of them have turned black. The lighting of the room makes these dark veins visible to him. Emotionlessly, Dante lifts up his index finger. He extends the nail, making it turn jet-black. With this nail, he slices off one of the dark veins. Black blood squirts out, spilling all over his wrist. Dante's face winces a bit in disgust but continues watching it, not fully understanding this. His blood has always been red. It'd turn blue when he devil triggered. Never, however, has it turned black like this. Could his body still be sick? Then again, why do these dark veins only appear in his wrist and nowhere else? Weird.

Three drops of black blood splash onto the water. Before he can see anything else, his broken vein starts to heal itself. Covering everything, including any answers. Dante doesn't bother tearing another vein. Instead, he restores his fingernail to normal and rests the back of his head against the ledge of the tub. He closes his eyes.

"What is happening to me?" he whispers to himself.

He stays there like that, unwilling to move. His eyes feel drowsy and his body feels dead. Yet, he can sense the water surrounding him, touching his body and protecting him with its heat. It's like he's a baby again, inside his mother's womb. He's helpless, feeding off of anything given to him and absorbing anything offered to him. Life is simple when you're a baby. It's not so complicated when you can't talk, let alone, think for yourself.

The cabin's door opens and a cold breeze enters the room. This causes Dante's eyes to snap awake. Buddha. What the fuck? Will someone close the damn door? It's freezing in here!

His eyebrows ark a bit when he finds a dark figure standing at the door's entrance. It's a woman by the looks of her shape. She's dressed in a long and dark robe. The hood of her robe is currently over her head. Since she bows her head down, her face is a little more than shadows and curves. The concealed woman makes little sound as she enters the room. Her bare feet are the only things that are visible from her. Bare feet? In this cold weather?

"Yo, you mind waitin' until I finish, baby?" Dante tells her, "I'm almost done."

The woman remains silent. She stops after one step later and remains there for a long time. Even the chilly air that comes from the open door appears to have frozen in place as well. Dante observes this a little strangely.

"At least close the door behind you. It's cold in here. Get my drift, darlin'?"

It's not like he ain't a gentleman. If the woman wants the tub now, fine. Hell, he won't have any problems sharing it with her if she turns out to be a Carmen Electra look-alike. Still, she should close the door. He just had a serious case of pneumonia for Buddha's sake.

Dante looks at her, more carefully, realizing that she doesn't make any effort to move. Maybe it's because she doesn't understand English.

"Babe?" he asks and gestures a finger toward the door. "Door? Close? Understand?"

Still no answer. Her body remains stationed in place. Her face, hidden. Dante mumbles a curse word and stretches his arm out to reach the towel on the rack near him.

"Fine," he mutters and adds sarcastically, "I'm leavin'. Here you go. Have `fun' while I freeze my ass off. Could you AT LEAST turn `round so I can get dressed?"

Finally, the woman moves. She walks to the side of the tub and grabs the towel before Dante can get it. At first, Dante thinks the woman is being polite by offering to give him his towel. Instead, she takes it, walks to the open door, and throws it outside. She chuckles amusingly. She finally closes the door and resumes watching Dante in her awkward stance.

"Hey, what's your problem, woman?" the distressed devil hunter begins and sinks back into the water to conceal his forbidden body part, "Give me my towel. Now! I already said that I'm leavin'."

The woman laughs. Dante's eyes narrow coldly. No, this woman can understand him just fine. It's this bullshit attitude of hers that's making things difficult.

"Who are you?" Dante demands. "And what are you doing here?"

"I'm a humble servant of yours, of course, whom only wishes to do your bidding."

Dante's mouth opens the moment the woman speaks. He recognizes that voice!

Siren's eyes rise amusingly as she moves her hands over the hood of the robe. The silky hood falls comfortably over her shoulders like a second skin peeled away. Her blazing red hair spews out the moment Siren unveils herself. A large strand of hair covers her left eye. She brushes it away and takes a step forward.

"Did you miss me, my love?"

"Stop calling me that, you psychotic bitch," Dante starts and reaches for his pants on the ledge of the tub. He removes a switchblade inside his pants' pocket.

"No need for that," Siren inserts. Her hand makes a small gesture. The switchblade flings away from Dante's grasp. The blade hits and penetrates into the far left wall of the room where it remains there.

"Get out of here before I -"

Dante is cut off the moment Siren takes off her robe. Nothing lies beneath the cloth she wears except for her gorgeous nude body. Her breasts are full, nipples perked and both pierced with metal rings. A heart tattoo is embodied on the left one, located at the exact spot where her heart lies beneath. There's another tattoo, this time on the thigh of her right leg. It's an image of a demon, grinning devilishly. Its eyes laugh in a maniacal way. Dante's own eyes wander there, near her thigh. A part of him hopes to forbid him from seeing anything further from that tattoo but the sight of Siren stirs an erotic sensation. He can't help but to allow his sexual curiosity to explore the rest of this woman's flesh. Her attractive facial features. Her slender arms. Her long legs. Her womanhood. Everything about her is perfect.

Siren walks toward the tub, soon getting inside. One long leg enters with the other following closely. Dante sits motionless, unable to move as Siren edges close to him.

Siren's rosy lips curve sensually while she slowly moves against the hot water, closing the distance between her object of affection and herself. When she's only an inch away, she wraps her slender arms around Dante's neck.

"Get off me," is all Dante can say.

Yet, before he can push her away, Siren manages to slip her tongue into his mouth.

"No," he mumbles, hoping to fight his bodily urges.

"How long has it been?" she pulls away from her kiss and gently bites on the earlobe of his ear. "How long has it been since you've touched a woman? Or, for that matter, allow a woman to touch you? I am not talking about all your past girlfriends, one-night stands, or your other little whores. I am talking about… a special type of woman. One in which you can stare into her face and realize, with absolute clarity, that you mean the world to her."

Siren looks deep into Dante's white-blue eyes. One of her hands strokes his silver hair while the other moves below, in the water. Her face angles itself sideways to observe more of Dante and his change of expression as he moans softly. Dante can't help but to feel lost in her beautiful gaze. Her burning eyes, alone, can summon the demon within.

"I see you as the center of my universe, Dante," she continues in a tender voice. Her hand's grip on Dante's penius becomes a bit aggressive. "I would be willing to kill or die for you. If you asked me to slit my own throat, I'd do it. If you told me to summon the rain, I would. If you ordered me away, I'd go. Love me, Dante. Love me back. That's all I ask in return."

Dante moans again once Siren's hold on him becomes harder. This is dangerous, he knows, and there's no telling what will come from it. The switchblade isn't that far away. He can push this woman off and get to it. End of story. Or maybe he can just punch Siren in the face. Thereby, making her go unconscious. But didn't mom say good boys don't hit girls? Whatever. Or, heaven forbid, he could just call out for some assistance. He's sure that there's enough people here who hold a grudge against Siren. They'll take care of this woman.

His mind devises several other scenarios, each estimating their outcomes. However, he makes no effort to execute them. Worse, he has no desire to do so. It's as if his mind is still working but his body isn't complying. It's on strike. If anything, it wants nothing more than to have Siren continue supplying it with pleasure. He moans again, louder this time as his eyes roll back, feeling ever more stirred as Siren increases her hand's rhythm.

Siren's face moves closer, ready to embrace Dante's lips again. Their lips hungrily move over each other, moving rapidly as if they are trying to find some correct combination. Dante holds her tightly close to him; feeling Siren's full bosom press against his chest. One hand moves to cup one of her breasts. Siren kisses his chin before moving her lips across his neck, nibbling off of it.

"I love you so much," she hastily says, excited by this heat of passion.

Dante doesn't reply. Instead, he begins to suck on one of Siren's breasts, his tongue playfully tugging at the nipple piercing. His hand pulls on her hair hard, his intense craze wanting liberation. Before he can, however, Siren pulls away and sinks into the water. Dante grins, watches her face slowly disappear beneath. He waits for her to surface or, he hopes, until he feels a new type of sexual gratification. A moment passes and nothing. Another second. Still nothing. Is this some kind of fetish stunt?

Bubbles begin to emerge from the water. He blinks, watching them appear fast and faster as the seconds add. Dante is about to say something until the water bubbles turn red. Blood.

"What… the… FUCK?"

Several more red bubbles emerge where Siren sank herself. The blood starts to spill throughout the tub, soon covering it entirely. He starts to get up but hands appear from beneath the water, all decayed and torn to the bone. They desperately reach out and grab him. Their nails tear into his flesh delivering a new meaning to agony.

The hands start to pull him into the water but he struggles against it, cursing. He reaches and grabs onto the tub's ledge, trying to use it to lift himself out. More hands extend from the bloody water. Two of them manage to grab his ankles, soon dragging the hunter downward.

"No! Hell no!" Dante protests and tries to use the tub ledge for support again.

Water bubbles emerge again and this time, something surfaces. Dante's body grows stunned. Trish's head pops up, her eyes rolled back and showing only white. His slippery fingers let go of the ledge and Dante is pulled below. Underwater, Dante's eyes sting from the blood and soap. He moves aggressively, trying to shake away the hands tearing at him. His head jerks up when one of the hands begins to gut his stomach. As he struggles to break free, his eyes catch the sight of a shadow figure above the water. The figure currently looks down at him. He's dark and tall. He's never seen him before but feels that he has.

"Wlm'g blf ivnvnyvi dsl r zn?" the gentle man says in a calm voice. Somehow, even in the water, he can hear him. "Wlm'g blf fmwvihgzmw nv? Hllm, blf droo. Hllm, blf droo yv ivylim."

Dante lets out a gurgled cry before any sense can come from the dark figure. Another hand reaches and tears at his neck. A glob of blood spurts out.

Meanwhile, the dark figure stands before the tub. He smiles happily once he sees Dante's head surface. Right next to Trish's.

Dante's body violently jerks up from the water. He gasps for breath, realizing that he just dosed off. And in the water of all places. His eyes are wild as he scans the area left to right, his heart rapidly beating beneath his chest. They quickly search the water, looking for any horrifying hands ready to tear into him. Dream. It was just another dream. Sweet-Jesus-Mother-of-Mercy-and-all-that's-Holy. This is the second time this has happened.

Dante swallows hard while his eyes continue to study his surroundings. The trees still scrap against the window and the snow still falls. It's quiet here, almost calm and peaceful. The nightmare seems to be the only thing that currently bothers him. It was so real.

The room remains dimly lighted. He stays in the water, unwilling to move. Even if his environment appears safe enough he just can't bring himself in getting out of the tub. Christ, it's like the tub has suddenly become his sanctuary.

The warmth of the room embraces him back to the world. Everything, from the stirring of the wind outside, appears normal. But is he still dreaming? Or could he just have awakened from one? His questions are cut short once the cabin's door opens. There it goes again, like last time. He halfway expects a woman in a robe to appear. Instead, however, there's an old Indian woman there, carrying a lighted lamp in one hand. She's around her late seventies. Her back is slanted into a hunch and her overall body is nothing but rich brown skin and bones.

"Are you all right?" the old woman asks, her voice scratchy and barely audible.

"Am I still dreaming?" he responds in a daze.

"No… I heard you screaming," the woman advances further into the room. She stops midway. The lighting from the lamp reflects a concerned expression on her aged face. "Are you… all right?"

Dante swallows hard and thinks about the dream he just had. It didn't make any real sense. Just who in the hell was that dark guy and what was he talking in? Strange that the language is both foreign but familiar to him.

Ivylim… What does `ivylim' mean?

"Are you all right?" the old woman asks again, more alarmed than previously.

He runs a hand across his wet hair, "I wish I were, lady."

The devil hunter looks around, not sure if he's still dreaming or not. The dream had Siren trying to seduce him into submission. He can only guess she's using sex to gain his trust. And not only that, she's screwing with his head too. The dreams appear as normal as right now. In fact, who's to say that he's still not slumbering right at this moment? Is the old woman real? Is this cabin real? Maybe he's really asleep and thinking about his own dreaming in this dream he's having right now. Or maybe what happened before really happened and right now he's asleep thinking that it didn't happen when, in reality, it probably did happen. Whatever. These `maybes' are giving him a headache.

"Excuse me," the old woman replies softly, "but dinner is ready. Do you want more time? Or do you want some rest?"

"No," scoffs Dante and reaches for the towel on the rack nearby, "I've had enough rest to last me into the next lifetime."

In an old-fashioned-made kitchen, Socrates inhales the tasty smell of soup. His eyes are closed and he makes an awkward, goofy grin. Just smelling this food makes his stomach grumble. If it tastes as good as it smells then tonight's dinner was definitely worth waiting for. If only he ate this type of food while he was human. Then he'd be as plump as Joseph's wife!

And speaking about Joseph, he certainly has a large place. Of all the cabins in the village his is the largest. His is also the only one with a diner room that's big enough for at least twenty people, perhaps because he serves as the chief. The rest of the villagers, meanwhile, are in the other small cabins, preparing for a similar feast to theirs.

It's a wonder, though, why Joseph and his people prefer cabins over modern-day houses. When asked about that, Joseph replied good-naturally that he and his people wanted to relate back to their ancestors. Of course, he chose cabins over tents and caves since he's not as stupid or naïve as some people think he might be. And he preferred to have a `village' as opposed to separate homes located throughout the area where everyone was possibly vulnerable to the forest and its creatures. At this moment, his decision paid off. Had they lived their lives isolated from one another none of them would be alive today.

Through the kitchen's window, Socrates peers out to see many `guards'. All of them are men and all appear strong enough to break a truck with their bare hands. They're stationed at each cabin in pairs and are armed with old fashioned rifles. Some of them remain still, frowning at every sound that emerges from the vast forest surrounding their small village. Others, on the other hand, pace back and forth, like lions ready to protect their territory.

Socrates turns away from the view, feeling uneasy. Instead, his eyes roam around the kitchen. The table located at the center of the kitchen is filled with food. Bread. Fruit. Mash potatoes. Corn. Three types of meat. Soup. Wine. Water. Soda. Almost everything conceivable. It's like it is Thanksgiving or a celebration of some sort. But, he also thinks sadly, it could just as well be the type of feast a prisoner is given before their execution.

Trish enters the kitchen area but stands still when she notices Socrates hutched toward a bowl of soup on the center table. Her eyebrows rise in a bit of amusement. She later makes a face, especially when Socrates begins to moan in delight each time he inhales the soup's smell. It's times like this that she has to remind herself that Socrates isn't ten years old. She walks past him to grab a large spoon on the counter to stir the bowl of mash potatoes with.

"I had no idea you were such a great cook," Socrates smiles once he sees her.

She chuckles. "Naw. Joseph's wife and her friends did most of the cooking. I'm just helping them out while they fix the table."

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long. I came about half an hour ago. I finished our weapons inventory checklist way before but I decided to teach Joseph and some others how to use the weapons afterwards. I spent my day going through it by the numbers. Most of them knew how to handle a shotgun so that helped me out a bit. It was teaching them how to handle an automatic that was the tricky part. But they're fast learners," she nods and looks up from the bowl of the mash potatoes. "And you? What did you and Dante do? Did Dante get any rest?"

"No. He was helping me secure the perimeter."

"Stubborn bastard."

Socrates shrugs and offers a timid smile. "Hey, I tried my best to get his butt back into bed but he wouldn't listen to me."

"I know. He likes to do things his own way, even if he pays for it later on. That's Dante. Hey, could you make sure that gravy is still hot?"

"Will do."

As Socrates complies Trish's watches him in silence. Something's been on her mind for awhile since she paired up with Joseph to do the checklist. She already knows that Socrates and Dante have agreed to go get the book together. Thus, the question remains: when? She's still a little pissed that she's no longer a part of their `plan.' Dante could've at LEAST told her what Socrates and him were discussing earlier this morning. So what if she's left behind? It still doesn't mean she can't know the details of what he and Socrates plan to do in order to reach the mountains.

"So have you decided?" Trish asks narrowly, trying not to sound frustrated even if she is.

"Excuse me?" Socrates asks over his shoulder, still checking the gravy.

"When you leave. Have you decided when you and Dante are leaving?"

"Yeah."

Trish waits for him to continue but he doesn't. He's too busy test-tasting the gravy. In fact, he doesn't even see the face Trish makes. Trish sets down the spoon and crosses her arms together.

"So is this how it's going to be?" she blares out loud. "Is it my turn to be left in the dark like everyone else here?"

"Trish?" Socrates turns to face her, realizing the stiff tone Trish uses. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean `what's wrong'?" she mocks half frustrated. "You're keeping things from me that's what."

"Things? Trish, what are you talking about?"

"I thought we had an understanding," Trish replies, regaining her calm manner as she explains her small outburst right now. "You both would go but you'd make it your effort to keep me informed too."

Socrates finally understands.

"Just tell me when you and Dante plan to leave," Trish leans against the counter with her full attention at Socrates. "You and Dante were talking about this earlier on, am I correct?"

He nods a yes answer but doesn't say anything else, afraid that she might get second thoughts of staying behind if he says something she doesn't like.

Trish sighs. "Look, I'm perfectly fine with me staying behind. But I don't like the idea of being in the dark. I need to know what's going on so I can prepare for it."

"I know. And I'm… sorry for not letting you in on what we're up to."

"No need to be. Just tell me what's up. What were you two talking about?"

"About the route we should take to the mountains, that's about it."

"And?"

"Well, after hearing about this burial ground, I got the idea that we should take the east area. That way, we won't have much trouble getting to the mountains."

"But Dante…" Trish begins, "He's part demon…"

"Yeah, he told me that he might have trouble getting through that area himself but he's agreed to take this route anyway."

"It's a dangerous game," Trish nods. "But one that needs to be played."

"We'd like to head for the mountains later tonight. That way, we can get a jumpstart on things. We also won't have to worry about the others in the village following us since they'll be too scared to follow."

Trish doesn't say anything.

"I don't like it," she abruptly states after awhile.

"What's there to like?" Socrates sighs. "This might be the end of us all. Either way, we're in some pretty deep shit… as Dante would colorfully put it."

Trish faces the bowl of mash potatoes. Looking at it but not really. Jesus, if it's not one thing, it's another. What's next?

"I suppose you're right. Are you sure… I can't tag along? Maybe-"

"No," he replies calmly, "You're better off staying here, Trish. And it's not like you can help us out when we travel the east route. Dante's got enough human in him to prevent him from self combusting. You, on the other hand-"

"I'm pure devil," she cuts him off with a hint of despair. "I'm just a devil whose true form is concealed by the face of Dante's mother…"

A moment of silence. Her eyes lower a bit. Socrates rests a hand on her shoulder.

"No. You're more than that, Trish," he comments softly. "You've got a heart."

"No, I don't," she shakes her head, "Look at me. I'm… disgusting. Even Dante told me I have no soul at one point."

"That's not true…"

"But it is," she shrugs, trying to hold back a tear in her eye. "I'm nothing more than a clone of Eva. A shell. No matter how many times I try to act human, I'll never be human."

She turns her back on Socrates and resumes stirring the mash potatoes.

"Joseph and the rest of the gang are prepping the table right now," Trish states rather dead. "Why don't you give them a hand, wing boy, and eat something? You don't want to go head-to-head with some demon you find in the woods on an empty stomach."

"Sure." He nods slowly. "Trish…"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. Please. Let's just… leave it at this."

"All right." He waits a long time, making sure Trish might have second thoughts. After awhile, he gives up and decides to change the subject. "Is Dante coming? It's been over an hour since he went to take a bath. I came by the cabin fifteen minutes ago and knocked on the door. Dante wasn't there."

Trish resumes stirring the mash potatoes. "Relax. Where there's food there'll be Dante. I only hope the darn pig minds his table manners. He can eat half this stuff here. We'll have to watch him carefully."

Socrates laughs, nervously but enough to hopefully brighten up the mood here. "Guy must have a big appetite."

"Sheeit, you're telling me. Half the money goes into the Devil Never Cry franchise while the rest goes into Dante's stomach." Trish manages to grin a little.

"I wasn't aware that you have to pay to keep Devil Never Cry."

"Of course we do. That's what all businesses have to do. I mean… there's that no-good-for-nothing building we have to rent out from a landlord who's a complete bitch. She gets on us every chance she gets. Or should I say, on Dante every chance she gets. And then there are the taxes, travel expenses, and Dante's informants, and all that other crap."

"Dante has informants?"

"I've never met them but yeah. One's a cop who's gotten Dante off some nasty situations. The others, well, I'm not sure what they do but they appear legit and important enough considering how much Dante pours into their pockets when he needs `em. The guy has informants everywhere. America. Japan. Australia. Germany. England. Africa. Brazil. Alaska. Russia. You name it, wing boy."

"And they're all aware of the existence of demons and such?"

"Yeah."

"How interesting."

"Interesting that the knowledge of demons is well known?" Trish wants to know, "Interesting that Dante has informants? Or interesting that he has to PAY to have friends in the first place?"

The two laugh, knowing how Dante rarely gets along with others because of his macho attitude and poor people skills.

"He really is something, isn't he?" Socrates nods a bit.

"Yeah. He is. What's weird is that he's considering of changing the name of Devil Never Cry back to its original name. I've no idea why he wants to though."

"What name was it before?"

"Devil May Cry."

"Nice name," Socrates grins.

Natiche watches the people gathering in his father's cabin in silence. It's like old times when he was a kid. During the winter they'd gather like a flock, preparing for the great feast. But what's so great about today when you've got demons ready to slaughter you off? In fact, why bother doing any of this bullshit? It's not like it's going to matter anyway. Most of them aren't even going to make it. Half of the villagers are already dead or missing. In about a day or two this place will probably be a ghost town. He picked a helluva time to come back.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you eat with us like this, Natiche," an old woman startles him from behind a doorway and inserts in her native language.

"Oh, I didn't see you there, Nana," he answers back with the same language, though his accent is off and strained. It's been a long time since he's had to speak in his native tongue. "Nice to see you here."

"Don't you mean, `nice to see that you're still alive'?" the old woman cracks a wicked laugh directed at her own joke.

"Still witty as usual, Nana. No doubt about that."

"I suppose so. With all those blasted demons out there killing our people, you've got to laugh at SOMETHING."

"First the white folks almost wipe us out and now this. Fate MUST be against us."

"Bah! You're so negative."

"It's a part of my charming traits," Natiche shrugs.

The old woman laughs again but stops the moment a white haired man enters the cabin's entrance. Her face grows stiff under all her wrinkles, as if she's seeing a ghost. She looks uncomfortable and swallows hard.

"I don't trust that man…" she whispers loud enough for Natiche to hear.

Natiche looks at her stone-faced. "Me neither. I've been trying to tell my father all day long but the crazy old bastard won't listen."

"He was speaking in a strange tongue while he was asleep," she continues absently, not really hearing a word Natiche just said.

"What?" Natiche asks in surprise. Now she has his full undivided attention.

"Yes," she answers quickly and in great prejudice, "I heard him screaming and causing such a commotion as I was walking back to my cabin to tend to my granddaughter. I investigated it, of course. He was speaking the same tongue those… DEMONS talk."

"You said he was talking like them?"

"Yes!" exclaims the old woman in a mixture of fear and astonishment. Her wrinkled small hands clutch tightly onto her blouse. The old woman's eyes narrow cruelly at the white haired man. "He sounded like he was possessed by them. When he talked… it was like a thousand of terrifying voices were speaking at the same time."

"And when he woke up? What happened?"

"Nothing. The voices went and he began speaking normally and in English. I tell you, Natiche, that man can NOT be trusted."

"No, he can't be." Natiche stares at the man standing at the door's entrance.

His eyes grow cold. He must be with those demons. Otherwise, how can he speak their language? He was right all along! Now if only he can get some evidence to prove his point. He's already got an eye witness. Now all he needs is something more solid. This man cannot be trusted. He and his friends are just like David and his companions. For all he knows, they could be here to spy on them! And when least expected, David can attack them head-on with the help of these spies. Where else can you find a weak spot but right here, in the heart of the village?

Dante remains near the door's entrance, half weary and half hungry. It's not unusual for him to get hungry so fast and often. After all, he is part devil. Devils have an unusually large appetite. He's just fortunate enough to have the type of appetite that prefers hamburgers and pizza over live flesh and blood. Still… there are those times when…

Did his father have such similar cravings as him? He was pure demon after all. Surely, there was a time when he ate… No, he couldn't have. Could he? He chuckles to himself, realizing how naïve he's become. Or would like to be, at least. His father was a great man but there's no such thing as being absolutely perfect and innocent. Despite his father's ability to choose humanity over his own kind, there was eventually a point in his life where he embraced his demon ways. Exactly what he did to embrace it he'll never know. But then again, this trip to retrieve the Book of the Dead might shred some light.

Since the get-go, this small journey has left him with butterflies in his stomach. There's a strong chance he'll see his father. If he does, what will he do or say? It's not like he can tell Sparda that he's his son. And what if he happens to stumble into that era where his father was anything but humane. In fact, what if he sees him in his worse times? He'd much rather not. He grew up hearing inspiring actions his father did. His mother practically painted him as a saint. He doesn't want anything to change that vision.

Dante ignores all the strange stares he gets the moment he walks into the large and crowded dining room. He wonders why they look at him in such a way but decides to simply ignore it when he sees Joseph and Socrates approach him.

"Hey, Dante," Socrates is the first to speak, "I was beginning to get worried. I thought you'd never show up."

"You know me. I love to make an entrance." Dante yawns tiredly, his eyes sleepy.

"You want to go get some rest, Dante?" chuckles Socrates at the sight of this, "I can bring food to your room when you're ready to eat."

"Nah. That's all right, wing boy. I'm starving as it is. `Sides, me sleeping is the reason why I'm like this."

"Bad dreams?" a worried face roams over Socrates' face.

"Yeah. They keep getting worse each time."

"I might have something that can help you," Joseph replies. "Come with me."

Dante hesitates before complying. Socrates, however, eagerly follows Joseph out of the dining room and into a small and very narrow wooden-made hallway. At the end of it is an opening leading to a room of some sort. Dante purses his lips. He finally decides to follow them since he's had enough of the whispers emerging from the people weary of his presence here.

Soon the three men enter, what appear to be, Joseph's personal chambers. It's large and dimly lighted due to the surrounding candles that flicker about. Afar from the smell of lumber, Joseph's chambers actually looks like a room one would usually see in a modern-day home. There's a small handmade bed stand beside Joseph's bed. Curtains made of some creature, most likely from a bear, cover the windows. A large barreled rifle is hung next to a trophy head of an animal on a wall. And at the far corner is a small room currently concealed by a beaded curtain, most likely a closet. The room feels warm, a perfect nesting place for just about anyone.

Dante notices a radio on the bed stand and strolls next to it. He picks it up and soon realizes that it's a portable radio that uses AA batteries. It's pretty funny that this radio reminds him how far away he is from his own modern day life right now. It seems like an eternity here and he feels somewhat isolated from the world. Still, he shouldn't be too haste to be uncomfortable in this type of surrounding. Rarely could he take the time to listen to the silence of the wind in the city. And rarely could he truly appreciate the lovely things Earth inhabits.

"I was given the impression that you folks didn't have radios here," Dante notes out loud, "Or anything modern, for that matter."

"We take only the things needed to survive out here and leave everything else behind. But that radio happens to belong to my son, Natiche," Joseph states. "He brought it with him when he decided to come home. My son's from the city."

"Figures. Only a city boy could carry out an attitude like him." Dante smirks a bit as he turns on the radio.

In the meantime, Joseph disappears in his closet while Socrates joins Dante.

"Picking up anything?"

"Yeah," Dante replies and quickly smiles.

The radio manages to pick-up a heavy rock station that currently plays out a fast tempo song. The guitars blare out loud while the drums bang twice as fast. Dante bobs his head to the beat of it. Eyes closed. Damn, he LOVES this song!

"C'mon," Socrates complains, "Pick another station. Most of those words aren't even a language. Give me it."

Socrates manages to snatch the radio away before Dante can protest. Socrates turns the knob until he picks up a jazz station. Unlike the song playing previously, the guitars here play slow while the drums have a steady tempo to correspond with the saxophone's rhythm.

"Now THIS sounds cool," Socrates comments. "Now this is music."

"No, it sounds more like the type of music you'd hear in a cheap porn video. I've seen plenty to know."

Dante grabs the radio again to put it on the previous station he had it on.

"Here it is," Joseph abruptly says from behind the two men. He approaches Dante with something in his hands.

Dante puts the radio on the nightstand in order to take a better look at the object in Joseph's hands. He realizes that it's a small beaded necklace. At the center of it is an oval shape bead, larger than any of the others. It feels smooth and has a vanilla color to it. Pure and clean.

"This should ward off all those dreams you're having, Dante," Joseph raises it to eye-level so Dante can see it clearly.

"Sort of like a dream weaver?"

"Yes," Joseph hands it over to Dante. "But it also wards off evil. Since the attacks we've created several of these necklaces. We've called upon our ancestors, so that their souls may be temporarily trapped in these beads. That way, they can protect us."

"Really? How can you be so sure that their souls are in this necklace?" Dante asks skeptically.

"Because of our faith. We believe in it."

Dante takes a long moment of silence before saying anything else. It's obvious that Joseph's and his people's faiths are strong. They're probably stronger than any person he's ever met, in fact. Their faith… it's very inspiring to him.

"Thank you," Dante softly says and puts the necklace on. "I appreciate it."

Joseph is about to respond until he notices the song playing. He frowns. "Is this the type of music you young people are listening to nowadays?"

Dante smiles foolishly. However, the smile fades away once he starts hearing the song more closely. It's his favorite song in the world. He even has the CD of all three versions of it. However, the voice of a woman in the background singing an off-beat melody isn't supposed to be there. In fact, the woman's `solo' sounds eerily familiar.

"Something wrong, Dante?" asks Socrates.

"Shut up," Dante whispers and raises up the volume to hear better.

Sure enough, there's the woman's voice singing. At first, it was barely audible but now it seems to be getting louder than before.

"Could just be static from another station…" says Socrates.

Dante ignores his statement and instead puts the volume at full max. Slowly, an eerily familiar melody plays out loud:

"There once was a love that was strong to hold. Her lover was handsome, sweet, and bold. Then, alas, a storm had come with the ring of a bell. It stole him away and damned her to HELL! She screamed and withered in deep terrifying pain! But her king promised her love again and gave her a cane! And now, a new champion has arrived this wonderful day. Ha! Her love will be renewed and the bitch shall play!"

Dante's mouth grows dry. "Siren…"

Both Joseph and Socrates express a look of fear and take a step away from the radio, afraid that something will come from it.

"Are you out there, my love?" Siren's voice cracks, her voice faint against the heavy rock. "Can you hear me?"

The rock song starts to slow down and becomes seriously distorted, as if it were being played backwards. The song now sounds like something satanic worshippers would listen to.

"I'm coming for you, Dante…" Siren says; her voice frightening.

Dante removes his hand from the radio once he feels the metal suddenly grow hot. Joseph and Socrates turn horrified when they see the radio begin to… bleed. From its hedges to the knobs, to any crack found within the radio, blood spurts out. With anger, Dante smacks the radio off the table it sits on, sending it flying across the room.

"I'm coming for you…" are the last words that come out of the radio.

Up at the rocky edge of a waterfall, Imp looks up into the dark sky. Parts of the snow falling manage to drench him. His long jet black hair becomes beaded with white flakes as well as his clothes. He cares little of that though. Rather, he resumes pondering upward. The stars twinkle about beautifully and sweet. Never before has there been a night as this except… He smiles a bit, remembering the many times he'd look up at the sky to see this wonder as a young boy.

He spent most of his childhood alone. About the only damn thing his mother ever did for him was feed him. Most of the time, however, he was locked away in the basement with no one to comfort him but the empty sounds of silence. She was afraid of him. She was afraid of WHAT he was. Never once, did she explain why she feared him. All he knew was that he was somehow different from the rest of the boys and girls. In the basement with nothing to do, he'd wait for night to come. There was a small window, half painted and broken, at the far right of basement. He'd stack some boxes on top of each other so that he'd climb on them to see the night. He was content there. At least for awhile. Each day he'd wait for night to fall. Day meant nothing to him. Day was for the living and for him, he was already dead.

In those moments near the window, he often wondered. At age five to six, he'd often wondered what his life could be. At age six to eight, he'd often wondered what his life should be. At age eight to twelve, he'd often wondered about the grim truth of his life. At age twelve to fourteen, he'd often wondered what the point of life was. And finally, at age fifteen, he wondered what the world would be if he wasn't around. The next day after that, he bid the world farewell.

It was almost painless. If not for the continuous spurt of blood coming from his neck, he probably wouldn't have realized he was dying. The glass from the broken window he used still remained in his blood soaked hand when he hit the floor. Part of him cried from emotional pain while the other half cried out of happiness. After all this time… he was finally freed.

It was that fateful day that he finally understood who and what he was. And why his mother feared him so. His temporary stay at hell had taught him the horrifying truth. Rather than stay damned for eternity for committing the greatest sin of all, he was brought back to life by the will of his own father. To many, this would've appeared like he was getting a second chance. But he knew all too well that this was his punishment. He's damned here. He's damned to stay here in this wretched place.

His eyes express a look of desperation and hunger when the night is slowly covered by a red mist, Siren's mist. It paints the dark sky red, hiding the stars and their beauty. He looks down and sighs heavily, his head sagging like a ragged doll. The watch on his left wrist beeps out loud. He raises his head to check it.

"It's almost time." Again, he gazes upward. "Sorry, devil hunter, but things are gonna get really ugly really soon for you. I wish it didn't have to be this way but no one can stop my old man. No one. Not even me…"

Trish is the last one to be seated in the dining room table. The attractive black clad woman warmly smiles at all the people near her, nodding a `hello' nod to each and every one of them. She's going to be staying with these guys for quite a long time and her assignment here isn't going to be easy. If she has any hope to save these people she's got to be as trustful and friendly to them as possible. She first thought that her staying here was a mistake on Dante's part. Or because she was weak. However, after much thought, it's not as easy as it appears. David will no doubt be sending his demons here. Worse, his son. She's got to do whatever she can to help.

Trish looks around the dining room filled with people. She checks over her shoulder at a large window overlooking several cabins nearby. So far, the guards are standing ready with their watch dogs. They appear calm from here. Perhaps because there hasn't been one assault all day long like the other times. But that's the problem, isn't it? Nothing has happened. No attacks. It's quiet… a little too damn quiet.

Trish makes a quick glance at all the weapons stacked against the wall. Sparda and Alastor are there. If anything should happen tonight then they'll be ready. She returns her attention to the people sitting next to her, trying to tell the worried voice within that everything is going to be all right. She tries to concentrate on the simultaneous conversations going around, but they all revolve about the situation at hand. As much as they would like to ignore the recent events, they can't. Despite their many efforts to live out their remaining time in happiness, all of them are on their toes.

Meanwhile, Dante looks down at his drink. Socrates and Joseph sit beside him while Natiche and Mani are directly across. The small radio incident didn't really scare him any but it did startle Joseph and Socrates. There's no telling what else Siren will do to get his attention. First the dreams and now this. How far will she go? He's got to get to the book fast. This radio scene was only a minor incident. Next time, though, he might not be so lucky. She might even kill Trish or Socrates or Joseph or anyone else for the sake of her sick games. He can't let that happen. Somehow, he's got to put a cork in that witch's mouth.

Socrates notices the stiff face Dante has on him. He sees similar expressions on many people too. It's the look of agony and, maybe, defeat. These people have been through a lot already. The fact that they can still sit here and pretend everything's okay took an act of courage. He wishes he could do something for them. He wishes to make things livelier.

"A toast, ladies and gentlemen," Socrates suddenly says and raises his glass to everyone, hoping to lighten up the mood a bit. "A toast to our health and happiness."

Everyone hesitates, not knowing what to do. Most are too caught up in their own world of fear to comprehend the words `health' and `happiness'. Even Dante and Trish are a bit surprised by his action. Socrates feels his skin grow blushed hot, feeling like a fool. Of course this is a terrible time to toast to anything! How could he have been so stupid!

Moments later and to his utter surprise, however, a glass is raised.

"To our health and happiness," Joseph replies gently.

Socrates sees the look of optimism in Joseph's face. Once again, the chief guy sees the light in everything. Socrates' blushed face disappears as he sees several more glasses slowly rise. Dante and Trish raise their glass too, both proud to see that hope still lives on.

"To our health and happiness," they all say together.

The awkward mood slowly becomes more comfortable. Most have stopped talking about the `inevitable'. Likewise, some stiff faces have relaxed.

"If this food smells as great as it tastes, then I'm in for a treat," Socrates inserts cheerfully while the atmosphere is still bright.

Most of the women, the cookers of the meal, respond to the compliment with a blush and a smile. As the people begin to feast on the food, Natiche remains to be skeptical of them all. He observes Dante the most, seeing his every move. Somehow, he's got to reveal this man's true agenda without alienating anyone. Otherwise, they might just label him as being paranoid when, in reality, he couldn't be any more right.

"How's about you tell us more about yourself, Dante," he tries to sound calm and collective.

Dante looks up from his plate. He eyes Natiche most carefully, already seeing what this guy is up to. "We're having a fine dinner here, man. Please don't spoil it."

"No, I'm not trying to spoil anything," Natiche smiles coldly and cups his hands together, placing them on the table. "I'm simply trying to make easy conversation."

"All right…" Dante puts down his fork, ignoring the concerned face Trish is giving him.

"Dante, please… Just ignore him and continue eating…"

"No, Trish. The guy wants to know more about me. Fine, then. Okay, then…" he directs his attention fully at Natiche and smiles suavely. "I like women and I like rock. I love junk food and take out. My favorite restaurant is a couple blocks down the street. They've got good noodles. I hate television reality shows. My favorite hobby is riding my bike, which I'm currently getting fixed right now. I plan on getting a Suzuki model, though, since my Honda bike is kinda old. On the weekends I like to go out clubbing and drinking. I play in a band as the drummer. Sometimes I forget to take out the garbage. And finally… I've successfully avoided paying my taxes in the past ten years. There. That enough for you? Happy now?"

Dante's smile widens a bit when he sees the disappointed face Natiche makes.

"Unbelievable…" Natiche shakes his head in dissatisfaction. "I try to make nice conversation and you mock me."

Dante chuckles, "Hey, you wanted to know more about me, didn't you? You want my phone number too? What position I like, if you get me my drift?"

"All right, now," Joseph intervenes, "Let's all calm down."

"…or maybe you want to know the grades I made in elementary school, huh?" Dante continues. "Middle school? High school?"

"Hey, I just wanted simple conversation," argues Natiche.

"…or how about my favorite drink? Food? Movie? Song? Clothes? Girls? Band? No?" Dante becomes dead serious now. His face flat and hard. "I don't like to put up with bullshit, Natiche. If you're gonna treat me like a cock then I'll treat you like one too. I'm sick and tired of your games. If you don't like me, fine. That's you. But keep your shit to yourself and stop wasting my time and everyone else's."

"Can you blame me? You don't give us zip about yourself!" Natiche's voice rises in a heat of anger, "We don't know why you're really here. And how do we know you're not working with David?"

"I aim to put an end to him, not work with him. Don't believe me? Tough."

"No one aims to end anyone unless they've got a reason to. It's obvious you're not here by accident. You came here for something."

"You're right," Socrates inserts out of the blue.

Everyone in the table turns to face the young timid man. Socrates tries to look back down at his bowl of soup to avoid all the gazes on him. Yet, he feels the weight of their stares on him, especially Dante's. He knows he wasn't supposed to say anything but…

"All right," Natiche starts, "Start talking. Why don't you fill us in on who you people are and what the fuck we're dealing with here?"

The entire room becomes quiet, glaring at the young and timid man. Socrates is speechless; knowing his wish for a cheerful mood in here has just gone to dust. Now it's been placed on him to talk about the delicate situation they're in. He's always hated being the center of attention. He much rather steer clear and become another faceless person. However, at this moment, he can't be one. All eyes are fixed on him. About the only thing he knows he can't reveal is Dante's personal reasons for being here. But that doesn't mean he can't explain much on David. In fact, Trish and Dante might want to hear what he has to say since he's been leaving them out in the dark too. If only they knew… If only they knew what David was actually planning… Should he tell them? Should he… He clears his throat.

"As you all may or may not know…" he starts off quietly, "David was once a servant of the almighty creator. He was even an angel, given the highest of rank. Until one day, he wanted to act against the Holy One. He felt that he had a right to be the true equal of the Holy One. But the Holy One saw differently so he and several angels formed an alliance, seeking to overthrow the creator of all life. A great battle occurred…"

He stops a moment, remembering this battle. He was not there. Yet, every spirit who becomes an angel is granted the power of knowledge. They are granted this as a measure to prevent it from ever happening again. It's funny… despite being able to reach the divine place, the human within becomes a potential threat to all things holy.

"David and his allies lost the battle and as a result, these `angels' became demons. With David as the head master of the underworld, these demons populated within hell."

"So what?" Natiche grunts, "What does this have to do with us?"

"I'm telling you this because it was this very act that started the `great balance', a balance between dark and light. Despite David's act of betrayal, he filled the black void that was lost when life, itself, was created. The old could finally die. The sick could no longer suffer. And the criminals could now be damned. He brought death. But he brought balanced with that too."

He looks carefully into the sets of eyes that watch him. He no longer carries a youthful face. Rather, a stern and hard face resides over it.

"Each dark soul goes here. Hell becomes populated with these souls but like all things… nothing lasts forever," he turns to Natiche, looking at him closely, "You wanted to know what's going on? Hell is becoming overpopulated. There are more dark souls filling Hell's domain during the past centuries than there are souls of light residing in Heaven. Even the condemned souls have no place. They walk the earth seeking peace only to find themselves in purgatory. I think you call these `spirits' and `ghosts', right?"

"So what are you trying to tell us?" Natiche asks, still not understanding.

"Yeah… What are you saying?" Dante wants to know, realizing how much vital information Socrates left out. He doesn't know whether to be angry or not.

"There've been books foretelling this event," Socrates states slowly, "Stories that Hell will one day run out of room. According to one prophecy made by a man named Elijah: `When darkness resides over light, so shall the souls of man. The innocence of the mind and spirit will be bathed in blood and soon, a dark king will rise. He, who shall not be named, will devour the entire universe into centuries of utter chaos and insanity. All this will happen within three cycles. On the final cycle, fire and rock will become one and after that life itself will cease'."

"Fire and rock will become one…?" Trish inserts quietly to herself, "The eclipse…"

Socrates nods sadly, "That's why there's been more demons residing here in Earth these past few years. The balance is shifting and this `invasion' has already started. Mundus, who was a powerful devil lord, threatened to overtake Earth several months ago. His appearance was one of the first signs that this invasion would take place."

"Invasion?" inquires Joseph, "We're being invaded? By these demons?"

"Yes," Socrates continues. "David has three portals ready to be opened on the third final day. These portals all access the three types of rivers from hell: Phlegethon the fire river, Cocytus the river of wailing, and Acheron the river of sorrow. These rivers will be unleashed into Earth and all life as we know it will cease to exist."

"Again," Mani adds, "How does this concern us? Why here? And why now?"

"It's unfortunate to say that one of David's very portals resides here… within the mountains. And that there will be an eclipse tomorrow, the same stated in Elijah's vision."

"So that's why the three strangers were so eager to see the mountains?" realizes Mani, shaking his head in concern. "They were seeking one of the portals?"

"And that's why YOU three want to seek it out too," Natiche inserts hard, looking at Dante with a fierce face.

"I want to put a stop to David, man. That's why me, Trish, and Socrates are here."

"But…" begins one frightened woman in the table, "How do you plan to stop such evil?"

"We do this for a living," answers Trish. "We're private investigators of the super natural. This type of stuff is what we investigate."

"Provided that this demon invasion is even true," Natiche continues, "How can we know for SURE that you're not on David's side? What proof can you give us other than your word? And why do I get the feeling that there's more to this than any of you are telling us?"

Neither Dante, Trish, or Socrates say a word. Natiche scoffs and stands to leave.

"This is bullshit," he says, looking at Joseph and then at Dante. "This is all just bullshit."

Without another word, Natiche leaves the table, heading outside. The room becomes silent once again. Socrates looks down, wishing he never said anything. But… they had to know what was going to happen right? They need to know what they really are up against, especially Dante. Dante thinks this is just another assignment where the only lives at stake are his mother and brother. But this is HUGE. This goes far beyond anything else. Dante is actually going against the king of all devils. A devil that has been here since the time of Christ. A devil that no one can truly kill. And even if Dante did kill him, it will seriously upset the balance between light and dark. Worse… he'll be…

No, it's better not to think about that. All he can do is hope for the best, even if this is a fixed game they're playing.

Hours later, Joseph and several villagers gather outside in the cold hard night. Night has completely fallen upon the sky and its chill is both dreadful and alarming. The weather, itself, is as evil as the demonic minions that roam about. Thunder roars above the sky and snow falls, twirling viciously as the wind kicks up a notch. And this night, unlike any other, is a dark red one. The entire sky, in fact, is covered by the mysterious blood-red mist from the mountains. The entire sky flashes violently once a bolt of thunder shoots across the sky. It nearly causes Joseph to flinch but he keeps his posture for the sake of the people around him.

Most of the villagers outside with him are men, all carrying rifles and flashlights or torches to see through the dark night. One of the men currently is occupied by two horses that jump up and down, frightened by the lightening and sounds of chaos. One horse is white and the other is black. He tries to keep them calm but they continue moving anxiously. Meanwhile, the rest of the men stand ready since this could be a perfect opportunity for an enemy to attack. They cautiously look left to right, squinting their eyes as more snow falls.

They're at the far east part of the village near the gate. Beyond the gate is a narrow pathway where only forest and the unknown lie.

Joseph turns to see Dante, Trish, and Socrates with a worried expression. He finds it hard to believe all the things Trish told him back at the shack. Why on earth would anyone want to face a creature like David? Such a journey will only bring death. And yet, he can't help but to hold some sort of hope from this ordeal. If Dante and Socrates can put a stop to this then all this madness will go away. Is it too early to hope for such a thing? Maybe. But what choice does he have? Trish is right. They can't wait it out here anymore. They can't simply wait for help from the outside. They need to take action now. Once Dante and Socrates leave, the monsters will surely come after them to retaliate. Those awful creatures want nothing more than to see their prey trapped and full of fear to do a thing. No more… They've got to fight. And if Dante and his friends have a plan on stopping those monsters, then they will back them up to the end.

"Are you sure you're up for this, Dante?" he asks, raising his light torch to see the man a few feet away.

"You want David out of the picture, right?" Dante adjusts his coat.

His coat is made out of wolf fur and has a beautiful light blue hue quality to it. It was a gift to Joseph from one of his dead sons. He decided to give it to Dante to keep him warm from the cold weather. He's going to need it for his journey to the mountains.

"Yes, but…"

"Don't worry, Joseph," Dante replies with ease as he gives a nodding gesture to one of the men near the gate. The man slowly begins to open the gate for Dante and Socrates. "We'll be back. Meanwhile, Trish will look after things here. Right, Trish?"

Standing a few feet away from the crowd, Trish is alone and quiet. No one can see her face since the hood covers it. Dante can only see a shadow on her face. Still, he doesn't need to know how troubled she is about this mission. Her hand touches the ruby of the amulet she wears around her neck.

"Here are two horses for your journey," Joseph informs Dante. On that note, the man in charge with the horses pushes them towards Dante and Socrates. "They're the best out of the four we have left."

"Thanks," Socrates lightly pats the black horse on the head. "We'll take good care of them, Joseph."

"And do you have enough food?"

"Yep," Socrates hits the side of the bag hung of his shoulder. "We appreciate all that you're doing for us, Joseph."

"We only hope we can do more."

Dante just smiles and heads over to Trish who remains still and silent.

"Toots, don't start getting anxious on me now," Dante says gently as he walks close to her. "Ain't nothing to be worried over."

Again, not a word comes from her. Dante stands there. Motionless as well. He wished he could comfort her and tell her everything WILL be okay. But it's obvious that it's all bullshit. There's no done deal here, only questions and assumptions.

"Dante," Socrates says from behind, climbing on top of the black horse, "We've gotta go. The weather looks to get worse."

"Yeah," Dante murmurs back without turning to face Socrates' direction. He still looks down at Trish. "Well babe? Got anything to say before we split?"

Nothing.

Dante swallows hard.

"Could I have my amulet back then? I'll need it for the portal."

Trish gives Dante the amulet without a word.

Dante sighs and takes it. He puts it around his neck and pauses to look at her again. He wishes she could say something to him. ANYTHING. This is the last time they'll be seeing each other for a very long time. And hopefully, it won't be the final one.

The horrifying dreams creep up to him again. He remembers seeing Trish dead in each of them. He wants so badly to take these bad feelings away, to somehow ward them off from the abyss of his mind and soul. He will never forgive himself if Trish died on his account. He ALLOWED her to stay here. He's been in this business long enough to see the consequences of bad choices. Things go wrong and someone ALWAYS dies because of it. Maybe she really should tag along with him and Socrates? It's not too late. To hell if she might slow them down. It's a chance he's willing to take if it means sparing her life from that Imp prick.

But what about Joseph and the others? The back of his mind asks. What about them? Who will look after them? Well, Dante answers back, they've survived this long. They can handle it, right? They could… No. He can't do that to them. Not to Joseph especially. Looking at Joseph now, he realizes how he's the only one keeping this group together. If something happens to him then everything will go to shit here. Plus, Joseph is a good man. He shouldn't have to be the one taking all this load by himself.

All these choices… On one hand there's Trish's life. And on another, the people of this village. Dante wants to chew on his lower lip, still hoping for Trish to say SOMETHING. He hopes that the first thing she will say helps him determine who's life, or lives, are worth sparing. But there's still nothing from her. Instead, her hooded head is the only he sees as she continues looking straight at the ground.

Maybe it's just his imagination. Maybe he's wrong about those dreams. Trish is a strong girl, right? She can take care of herself. He believes in her. He believes that, when this is all over, he'll be coming back and see her on the flipside. And she'll be smiling too.

Dammitt… All these thoughts. All these maybes. All these… fears.

"Dante," Socrates calls again, his voice a bit more loud against the wind. The flare from his torch paints his face and body pink. "Please. We're wasting time. We've got to go."

Swallowing hard and nodding his head in silence, he turns to join Socrates. He puts his foot on the saddle of the white horse, preparing to lift himself up.

Finally, after all this time, Trish says something.

"Dante…" Immediately Dante stops on his tracks. "Please be careful."

"Don't worry, babe," he tells her quietly and steps down from the horse. "This is Dante you're talking to. I've got everything under control."

A long pause.

"But what if you don't, Dante?" she asks very slowly and eerily quiet, "I mean… there's so much that we don't know what we're getting into. What if…?"

"We ain't got a choice here, Trish. My mother and brother need me. I can't turn my back on them just because we're afraid of the unexpected. And if I fear anything it's not doing a damn thing when I had the chance to."

"Yeah… yeah, you're right."

Dante walks back to Trish. He touches her cheek, wiping away a tear from her eye. He then cups her face with both hands and kisses her on the forehead. Dante looks into her eyes.

"It'll be okay, Trish."

"I'm sorry," she apologizes for her sensitive state, chuckling nervously, thinking how stupid she must look right now. "I know I should be strong. I shouldn't-"

"No, you should," he smiles warmly. The two hug each other, both cherishing the strong bond they've accumulated during their time together. "Caring and crying are things that no demon can understand. They're what make us human, Trish. Remember?"

"Yes… I remember," she replies and buries her head on his shoulder, another clear tear falling. "I just don't want anything to happen to you, Dante. I've spent my life learning what it was like to be a demon. And then you came along. You showed me… a whole new world. You gave me a passion for life. And a purpose."

She looks up at him.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," he says and slowly lets go of her. He repeats again, "You won't."

He begins walking back to the white horse. He places one leg over and finally sits erect on the saddle, holding onto the rope around the horse's neck. It neighs, ready to go.

"You'll return to give me back my amulet? It's on loan," Trish says below as she stands to the side of the horse, humoring Dante but not really concerned about the amulet. If anything, more on Dante coming back at all.

"I'll be back before you even know it, babe. And while I'm gone, you might want to work on your humor. You're still lagging babe."

"Just get the hell out of here, you horse-ass," Trish grins and slaps the back of the horse. The horse's legs rise and race forward. Trish laughs as Dante tries to hold onto dear life.

Socrates smiles too and finally moves his own horse ahead, chuckling at how wild Dante's horse is. Dante finally gets a good grip and slows down the horse. Afterwards, he and Socrates finally cross the gate and into the other side. As the gate slowly closes, Trish sees both Dante and Socrates begin to enter the narrow valley. She's both sad but proud too. As much as she wants to go with them she knows her place is here.

From the other side, Dante momentarily stops to wave `bye' to her. Socrates does as well.

"May the spirits be with you both," Joseph calls out to them as he and the rest of the men bid the two well.

Both Dante and Socrates nod. Serious. Determined. They look at each other, realizing that at this very moment, their journey in discovering the book begins. Neither of them knows what to expect and neither of them know if they really WILL be back. But uncertainties can wait. They've got a job to do. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the two men race into the valley of darkness and heavy snow.

Trish's wraps herself with her coat, shielding herself from the cold. Joseph stands next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, child. I have faith that they will come back."

"Yeah…" she replies back, watching the shadows of Socrates and Dante slowly disappear deep into the forest. Little and little until there's not a trace of them left anymore. "I know…"

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