Fan Fiction ❯ Stained ❯ Chapter 1

Title - Stained
Author - trowacko

Archive - Sin http://trowacko.decayedcottoncandy.com
Rating - NC17
Warnings - violence. "het". violent sex. doubt. anguish. death.
Disclaimers - I do not own Devil May Cry in any way, nor do I make a claim to. No profit, no harm done.
Author's Note - I've had this one for some time, but I've been hesitant on sharing it as the subject matter is disturbing. I don't know what other warnings to add to this, so I'm sharing it as is. Should you feel the matter merits additional warnings, any input would be greatly appreciated. Thank you.



The thick fog surrounding his body prevented Dante from moving with the confidence that had been his forte. Instead, he found himself floundering and hesitatingly inching his way in the direction he was sure the devil had gone. His feet dragged in each step and it was as if the very fog itself sapped him of vital energy and even his sanity with every forward stumble he managed. Sleep rapidly made its bid for his attention and it was only through the greatest of efforts that he staved off the dizzying spells and black spots that suddenly plagued his vision. Had he been walking in a straight line, he was sure he'd find the far wall he'd spotted before the thick white essence had enveloped him.

"Who says you're walking at all, Hunter?"

Dante shook his head to clear it as best he could and tried to ignore the pounding that resulted. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere and served only to further disorientate him. Keeping his eyes closed for more than a few seconds caused him to fall heavily to his knees. As fast as the debilitating feeling swept over his body, the fog had deepened. Except the thick clouds faded slowly to a murky grey that swirled with the pristine white. Marbled designs played out in front of him in and out of focus - or maybe it was his failing vision that created the illusions. Oh, but the intermittent waves of heat over his body couldn't be fantasy or even a bad dream.

Your vision isn't the only thing that's failed.

"Where-" Dante barely croaked. He coughed and spat frothy spit into the inky swells of air. The splat and feel of cold fluid against his hand verified that his limbs yet existed even if he hadn't been able to register them until that moment. His tongue felt swollen and tender, constantly scrapping the back of his throat and making him incessantly thirsty. It took a few attempts to force a thin coat of spittle to coat his enlarged tongue enough to swallow once. A fit of coughing racked his body for a few seconds, but by the time he shakily lurched to his feet, his voice had returned. Alastor and Ifrit, he noted with some alarm, had not.

"Where are you?" he whispered huskily to his adversary. Despite the strength being sapped from it, anger laced his voice enough to carry into the collection of heavy moisture.

"Everywhere, Hunter. I am everywhere."

And nowhere.

"Show yourself, devil. You cannot possibly fear me right now to deny me." As much as he tried, Dante still couldn't gather enough of his bearings to pinpoint which direction he'd entered the cave from, let alone where his weapons might have been hidden. The amount of energy that had been depleted from him prevented any hope of achieving his devil state anytime soon as well. Injured and weakened, yet resolved - a man could be as much a weapon as the tools he carried. The thought was a small bit of power to draw upon, but power just the same.

You are right, abomination of creation. I do not fear you--

"--and I think that perhaps it is time that you feared me instead," it finished with an amused chuckle directly behind him.

Dante turned and fell to his knees at the same time. His right hand flattened and shot forward, ready to slice into the flesh of whatever it encountered. Pain lanced through his wrist and elbow, making a swift path for his chest before the cry of pain left his lips. His arm was raised above his head and Dante found himself dangling in the air. His free hand immediately joined its mate and something sticky and strong bound them together. With no break in the blinding fog, it was impossible to tell how high above the ground he was to risk breaking free just yet. Regeneration was a good thing to have when one found oneself injured; it would mean little should he find himself crushed among sharp rocks only to twitch in pain while his body painstakingly put itself back together - with danger still close by.

"Stretch," the voice cackled in mad glee. "Stretch and you shall see that your fall would not have been far."

Apparently the thing could see in the mist that it might have created as well as determine the hunter's line of thought. Frowning, Dante stretched his feet downward hesitantly. A few seconds later, he was rewarded with the feel of firm ground just barely within reach - or a platform being held steady enough to pass for the ground, he thought with another rush of disorientation.

"What do you plan to do?" he asked instead, letting himself dangle once more.

The beast laughed. "What do I plan to do with you," it repeated to itself. "I had many plans when I first discovered you in this territory. Flayed open swiftly enough for you to see the life twitch from your very organs before you perished. Mounting the trophy of your head above the entrance to my lair - much like the heads that adorn your horrid office. Simple pleasures, right, monster?"

The strain of being hung from his wrists sent wave after wave of cold pain down his arms. Dante grunted as the worst wave struck him unrepentantly for a few seconds. Had his arms not been crossed and bent slightly, he doubted he'd be in the kind of pain he was in at that moment.

"Had plans?" he bit out angrily. "So what are they now?" '

'Come on, Ifrit, give me a sign you're still around. Alastor, tell me you're okay,' he thought as he struggled in vain. Neither of his weapons gave him the comforting feel of their presence in his mind. Instead, there was only... fog?

"A live trophy is ever so much more delicious when it can be displayed in as fine a condition as yours."

A slim white hand abruptly emerged a few inches away from his face, pausing contemplatively before resting against his cheek. The cold, scaly feel of its skin forced shivers over his body and the hand withdrew, its retreat accentuated by light laughter. Panic overtook him too fast for him to fight it. His heartbeat thrummed heavily in his ears and pulses of red splotches invaded the grey swirls.

"Where am I?" Dante demanded hotly. "Tell me!"

The hand reappeared, palm toward him in a gesture for halting. It waved at him slowly, quickening its pace until the surrounding fog retreated. A lean body came into focus, tall with slender hips and narrow waist. As Dante tried to focus, he saw that the creature wore a simple white dress that held its form quite flatteringly. The curve from hip to waist up toward its bosom-

"A woman?" he uttered in surprise.

"It is said among mortals that a woman knows her own mind. Do you not think it a bit sad that a man does not? Even if the abomination of a man has the blood of a devil running through its veins?"

Once Dante perceived the devil's more human form, its voice solidified its feminine tones in his mind as if he'd always known it was a woman. A smile couldn't help creeping across his lips. "If a man knew his own mind, what other mysteries in the worlds could a woman possibly hold for him?" he laughed in response.

The face of his enemy grimaced, waning in and out of focus as anger washed over the creature's expression. Thin lips colored the darkest shade of blood twisted into a frown. The smooth, sculpted cheeks sloped up to an elegantly thin nose and long, almond-shaped eyes of deep hazel. Thick tresses of walnut colored hair framed the lovely face and fell haphazardly over her slight shoulders.

"You pose an interesting question, however idiotic it may be," she replied icily. "It's both a wonder and obvious how easy it was to trap you within your own mind. Your lack of thought is painfully apparent in its vast emptiness."

It was with the greatest of efforts that Dante managed to suppress his surprise. As much as he didn't want to believe he could have been stuck in his own thoughts, there was precious little to dispute it. Time and space felt different around him, as if they did and didn't matter. The underlying feeling of comfort was only misplaced when the woman had provoked him with her presence and then her touch. And, he thought, it would explain why he couldn't feel the physical presence of his weapons.

"If you decided to dance around my mind, I'd be careful of what I find here," he tried.

The woman's severe expression softened into a small smile. "What your physical self is inflicted with, your self here also experiences. I, however, am merely projected as I am in relation to your physical self. I am no more tangible than the fog that clouds your mind, Dante. You cannot harm me here."

"I can try."

One frigid hand clamped solidly around Dante's throat, threatening to block all air to his lungs. Fire in his lungs attempted to counter the cold only to leave him choking and struggling against the bonds that held him tight. He kicked out only to find his boots failed to connect with anything solid. Random black shapes invaded his vision, warning him of the darkest sleep he could encounter and he squeezed his eyes shut. As swiftly as the grip had come, it softened the tiniest bit. Dante opened his eyes to see a cruel smile before the hand choking him let up just enough to allow gasping breaths beneath the icy touch.

"Yes, you can try. And fail." She released her hold and walked backwards slowly, her gaze locked on Dante's face.

"Tell me who you are," he wheezed. Someday, he hoped, he would stop pressing his luck when it was obvious that shouldn't be pressed anymore. That day had sadly not yet arrived.

"I will be your death, Hunter. In the interim of your departure from life, you may call me An, seer of Bushka Wastelands."

"An," Dante whispered, tasting the name as he spoke it. "It's a pretty name," he rasped with a slight grin. The devil's intent gaze faltered for a moment and she paused in her tracks. Without another word she melted into the fog, leaving Dante hung in the air, weary and shaken. It wasn't anything new to him to be feared and hated for being a devil with mortal blood. Or, in the mortal world, a human with the hated blood of a demon. Sometimes, there was simply no winning in life, he thought randomly before focusing on the situation at hand.

'Ifrit. If you can hear me, give me some kind of sign, I need you, buddy.'

Someplace not too far away, a muffled squeak sounded. The metallic twang echoed quietly before subsiding. Dante felt his arms strain against the bonds as if of their own accord and felt the sticky bond loosen slightly as if readjusting its hold. He waited patiently for a response and felt or heard nothing else. More tired than he'd ever been before, the devil hunter let himself dangle and closed his eyes. No matter how broken his slumber, the weary man didn't dream.

Dante. I can't see you, can you hear me?

"Trish?" Dante muttered thickly.

He forced his eyes to open and glanced around, not surprised to see the fog hadn't dissipated, nor had his captor returned. Time ticked by without another sound and Dante gave up on listening in favor of vainly attempting to free his hands. Tired muscles protested with flashes of pain over his entire body, ending only when he gave up to gather his strength.

"What little strength you have is best not wasted on attempting to escape," An called softly from the shadows. She slid into view, her body moving with rare delicacy. Once she stood in front of her prize, her hands reached out to smooth the crumpled leather collar that had left soft dents in Dante's flesh as he slept.

"How long do you plan on keeping me like this?" he asked quietly.

"I already told you, Hunter. You're here until you die."

Dante's shoulders burned when he tried to shrug, but he refused to let the pain show on his indifferent expression. "Death by starvation and dehydration. I could've thought of some better ways to go, but hey. I'm not the one doing the killing here."

"Perhaps I shall not disappoint then," An replied. Her marble white hands cupped Dante's cheeks, sliding downward until they reached his open jacket. Prying the leather apart to reveal the torn shirt beneath, she touched her lips to the fabric, letting her teeth scraped dully against the fine cloth. They bumped softly over his left nipple and paused at the small tear next to it. Her tongue ventured out to lick at the exposed skin and her grin widened at the taste.

The unexpected sensation of hard teeth and delicate lips tortured his skin. Dante could feel his body respond by quickening his heartbeat and shortening his breath. He wanted to gasp at the feel of the devil caressing him and kissing him until he felt her teeth sink into the tender flesh of his chest. Pain suddenly shot throughout his body so fast that his breath was swept away before a cry of pain could travel from his lungs. White heat sank into his blood, coursing through his veins and traveling swiftly to his limbs and up to his head. Violent muscle spasms racked his body forcing it to buck and shiver uncontrollably. Heat and darkness flowed through his head and Dante felt himself sinking back into nothingness. Only this time, he wanted to leave the agony that was his dying body bad enough that he welcomed the blank void of unconsciousness. An's voice followed him - haunted him - driving him mad even as its lilting tones intrigued him.

"Poison, unwanted child of man and devil. You can endure days or even weeks of being poisoned before your body gives up. Food and water will help your regeneration, but eventually... you will die, Dante. My lovely Dante."

-------------------

"Dante, my lovely Dante."

The boy smiled before his eyes blinked slowly open to find his mother resting her head atop her hands as she watched her son sleep. Once she saw her son was awake, she brushed back a few errant strands of hair from the child's face.

"Momma," he'd asked one morning long ago, "how come you say I'm lovely and the village children say I'm a beast?"

His mother hadn't shown any surprise, though she looked hopelessly sad for the barest of seconds.

"However much it shouldn't be so, there are people in the world who cannot see beyond their hate. They remember devils and their cruelty even though it's been so long since they've been in our world. They can't see that they have a good life now, they look at us and maybe they're reminded how bad things used to be, son. It isn't you they see, they see the past. Do you understand?"

"I think so, Momma," young Dante lied. "Do you think Dad's lovely too then?" His mother smiled indulgently.

"Not exactly, son. I do think your father is lovely in many ways; you are lovely to me. Your father is my love."

Dante grinned triumphantly. "Then you're not blind, Momma, right?" He loved the way she threw her head back to laugh that he laughed with her.

"That's right, my son. Not everyone is blind. I'm very sorry you haven't met more. This world wasn't ready for children of both worlds. Perhaps someday..." Except she trailed off with a small smile and coaxed her son from bed.

"Momma?" Dante asked as he followed his mother to wake Vergil next, "what am I really?"

"Son, you are lovely. Come, let's go wake your brother and get some breakfast okay?"

All the way to the table nearly every morning, Dante had the word echo in his mind. He was neither devil or mortal. For his mother, he would always be lovely.

----------------------------

lovely.
< br> "Lovely," Dante croaked. The memories were too close to the surface that he was unable to stop himself from speaking at all. Too little moisture on his lips and tongue made the word almost indiscernible. The smile he attempted cracked his dry lips and a groan forced its way from his swollen throat. He didn't dare open his eyes, already knowing that even the slightest light would burn them in his weakened state.

"I don't think I'd call you lovely anymore, Dante."

Trick, it had to be. His mother wasn't in the fog, only himself and the beast. How long, he asked his muddled mind, had he been poisoned and revived? More than a few days, less than two weeks, the foggy reply came back. Not long enough for death to hover close enough to claim him just yet it seemed.

Droplets of water touched his lips. A strong hand held his head in place while more water littered his mouth. The pain of having something cool touch his cracked skin almost made him choke even as his body greedily soaked in the moisture. The desire to refuse the offering of water was strong. It masked an underlying desire to be rid of his life if it meant a reprieve from the creature's torture. Oh, but the Hunter that was his core refused to give up just yet. It was this desire that made him open his mouth wider to accept the morsels of food that were spooned into it once the water had been taken away. It was the strength of vengeance that fed his determination and forced back the worst of the insanity plaguing his mind. And it was the building power of hate that helped him endure the creature cleaning his body to keep it healthy every day.

"You dropped a bit of food, little spawn of mortals. I would feed it to you, but it seems it's fallen into the cracks in the rocks."

Dante's fevered mind worked furiously. The only time he'd seen the floor of the cave cracked was in one the same chamber that he'd lost Alastor and Ifrit. If his weapons hadn't been moved in the physical world, they would still be close if his mental self could detect them. He was so wrapped in his thoughts that he almost failed to feel the spoon against his lips and nearly dropped the next offering.

"If you don't want to eat, abomination, I won't feed you anymore," An growled. Instead of answering, Dante opened his mouth. The creature hesitated for a moment and dropped in the next bite. She watched as Dante chewed it carefully and swallowed it with some difficulty.

"Thank you," he murmured. A plan started forming in his mind, but it was too loose to completely grasp. For the moment, he placed his trust in the blind hope that whatever it was would pan out later.

"What?" she demanded, taking a step backwards. "What did you say?"

"I said thank you," Dante replied in the husky whisper that had replaced his voice. He let his head fall back and slipped as close to unconsciousness as he could without sleeping and waited.

Seconds ticked by before he felt reptilian skin brush his disheveled hair away from his brow. A cool cloth ran over his face, soothing the fever that ran through his head and picking up the sheen of sweat that was nearly a second skin. For the first time, Dante felt his body lifted free of its hung position and laid across a fairly smooth patch of rock and dirt. The sound of tearing fabric nearly made him jump, but it would have hardly mattered considering the way his body was jerked about. In little time, his beloved red leather jacket had been ripped apart and pulled free of his body although his arms were still bound together. Cool air covered his skin and helped lift a bit more of the sickness in his body.

"Disgusting," An whispered to herself "Hiding the pure blood of a devil as powerful as Sparda in the flesh of a weak mortal."

Twin skewers of pain in his side killed any hope he had of being free of poison for a day and he let his mind depart to darkness before the muscle spasms claimed him.

----------------

The temptation to fight back the other children had always been strong. Their father's stern admonition never to expose their abilities never failed to enter his thoughts when he was on the verge of pulling his powers to the surface. Instead, he turned and ran away, shame and anger his only protection from the rocks and taunts of the cruelty of children. They only saw his white hair, his naturally powerful build. Outside the castle, he was a beast to be hunted. In his mother's arms, he was a coveted. Perhaps, he found himself thinking as he grew older, there were really three worlds - the world of mortals, the world of devils, and the world that was his home and refuge. To the first two worlds, it didn't matter that he could attain a level of power as great as any other devil or that his blood was the same shade of red as a mortal.

----------------------

"I can taste death in your blood, devil hunter. Can you taste it, too?"

The effort it took to wake up made it quite obvious that if he intended to escape, his attempt would have to be in the very near future. In the murkiness between sleep and waking, something smooth brushed over Dante's cheek, pulling him from his uneasy slumber and the memories that pricked his mind every time he fell unconscious. His mouth twisted in a grimace at the pungency that had invaded his mouth from its lack of moisture. An equally foul stench caused him to gag and pull away from the source before the last bit of food in his belly opted to become vomit instead of nutrition. The lack of available oxygen nearly caused him to panic and Dante sat up too fast to avoid being spilled back to the rocks. Except a cool pair of hands caught him, dragging him slightly away and leaning him against a warm, smooth rock to rest. Opening his eyes was no longer an option given the swelling that seemed to encase them and trying caused nauseating pain to skewer his head.

"Lovely," An whispered in silky tones.

"Lovely," Dante slurred back. His mind wanted to shut down, just for a little bit. It took a bit of self prodding, but he managed to get the old gears moving again. If he hadn't been so intent on obtaining a semblance of concentration, he might have realized the beast had begun to lightly kiss his lips. His first instinct was to pull away. Instead, he moved his chin up enough to deepen it with another facet of his phantom plan slowly formulating in his abused mind.

"Why did you do that?" An whispered, still above him.

"Trish," he mumbled. "I'm so very... tired." An uncertain gambit to be sure. "Please," he entreated, turning his head. He heard the demon moving a bit and felt a body pressed against his side. Demon to demon in false embrace, perhaps. Hated by both worlds, yet with attractions that linked him to each. Ironic that he should find his murderer attracted to him. Ironic, but useful.

"Shh," the creature whispered back. She wrapped an arm over Dante's chest, rubbing the bare flesh soothingly. She seemed to hesitate a moment before giving Dante another kiss.

The lips that touched his were smooth and cool, a contrast to the heat he seemed to exude. He tried to raise his hands, but the bonds were still unyielding and too heavy for him. Within a few seconds, he felt them freed.

step one - complete.

In the blindness that consumed the hunter, he heard the demon shift until her light body lay atop his own. Instinctively, his hands rested on the slim hips and he held An closer. Her legs parted until she straddled him easily, planting hesitant kisses on his neck and chest. Moving his hands further down, Dante felt the edge of the dress and slid his hands beneath the cloth.

"Dante," she whispered, rocking her hips against him and sat up a bit. The pressure against his groin was almost electric. He moaned and felt his own hips move in response. His fingers found the woman's bare backside and he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to find no undergarments to impede him.

'This is where things get tricky, Dante,' he told himself resolutely. The creature was a woman in his mind - one hot babe at that - but it was something else in the real world. Out where she only wanted to kill him all from natural instincts to despise one who didn't belong in either world.

His fingers slid to the front of the woman's body and down the front of her flat belly, both slipping between her legs. He used one hand to part her warm flesh and the other to slide two fingers within her moist crevice, seeking. He heard her moan plaintively when he touched the bud of her sex. He used his thumb and index finger to gently massage it while his other hand ventured deeper and slid inside her slick channel. She humped against his fingers, her body bent almost backwards as he carefully worked her. A pair of cool hands slid down his arms and to his pants. The quickness in which the creature flayed opened his pants was shocking when he suddenly found his very firm erection in her hands.

step two... step two...?

The plan. He forgot what the plan was. In his panicked state, he groaned, working his mind furiously for whatever it was he'd planned on doing in the first place. He was fairly certain it didn't involve actually fucking the beast, but for the moment, it seemed it was inevitable.

Dante bucked upwards, jerking his hands from their position to grasp the woman's hips. He felt her guide him inside her body and suddenly felt wet heat envelope his shaft. Gods, it'd been such a long time since he'd claimed a woman that his body shivered in anticipation.

What woman, Dante?

"Shut up," he grunted quietly. Strength returned to his body and he drew his legs up a bit to steady the

beast

woman above him. He felt her hands grasp the sides of his thighs and she started riding him slowly. Long hair tickled his knees, exciting nerves up and down his legs. He loosed a pained moan and coaxed her to move quicker. Soon he was lost in the dark bliss of her body pumping up and down his. He could feel the coolness of the rocks beneath his back, digging into it, scratching it now that the fog didn't keep its clammy hold over everything he felt. His hands burned with heat of their own, forcing the woman to groan at the sensation.

Ifrit. Feels like...

"Oh, gods," Dante managed and flung the woman to the side, using the momentum to land on top of her. With barely a break in stride, he used every last ounce of energy he had to mount his prize, thrusting into her with more pressure than she'd managed in riding him. Her body squirmed, her legs wrapped around his waist and he sensed her blind lust for him. It was a delicious taste, but the danger of coupling with any female was too great to indulge in very often.

"More, Dante," she whimpered.

More. There's more now. There's rocks next to me.

He didn't want to, but Dante tried to open his eyes. The swelling hadn't abated, causing shots of pain through his head. He cried out and heard her call his name in response. Tears lubricated his abused flesh and he managed to open his left eye for a few seconds to take a look at his surroundings.

Oh, Dante, you really didn't want to see that.

The beast was laid out beneath him, her body reptilian and barely humanoid. Her elongated eyes were closed above a protruding snout that cracked open to reveal a set of fangs with which Dante was very familiar. Her 'legs' was one very long tail that snaked next to their bodies and twitched excitedly against nearby rocks. Beyond her body, however, Dante had seen the cave he'd been trapped in. Far in the distance, he saw a glimmer and felt Alastor's call in his mind. Ifrit happily bubbled its presence to him as well still firmly ensconced on his hands.

Oh, buddies, are you a sight for sore eyes. Literally.

"Ride's over, baby," Dante growled triumphantly and drove Ifrit into the sides of the creature's head. For a moment, he felt a woman's head crunch solidly beneath the gauntlets, but the illusion shattered when blood spurted free.

He felt more than saw An buck violently in pain. Her tail gripped him even tighter. There were too many sensations hitting him too fast that Dante barely felt himself slip free of her until the creature flung him away to flail wildly in pain, gripping its head.

"Alastor!" Dante cried out and held up his hand. The sword sensed the mental paths they'd forged once more and stirred from its position. Lightning crackled over its surface and it flew swiftly to its master's hand. Socking the sword in the ground in front of him, Dante searched his pockets for the remnants of his supplies. Empty. He managed to open his left eye into a squint again and located his shredded coat. He spared an ill-afforded second to buckle and zip up his pants before they could fall off of him.

"Traitor!" An shrieked. She flipped over into a crouch, preparing to launch herself at the troublesome mortal, her tail coiling rapidly beneath her. The trick was obvious now and she hated him even more for her own weakness in being claimed.

In the left pocket of his coat, Dante found a number of broken vials of holy water and one intact. Opening it, he downed the contents, grimacing at the icy heat that slid down his throat. A few seconds later, he felt the poison leave his body just as the creature landed on him.

"Betrayer!" she howled. Twin sets of claws raked across Dante's bare chest before he threw the beast aside.

"If I'd known you were building a love nest in here, I might have brought flowers," he grinned. He ignored the lines of blood traveling down his belly and dashed back to reclaim Alastor. He prepared to skewer the vile creature when it showed remarkable speed in hopping a good ten feet away.

"It doesn't matter now, abomination. I have your seed!" she howled triumphantly.

Surprised, he glanced down at his crotch and pressed a hand against it to feel the softness of being spent. "You're going to die with it, An," he spat and charged.

"I have your child now, Dante."

Dante froze in disbelief a few feet from the creature, sword drawn over his head. Alastor flickered impatiently.

"Impossible."

He glanced down to see a bit of essence drip free of the creature's body. His essence.

"Your child grows within me even now," An whispered and cradled her belly. "Soon, your son will be born. Our son, Dante!" she smiled - somehow she managed to manipulate the snout into a smile. One of her eyes had been burst apart by Ifrit's first attack, and the other shone in insane glee.

Dante shook his head and stepped back. It was impossible - he knew it was impossible, didn't he? "I will not allow you to live," he whispered to the creature. Despite his words, despair and doubt clouded his mind, much like the fog that had originally imprisoned him. It was impossible to deny the possibility as much as it terrified him and infuriated him at the same time. His stomach wrenched in agony and his entire body sang in pain as he shot forward and aimed Alastor for the beast's chest. The same blue and black aura that coated the devil hunter suddenly covered the creature and she danced nimbly out of reach.

"Your son gives me the same strengths you have," she called. Her mind seemed completely gone, but something fed her, and it was something Dante couldn't understand. Had it been her ploy all along with the threat of killing him only another deception?

"It's not true!" Dante shrieked and closed his eyes to wait for an answer to a question he couldn't bear to ask himself. The same essence of his father's power filled him, yet he could... almost feel it from the creature. "A trick," he muttered to himself. "It's a trick." She'd robbed some of his powers somehow, but not the way she claimed. That's all it had to be, all it could be.

"There is no trick," An spoke softly.

Dante, the world wasn't ready for the children of both worlds…

No, not then, not now - perhaps never would. Dare he allow the devil who had almost killed him to live just to see if it spoke the truth? That he'd eventually sire an heir seemed without question, but nothing he'd ever experienced in his long life in either world prepared him to answer a question he hadn't really bothered answering before. Mortal mother, or devil? Though it now appeared to have mutated to 'his choice or hers'. Lost, desolate, anguished, all Dante could do was stand bleeding in front of the devil who made it quite apparent that his death was her intention no matter what.

"Can I trust you to tell me the truth, Alastor? Would you tell me?"

The sword bristled with energy and nothing more. It was neither answer or hope, but it was more than Dante had in himself at that moment. It felt like a cheap shot, putting faith in something he wasn't sure had a conscious at all, but he had nothing else.

"Find her if it's a lie, Alastor. I trust in you because I can no longer trust in myself right now."

Alastor blazed to life and Dante blindly threw the sword. He waited with closed eyes to hear it deflected. Instead, he heard the solid thunk of metal skewering flesh and the creature's body hitting the wall. He heard An shriek, the sound suddenly cut off when Alastor cut the life from her body. But her cry wasn't the only one Dante fancied hearing under the crackle of Alastor's violent energy.

"Was it a lie, Alastor? What have I done?" he whispered. Silence answered him rather than Alastor's electric energy. If there was an answer to be had, Dante didn't hear it.

It was impossible to determine how long he stood in the same spot with his eyes closed. Dante ignored every thought and emotion that tried to well to the surface of his mind. Somewhere far away, he heard Trish calling his name and fell to his knees in defeat. Ifrit burned brighter, its heat soothing and comforting.

"Dante!"

Trish ran across the cave, both guns drawn and ready for action. Instead, she found Dante slumped on the ground a short distance away from the demon that had captured him. Alastor protruded from its chest, its blade still gleaming brightly.

"Gods, Dante," she breathed in relief. "I've been searching these caves for weeks looking for you. I was afraid I'd never find you again."

She fell next to Dante's body and tentatively touched his bare shoulder.

"Dante, are you alright?" The wounds on his chest had already begun healing and none of them appeared to be deep. As far as she could tell, he had no other injuries.

"Is it dead?" he whispered huskily. There was no strength behind his question. None of the confidence he would have otherwise exuded after defeating a difficult opponent. Worried, Trish got up and walked to the beast. She yanked Alastor free and the body thumped quietly to the ground.

"Oh yeah," she confirmed. "Dead as a doornail. And ugly to boot." She heard Dante get up and start toward the cave's entrance. "Hey, this one looks like trophy material. Do you want its head?"

Dante froze in his tracks. "Leave her there," he finally replied and walked away.

"You know," Trish confided in Alastor as she stood up, "I'm thinking I'm probably never going to know the whole story."

She caught up to her partner and silently handed Alastor to its master. Dante regarded the sword for a few moments, his expression severe. For just a moment, he was torn between leaving the sword behind and trusting implicitly that it had done its job. Alastor crackled quietly, subsiding only when Dante finally slipped it through his belt in a makeshift scabbard. The battle was over, if not won. For the two bonded warriors, that had to be enough regardless of the questions and fears that rampaged through his mind.

Outside the caves, the real world embraced its champion with warm sunshine that did little to alleviate the tainted aura that clung to his skin and mind. Back in the real world, there was no doubt, only duty. No questions, only the never-ending quest. At least outside and free once more, he could try to believe that he and Alastor had done the right thing.

*just because it comes from the mind of a wacko, doesn't necessarily mean it's insane*