02-05-2016, 05:37 PM
Tony Redgrave, as an alias of a human mercenary, generally proved to be some measure of happy-go-lucky. Those who knew the man might describe him as a kid in a mature body, between his large appetite, magazine collecting, and distribution of sensible chuckles. Further upon that idea, one witnessing and describing how the devil hunter did his job was akin to describing the super-powered fantasy play of a child- and yet it was the truth. That was how Tony was, a guy who wore a smile like gold gilding on a blade - even as his identity had ceased to exist over 20 years ago.
A human heart pumping demon blood: power regulated by emotion. The tables were turned every so often, But then he was fortunate to have not remained that way long. Halfway through that aforementioned era, he lost the battle within for the last time... for it, he lost his family again.
That was the time when Dante fell. And here he had been, so close to getting out, to settling his troubles once and for all, only be flung into the Omniverse, exposed to its denizens, and caught up in an unfortunate fate.
At the time, Dante couldn't have realized just how much Zangetsu would affect his time here in the Omniverse- it certainly wouldn't be for the better. Who knew if Zangetsu was even still alive at this point? But then again, who could've imagined that picking up a sentient weapon forged from a corrupt soul would prove so ruinous? Even that sort of thing had never been a problem to Dante before, when he had been strong enough to overcome such an incident whenever it happened. That was just it, though- he no longer had that strength within the Omniverse. He had been vulnerable without realizing it, and now he was trapped in a foreign world with a tainted consciousness attempting to dominate his mind like some spiritual parasite.
Well, it also may have mattered that devils (and by proxy, Devil Arms) are simple enough to submit to anyone stronger than them, rather than giving their user a damn riddle.
Still, as if this all wasn't bad enough for Dante yet, now he was being abducted again to participate in a deadly fetch-quest for a fragmented soul. Not that he knew just yet.
---
Dante's first indication that he had been plucked from the brink of death was him nearly breaking his neck on the marble floor. The resulting, resounding flop was somewhat painful to hear, if only the wounded man could still hear right now.
His second indication, after unconsciously croaking in pain for half a minute, was his successful attempt to pry open his eyes and scope out just what had happened to him. The Son of Sparda's vision was greeted with the pristine-kept architecture of the Greek empire, a mere ambient light giving a fine sheen to this temple interior. Not that the modern-day devil hunter could appreciate that kind of beauty, but it at least communicated to him that he was somewhere different.
As Dante managed to coax his body to start removing himself from the floor, he became aware of the ghost in the room; the floating aura of azure gave off the image of a man, yet it appeared faded like an old photograph. Fitting, for how long the soul had been trapped here. The devil hunter grunted, pushed, lifted, and finally stood up from the ground, and seeing this, the ghost began to speak.
The message was brief- an explanation that in another time, he had been the hero Teucer, slain in battle but cursed to be bound within six magic relics, scattered across the land and protected by guardians. The spirit had summoned the extent of his power to bring Dante (and about two-dozen others) to this place in hopes that they could free him. To everyone else, the speech was redundant and worn thin well enough already.
But then Dante, who had just been standing there cross-armed with a judging look on his face, stuck a pinkie finger into his left ear and began to dig. After twisting a few times, teeth gritted, he yanked the finger free, releasing a small spurt of blood from his canal to trickle down his lobe.
"...ah, there we go. Run me through that again- my hearing just popped back in."
Someone sighed.
-----
"An undead spirit cursed into six objects, huh? Well, ain't that a handful..." Dante rubbed his chin, as if pensively. What was really on his mind, however, was the incident that the devil hunter had just been dragged here from. Never mind the the fact that he had gotten his butt royally whooped by that demon- he could just chalk that up to not yet restoring all his power. There was that headstrong rage he had been thrown into, that absolute desire to see his enemy destroyed- that could prove to be a problem if it ever became a repeat occurrence.
Really, there's was no point in getting angst-filled over it. So he had been infected with a sinister incarnation of his own pure instinct known as a hollow- so what? That world he had seem within his spirit seemed like a good place to start. He'd just go there and find a way to get rid of it. Dead easy.
As soon as he got out of this, of course.
"Yeah, sure, I'll help you out. Might as well, right?" Dante spoke up once more, removing his hand from his chain and giving a friendly (if slightly dismissive) shrug. "Way I see it, you're either dead or alive- nobody ought to be stuck halfway. I'll see to it you get outta here in one piece." With a solemn, quite nod from the hero's image, Dante turned to glance over the other people amassed here.
There happened to be quite a motley and diverse crew, even among the individuals that seemed to know each other. The devil hunter looked over himself, seeing the sorry shape of his one-fine red longcoat practically torn away, and the rest scuffed rather bad. He didn't really start complaining until he realized the absence of familiar weight around his torso. Dante's hands nevertheless clasped at the empty straps and holsters, until he just stopped, and slowly but sternly looked back over his shoulder at the idle spirit.
"Would it have killed you to bring my weapons with me, though?" The red-coat sourly interrogated the fallen hero. He simply stared back, donning some expression that Dante couldn't distinguish between apology or forlorn. Several seconds passed with no other response, and finally Dante offered an exasperated exhale and turned back forward. "I guess it can't be helped, then.
"Well," he clapped his hands together once, trying to limber out his still-sore muscles, "Long as there's others around, may as well see if there's anyone I know..."
A human heart pumping demon blood: power regulated by emotion. The tables were turned every so often, But then he was fortunate to have not remained that way long. Halfway through that aforementioned era, he lost the battle within for the last time... for it, he lost his family again.
That was the time when Dante fell. And here he had been, so close to getting out, to settling his troubles once and for all, only be flung into the Omniverse, exposed to its denizens, and caught up in an unfortunate fate.
At the time, Dante couldn't have realized just how much Zangetsu would affect his time here in the Omniverse- it certainly wouldn't be for the better. Who knew if Zangetsu was even still alive at this point? But then again, who could've imagined that picking up a sentient weapon forged from a corrupt soul would prove so ruinous? Even that sort of thing had never been a problem to Dante before, when he had been strong enough to overcome such an incident whenever it happened. That was just it, though- he no longer had that strength within the Omniverse. He had been vulnerable without realizing it, and now he was trapped in a foreign world with a tainted consciousness attempting to dominate his mind like some spiritual parasite.
Well, it also may have mattered that devils (and by proxy, Devil Arms) are simple enough to submit to anyone stronger than them, rather than giving their user a damn riddle.
Still, as if this all wasn't bad enough for Dante yet, now he was being abducted again to participate in a deadly fetch-quest for a fragmented soul. Not that he knew just yet.
---
Dante's first indication that he had been plucked from the brink of death was him nearly breaking his neck on the marble floor. The resulting, resounding flop was somewhat painful to hear, if only the wounded man could still hear right now.
His second indication, after unconsciously croaking in pain for half a minute, was his successful attempt to pry open his eyes and scope out just what had happened to him. The Son of Sparda's vision was greeted with the pristine-kept architecture of the Greek empire, a mere ambient light giving a fine sheen to this temple interior. Not that the modern-day devil hunter could appreciate that kind of beauty, but it at least communicated to him that he was somewhere different.
As Dante managed to coax his body to start removing himself from the floor, he became aware of the ghost in the room; the floating aura of azure gave off the image of a man, yet it appeared faded like an old photograph. Fitting, for how long the soul had been trapped here. The devil hunter grunted, pushed, lifted, and finally stood up from the ground, and seeing this, the ghost began to speak.
The message was brief- an explanation that in another time, he had been the hero Teucer, slain in battle but cursed to be bound within six magic relics, scattered across the land and protected by guardians. The spirit had summoned the extent of his power to bring Dante (and about two-dozen others) to this place in hopes that they could free him. To everyone else, the speech was redundant and worn thin well enough already.
But then Dante, who had just been standing there cross-armed with a judging look on his face, stuck a pinkie finger into his left ear and began to dig. After twisting a few times, teeth gritted, he yanked the finger free, releasing a small spurt of blood from his canal to trickle down his lobe.
"...ah, there we go. Run me through that again- my hearing just popped back in."
Someone sighed.
-----
"An undead spirit cursed into six objects, huh? Well, ain't that a handful..." Dante rubbed his chin, as if pensively. What was really on his mind, however, was the incident that the devil hunter had just been dragged here from. Never mind the the fact that he had gotten his butt royally whooped by that demon- he could just chalk that up to not yet restoring all his power. There was that headstrong rage he had been thrown into, that absolute desire to see his enemy destroyed- that could prove to be a problem if it ever became a repeat occurrence.
Really, there's was no point in getting angst-filled over it. So he had been infected with a sinister incarnation of his own pure instinct known as a hollow- so what? That world he had seem within his spirit seemed like a good place to start. He'd just go there and find a way to get rid of it. Dead easy.
As soon as he got out of this, of course.
"Yeah, sure, I'll help you out. Might as well, right?" Dante spoke up once more, removing his hand from his chain and giving a friendly (if slightly dismissive) shrug. "Way I see it, you're either dead or alive- nobody ought to be stuck halfway. I'll see to it you get outta here in one piece." With a solemn, quite nod from the hero's image, Dante turned to glance over the other people amassed here.
There happened to be quite a motley and diverse crew, even among the individuals that seemed to know each other. The devil hunter looked over himself, seeing the sorry shape of his one-fine red longcoat practically torn away, and the rest scuffed rather bad. He didn't really start complaining until he realized the absence of familiar weight around his torso. Dante's hands nevertheless clasped at the empty straps and holsters, until he just stopped, and slowly but sternly looked back over his shoulder at the idle spirit.
"Would it have killed you to bring my weapons with me, though?" The red-coat sourly interrogated the fallen hero. He simply stared back, donning some expression that Dante couldn't distinguish between apology or forlorn. Several seconds passed with no other response, and finally Dante offered an exasperated exhale and turned back forward. "I guess it can't be helped, then.
"Well," he clapped his hands together once, trying to limber out his still-sore muscles, "Long as there's others around, may as well see if there's anyone I know..."