Downfalls and Awakenings

[Simon]

Takes place after Dante falls unconscious in the Nexus.

He was aware of his waking moments slipping away, his mind giving way to sleep - so, therefore, when Dante peeled his eyes open again to find himself someplace different, he was understandably confused. His sitting position was tilted back more from where he laid slumped against the fountain, and Dante realized he was higher than he should've been if he were still on the ground. Obviously, he wasn't.

It took a moment for his vision to clear and his brain register the sights around. The flickering of lights above, the worn-down gloom of the walls, the sputtering electronics of a retro jukebox... Was this Devil May Cry? Was he back home? No, it couldn't be that easy- quickly, the thought clicked in Dante's head that this was the spectral form of Devil May Cry that Zangetsu had created for him. Yet it couldn't have been, for the office still retained the weak, ill-maintained atmosphere Dante had grown accustomed to. Had it changed between then and now? Or had it never been different?

Cautiously, the devil hunter removed his feet from where he would prop them on the desk, to sit up and remove himself from the creaky leather swivel chair. The man wasn't sure of what to think or feel of this, as he felt so little right now.

Dante looked around more carefully at the shop's contents; the Devil Arms on the wall were gone, the upholstery on the chairs were ruined, the desk was marred and damaged - overall, the shop actually seemed even worse than he remembered it. Of course, if this was supposed to be Dante's "inner world," then the place actually did a good job at reflecting his current state of mind.

He didn't stay long, for whatever reason. The Son of Sparda found himself drawn outside, as if curiosity was waiting there tugging a leash around Dante's neck. Boots clomped against the battered wood floor, and leather-gloved hands raised to push open the double doors to his shop. A swirl of bitter, black wind flowed through his body as the entrance opened, and Dante shivered as if suddenly caught in a freezer. The dark world outside, illuminated only by a blood moon, glowered with death and ruin- and the familiarity of his home.

This was the time where he had been awakened. There had been a crazy party, with the unlocking of the Demon World as the main event. And when it had gone awry, the Sons of Sparda stepped forth to correct the damage. It was when Dante had fought his own brother for the fate of their amulets - and lost the fight. It was when Dante had fought his own brother for the fate of their world - and lost this brother.

There, just blocks away, the Temen-ni-gru stood as a silent, towering gate. As if this truly were the night of his awakening, as if it had never ended before, and the suffering Dante lived through those years ago were for naught.

Then, would it change now?

His vigor half-renewed, determination and painful memories bubbling in his heart, Dante stepped forth out of the shop. His hands slipped away from the doors and let them fall closed, and as the sound of shutting gave way to the howl of the black wind, he announced: "And we're supposed to be twins... right, Vergil?"

The battered buildings, half-hearted neon signs, wrecked vehicles, and shattered streets all around offered no response. The lone Son of Sparda then merely began to walk again - the sound of boots on torn, gravelly pavement resounding for the dead world to hear.

[Simon]

The next piercing wail that Dante heard most definitely was not the blowing of tainted wind.

With the whipping of some cloth behind him, the Son of Sparda landed his current step, then twisted on his feet to wheel about-face. The ivory mask of a wailing soul greeted him, a cloak-like ebony miasma drifting out from the fringes of the face. In the following split-second, Dante raised his own Ebony & Ivory and the Hell Vanguard lifted an previously unseen scythe to reap the half-devil's head.

Bullets were faster than blades, however, and a pair of them were planted into the demon's eye sockets before it could execute its attack. The Hell Vanguard's vague form stumbled back from the counter-attack, clearly surprised at Dante's opening. Several more shots rang out and punched through the greater demon's ghastly black cloaking, but these seemed to faze it notably less. Finally, the Vanguard faded away entirely into a black cloud that dissipated before Dante's eyes.

He knew it was far from over, however. As the next wail sounded off behind him, the devil hunter deftly back-flipped over the charging demon, narrowly avoiding the scythe's wide slash. Another pelting of bullets followed while Dante came down to the ground, and they merely puffed and whiffed through the ghastly cloak with as much impact as before. The Vanguard turned back after Dante landed, letting out a faint shrill laughter- on cue, the glass of dimensions shattered multiple times on the ruined streets, each releasing a lesser reaper- Hell Prides, who punish those who committed sin.

The devil hunter quickly returned the firearms to his sides, with the demons already all preparing to swing at Dante. Before they could strike, however, the half-devil's gloved hand rose to Rebellion; in a single swift motion, Dante threw forward forward his body and then his arm, carrying the metallic whistle of a speeding blade. The sheer power of the maneuver was enough to destroy the Hell Pride, the force behind it scattering the dissolving demon's sands of perish into the air. Where the Pride had stood, Dante now claimed the space, returning to his upright footing with sword in hand.

Turning to the lesser reapers he had evaded, the nephilim barely hesitated in returning the fight to them, swinging his blade overhead for another strike. The first demon, he hit with a diagonal strike that sent it reeling and dripping sand; the second, he whipped with a sideswipe from Rebellion, practically bisecting the hellspawn. Dante finished them both off with twist into a spinning slash, turning the Prides into a small whirlwind of sand amid the half-devil's battle cries.

Two more Prides seized the moment and came aside Dante, one of them hacking into his shoulder with a damned scythe. The wound stung hard, but the nephilim would not let the other reaper take advantage of his injury - he swing his whole body (scythe, demon, and all) in a huge swing that shattered the second hellspawn's head. Dante didn't stop, however, twisting his back further to deliberately throw the Pride off of his back and through its companion's staggering body, obliterating them both.

Despite Dante seeming to have the upper hand, the demons did nothing to relent. The Vanguard no longer contented itself with watching and wailing maniacally, and suddenly encroached on Dante with over-sized scythe in hands. Of course, the devil hunter was quick enough to intercept the attack, but not quite forceful enough to parry it outright. Blades clashed and deflecting off one another, and Dante found himself backpedaling right back into the crowd of Hell Prides from the impact. Desperately, the nephilim battled to regain his footing, but he was too late to stop the many Hell Prides' scythes from piercing him right through.

What an anguish-filled flashback to his brother's first party invitation, surely. So many scythes run through his limbs and bones, wherever they could lock in to harm and restrict Dante. Oh, the pain roared unbearably throughout his form, yes, but what wounded Dante more was his inability to move - even to wrench himself free. No mater his brief efforts in the face of demon villainy, the Son of Sparda uncharacteristically could not find the strength to break through this lockdown.

It didn't make sense, Dante decided, as the Vanguard reared it's wailing head again with reaping tool at the ready. This was his inner world, right? A reflection of his own spirit? Why wasn't he in control!?

His anger set his devil's spirit alight, and Dante once more phased into Devil Trigger. Almost as soon as he did, however, the nephilim was as quickly torn away from it, the demonic energy leaving his body in violent pulses that set his wounds alight with agony. All around him, the Prides rattled and cackled, digging deeper and holding stronger with their weapons.

They were draining him, he realized. His Devil Trigger power was becoming theirs, and leaving him weak and vulnerable. A sitting target to the Vanguard looking to finish him off. The execution tool rose, and fell...

And so, Dante was made to atone to his sin of Pride.