Untitled, the 7-and-a-half year old Devil May Cry 4.5 fanfiction
Chapter 3
Well, here we are again.
This is actually the last chapter of the story that was completely finished in my old Word document, so I’m at least going to try and complete the 4th entry I’d started before I post that one, even if the rest of the fic doesn’t get the same fully fleshed-out treatment.
Following on in my new chapter naming tradition, I shall call this one: “The one where I start making excuses to get Dante involved”.
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The next morning, Nero called the others to Devil May Cry to tell them that he wouldn’t be patrolling with them for a while, and that he would go separately from them to kill any demons that they didn’t think they could deal with alone.
After that, Nero didn’t fight often, but almost every time he did he felt the surge of power as he Triggered, waking up later to find himself stained in (thankfully demon) blood in some deeper part of the forest.
It wasn’t long until rumors started to spread about what had happened the last time the entire group had patrolled together; about how some members had been mysteriously injured and how Nero no longer seemed to be working with them. Nero began to hate walking through the city; having the people he had finally begun to gain the trust of once again staring at him with a mixture of fear and loathing, or ignoring him altogether. He began to hate himself, and what he was becoming. And he began to hate the people of Fortuna for turning against him, after all he had done for them.
“... see, this is why I never joined Nero’s fake little Knights campaign,” he overheard someone saying. He recognised the man as being one of the other Holy Knights not to have joined the Ascension program; even after everything that had happened to his comrades, it didn’t make him any less doubtful of how ‘perfect’ the Order’s leader, Sanctus, had been. “Nero is a demon, we all know that, and it’s his fault that His Holiness was killed. Him and that man in the red coat.”
Nero clenched his fists in annoyance but said nothing to let the ex-Knight know that he had heard him. He was being a little too loud to not want to be heard; it was better not to say anything, not to give him any more fuel to his allegations. It wasn’t like it was the first time Nero had had Order members talking about him behind his back, anyway. Almost his entire career with them had been filled on it, since he wasn’t much of a believer in the Faith. Kyrie, who was walking beside him and noticed how tense Nero was acting, lightly threaded her fingers into his in reassurance, but it wasn’t the words that were getting to him.
Nero had started to notice the looks he was getting from the passers by, the devout followers of the Order’s teachings who had always hidden their animosity towards Nero behind plastic smiles. They wouldn’t dare say anything about him publicly, too worried that any backlash against their opinion might affect their social standing, but they didn’t have to; it was all in their eyes, and Nero knew exactly what it was that none of them dared to say: “You aren’t one of us. The matron of the orphanage should have just left you out on the doorstep.”
Nero reflexively squeezed Kyrie’s hand, abruptly letting go again when he realised he was using the hand that had claws.
He needed an excuse to leave. His eyes stung, and the Bringer felt as though it was burning. He felt as though he wanted, no, needed to hit something, but as long as there were people around him, he knew that he couldn’t. As if in answer, a column of lightning appeared over the roof tops, despite the clear skies - a sure sign of a Blitz, somewhere in the direction of the Ferrum Hills. It was a welcome distraction, and one that would get him away from the rest of the townspeople, seeing as the old mining village was still yet to be rebuilt.
Nero gave Kyrie an apologetic look for cutting their day short, trying to act as if he hadn’t been willing for something like this to happen, and immediately made a break for the direction of the demonic electrical storm, all but running out of the crowded market.
The last thing Nero remembered was the crunching of the dry earth beneath his boots as he entered the mines.
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Nero awoke to the sound of footsteps and a panicked voice calling his name. Sitting up groggily, he realised that he had somehow made it inside Fortuna Castle. Kyrie was at his side in moments, wrapping her arms around him tightly and asking if he was okay, and Armanno joined her shortly after, though with less hugging.
“When you didn’t come back, we thought you’d run into more trouble than just some lone Blitz and came looking,” Armanno explained, “Kyrie practically begged me to bring her along. The others are still back at the mines making sure you weren’t caught up in a cave-in.” He looked around the castle foyer. “Looks like you must have been fighting something in here, the place is a wreck.”
“I guess so,” Nero replied, rising to his feet with Kyrie still clinging to him. Armanno just nodded, silently understanding that Nero must have had another episode. “I’ll go and tell the others you’re okay,” he said, “we’ll meet you back at DMC.”
While Armanno hurried to reunite with the rest of the group before they wasted any more time hauling rubble, Nero and Kyrie hung back, taking their time back through the mountains towards the city. Although she wasn’t hugging him anymore, Kyrie held a firm grip on Nero’s arm as she walked, almost as if she was afraid he might disappear if she let go. “Why were you so worried?” Nero asked her, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never fought a demon by myself before, right?” Kyrie smiled at her partner, only now letting go of his arm to simply take his hand. “I know,” she replied, her smile falling as she continued. “But you left so suddenly, and when you didn’t come back I was scared that something might have happened to you… we all were.”
“Why, how long was I gone for?” Nero looked up at the sky. It couldn’t have been too long since he left the city, could it? It wasn’t even dark yet.
Kyrie stopped walking, bringing Nero to an abrupt halt next to her and drawing his attention back away from the clouds. “Nero, you were gone for almost two days.”
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That night, Nero lay awake, consumed by his thoughts. Two days, almost 48 hours that he had no memory of. Did this mean that whatever was happening to him was getting worse? What if he continued to lose more and more time, if he disappeared for weeks on a demon rampage? And what if, one day, he never came back at all? The more Nero thought about it, the more he realised just how much danger he had put everyone in – put Kyrie in – by doing nothing, by hoping that everything would settle by itself.
Moving quietly through the house so as not to wake Kyrie, Nero entered the kitchen in search of what might possibly be the only solution to his situation. Pinned to the board on the kitchen wall, underneath the photographs of summer days at the beach and distant memories of Kyrie’s lost family, was a small scrap of brown paper; the return address that had been written on the sign Nero received, and scrawled below it, a phone number.
Pulling the paper down from its place, Nero carried it to the phone to call the only person he could think of who might be able to help.
