Chapter Text
The weather was warm, the cool sea breeze cutting through any heat to make the atmosphere tolerable. The sun shone overhead, making shadows disappear and making the metal sparkle like treasure.
The black lace singlet was large enough to run from just under her chin to her knees. The sleeves were complete, down to the matching full lace gloves that were sewn into the end of the sleeves. It clung to the wearer like a second skin, but was dark enough to hide any scar or other unseemly blemish.
The singlet was worn under a silver leather corset that was segmented enough to show its purpose as armor. The bottom of the singlet dropped out of the bottom of the top, flaring out like a thin dress. The pants underneath were black with more of that silver leather padding around the knees. She walked confidently, perfectly balanced despite wearing thigh-high boots with heels that would make most human women wince.
Fingerless silver leather gloves were worn over the lace, holding it in place and protecting the delicate material from the narrow swords she wore on her hips.
The swords had matching handles and simple crossguards, but one was nearly twice as long as the other. The longer sword was a rapier, flat with sharp edges on both sides of the blade. The smaller sword was a needle of death, round and thin like its namesake, and the only sharp point was the tip.
Her long hair was tied up by a black ribbon, the ponytail resting at her lower back. She was blond, with strands of silver sparking in the sun, giving her an otherworldly look. Freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose, like she was a painted doll. To finish the look of a living doll, her face had hints of makeup, black liner around her eyes, and purple lips. Her eyes were sharp, slightly angular, with the natural lashes long and full. The blue-green color of her stare seemed to glow in low light and fade in bright light.
Her posture was rigid. An observer would think she was part of a military group somewhere, instead of a self-serving agent jumping from one personal mission to another. Her face was timeless; people could guess her age anywhere between 20 and nearing fifty, but the weary look on her face told the tale of decades fighting a battle that would never have an end.
Hell would always have monsters, and those monsters would always find it in themselves to shed the blood of those they could. The war was always a matter of damage control.
The good thing about this never-ending war was the travel. With small portals of hell opening everywhere, there was always an opportunity to see the world in between stopping demons and other evil from consuming it.
Small towns along the coasts and islands often were places that had the most demonic activity. Mallet Island, the floating island that Mundus had used to ground himself in the human world, could be considered cursed at this point. The near constant use of demonic activity and the two spells that only worked to barely patch the problem drew demons to the ocean and those closest to the water, and because Mallet was a floating island, it moved constantly and changed who had demons dumped into their cities.
When spells rip open the way to hell, it’s a tricky matter- because it ripples, and a spell holding back other creatures might shake loose as well.
The best thing about Mallet is that it’s not hard to find, once you know about it. Most of humanity dismissed Sparda as a legend, so the locations where history happened were erased and forgotten. It takes very little of digging into the island of Fortuna and the story of Sparda until Mallet gets mentioned.
Once someone knows to start looking for Mallet, it all but comes to you. It takes yearly visits by Fortuna, but they have their own demon-fighting force.
After centuries isolated from its mainland, Mallet Island crumbled into nothing beyond a castle that was rotting despite the stones it was constructed from, and everything that a castle would have. Dante and Trish did cause the castle to explode, but in the ten years since that incident, there had been some reconstruction.
Demons couldn’t steal building supplies to rebuild without being noticed, but raiding shipwrecks was evidently fair game, as most of the castle walls were reconstructed from parts that were ripped off boats and jammed into the rubble of the castle.
“Maist knights wad announce thairsels, yell about some grand evil an hou they’ll be ae hero.” The woman took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow. Her voice was flat, and her accent was thick, but she seemed to draw every word out slowly to squeeze every ounce of sarcasm she could. She turned around to have a broadsword pointed directly at her neck. The blade smelled of heated oil, and the spray of the ocean made the sword sizzle. The woman gave no reaction to the blade.
She kept a passive expression, staring down the blade at the newcomer. One of her hands was resting on her blades, but she made no attempt to draw any weapon. Her gaze was locked on the newcomer's face, like the threat wasn’t there in the first place.
“I’m not here to be a hero. I dont know you, and you’re fucking around with a gate to hell. I’m here to make sure nothing happens." Nero said calmly, his palm itching to rev his sword, a single-edged broadsword that could spray hot oil and flames on it to cut through demon armor. The red handle and guards made its wielder obvious, as word was beginning to spread of a hotheaded demon fighter with a red sword.
That caused the corners of her mouth to perk up, like she heard a joke and was trying to keep a straight face.
“Ah juist came here ta make sure the tree didnae cause the delicate seals here ta break. Ye can come wi me if it wull make ye feel better.” The woman sighed. “Ah dinnae want ta deal wi whit sealed here on a guid day an Ah’ve bin short on those.”
“And that would be?” Nero pulled back his sword, allowing her room to speak.
“The Emperor o Hell. Sparda fought him ferr the betterment o humanity an the detriment o everyone that gae close ta him an those close ta people wha wanted ta be lyke him.” Bitterness spewed up like bile. A soft snarl deepened her voice. “Letting him loose wad be an insult ta everyone deid acause o him.”
“You lost people?” Nero finally sheathed his sword. She let out a venomous laugh, her white teeth shining in a way that felt off.
“Fowks are awa-gaun, Ah ken some o them, most o them, no. Ye lost fowks an aw, juist dinnae ken hau meny.” The woman spun on her heels and began her trek to the castle, or what had remained of it.
“What the hell does that mean?” Nero followed behind her. The woman really wanted a drink instead of moving through ruins that reeked of angelo armor and blood, but the company was better than nothing.
“Ah ken yer pa. He haun ae lot o issues acause he didnae allow himsel ta grieve. The Sparda bloodline is full o rage, grief, an death.” She answered simply. Her tone and the words were at odds in conveying the horror she was implying.
“Why are you so open about explaining everything?” Nero asked, narrowing his eyes. He was so used to having everyone dance around his questions and forcing him to figure everything out by himself. The blunt honesty could be refreshing if he could trust that she wasn't trying to manipulate him.
“Ah’m nae Dante. Hiding away winna save ye fae fowks wha want ye deid. Forethought an knowledge wull. Vergil wiz ower lost in his own pain ta see that he wiz nae but ae tool ta those wha wanted ta use him. Might is ae fucking joke if ye lose awbody ye care ferr along the way.” Tears fell down her cheeks; their icy touch shocked her out of her little speech. She wiped her face. “It's on ye ta dae better. No pressure, richt?”
“I haven’t opened any gates of hell on purpose, so I think I’m doing ok,” Nero responded, his voice softer after the little confession.
“Och, aye. Celebrate the wee victories, Wean.” The woman let out a small, genuine laugh. It rippled through the air, upsetting the atmosphere of hell.
After a moment, the door to the castle crept up on them. There had once been steep steps along the pathway to the castle, but between the rubble and the construction that the demons were doing in secret, the stairs were gone, replaced with ramps.
“How well did you know Vergil, ma’am?” Nero asked after a moment of silence.
The woman rested one hand against the heavy door to the castle, a metal one, a piece of a boat attached in a hurry to replace the wooden one that had burned away. She took a breath before answering. Her other hand was over her breastbone.
“He’s the reason Ah’m alive. Ah lost ae lot o blood an he stemmed the bleeding.” She answered. “The fucking hypocrite haun the nerve ta tell me Ah wisna allowed ta die on his watch an the first thing he daes whan Ah turn ma back is… the next time Ah see him Ah’m gaun ta kill him.”
“How do you know he’s alive?” Nero blinked.
“Witches hae oor ways. Och, Lad? Ye can call me by ma name: Alice.” Alice stepped back from the door and kicked. The metal was made from solid steel, designed to withstand hits from other boats and rocks; it was thick, thick enough to sink after being damaged.
It didn’t matter; the metal crumbled like it was paper after it was kicked, flying into the lifeless castle. Of course, with the destruction of the castle, the only place the two could enter was the sewers and the general lower areas.
Mercifully, the sewers had dried up, leaving it as nothing more than a room with tunnels to other rooms and side spaces. The former door was launched into a nearby wall, with the powder from the damaged stone now floating in the air.
Thankfully, the room where the seal had been done was connected to the sewers, so there was no wide exploration that needed to be done. Even outside of the room, Alice could sense the lingering effects of Dante and Trish’s magic, still holding strong.
Alice froze in front of the door, almost like she was listening to something. The castle had been quiet outside of them, but an ambush was never outside the realm of possibility.
Alice pulled out her rapier- she was left-handed, Nero briefly noted, before pulling out a revolver. Alice looked over her shoulder, doing a quick double-take, before chuckling.
“Smart lad. The time ferr honor is whan ye’ve survived the fight. Vergil maun be thrilled wi that beauty.” Alice noted before pulling her smaller blade.
“I don’t listen to what Vergil says much about the gun, not like he was around to teach me how to use the sword- other people had to step in.” Nero deadpanned.
“Och. He’s bin daein that ferr years; Ah wiz ane o his gophers. Noo lets see if he made ae bigger mess ta clean up.” Alice clicked her tongue and kicked open the heavy wooden door. This one managed to stay attached to its hinges. It slammed against the wall with a loud bang, exposing a room full of Proto Angelos. The living armors were staring down at Alice and Nero, their weapons drawn.
Their faces were blank, but the glares and hostility came off them in waves. There were two dozen of them, all of them ready for a fight.
“Well, guid news- nae the emperor. Better news, juist ae room full o gnats.” Alice snarled, the blue in her eyes glowing, making her entire face look even more pale.