Domitus

~ DOMITUS - Part II ~

The full moon was hanging low in the sky, its pale outline pierced by jagged rooftops. Dante’s pace was brisk as he headed toward Enzo’s office, seventeen blocks away. He was slightly rattled but he didn’t really know why. He’d had calls like this before, various empty threats that led nowhere.

He tried to convince himself that this was just more of the same, that he would find Enzo groggy and confused when he knocked on his door. Then he would go back to Trish and joke about people wasting his time…

His senses were tingling though, his demonic blood prickling with an apprehension he hadn’t felt since Mallet Island. He began to run, the night breeze whispering through his hair as he raced down the deserted street.

Time had barely passed before Dante found himself in front of Enzo’s office, the narrow entryway crammed between massive apartments looming on either side. The door was unlocked, and he felt another stab of anxiety for his friend. He thought of trying to creep silently up the stairwell, maybe get a jump on whoever— or whatever— might be waiting in the office above; but then again, he had been invited here. If it wasn’t just Enzo up there, his presence was expected.

He climbed the stairs and pushed the office door ajar, one hand hovering over his shoulder, fingertips lightly brushing Alastor’s hilt. The lights were off. Through the pale moonlight filtering between the blinds, the room appeared empty. Dante flicked the switch next to the door. There was a dull clicking and a brief spark from the bulb overhead, but no light. Cursing softly, he took a few cautious steps forward and paused, squinting into the darkness. The hairs on the back of his neck were still standing at full attention and he drew Ivory from her holster.

As his gaze traveled over the sparse furnishings, something odd caught his eye. A large object was resting perilously on the corner of the desk. As Dante moved forward to examine it, horror began to uncoil in his gut. He drew his lighter from his jacket pocket and flicked it open, grinding a gloved thumb against the flint. The modest flame cast weird reflections on the open, glassy eyes of his friend’s severed head.

Dante staggered back a step and swore loudly. Snapping the lighter closed, he shoved it back in his pocket and drew both handguns. “Fucker…” he snarled to the apparently empty room.

There was a slow movement in one corner. The shadows there slowly manifested themselves into the shape of a man. The figure stepped forward, face still obscured by the darkness.

Dante did not wait for the man to speak or reveal himself. He squeezed off half a clip with each pistol, every bullet meeting its mark. His enemy staggered slightly, but remained standing. Dante lowered the gun barrels a fraction. “What are you? What do you want?” he hissed acidly between his teeth.

That same low laughter that he had heard on the phone. “Your friend had such fine blood, I wonder if yours is the same shade?” mused the languid voice. “Is it scarlet like his? Or black like mine?”

Seething, Dante holstered the pistols and drew Alastor, directing the tip toward the shadowy figure some meters away. “I don’t know who you are,” he whispered, the chill in his voice surprising even himself, “but I’ll kill you, I fucking swear…”

The demon tutted softly and Dante could make out that he was shaking his head through the darkness. “You have an extremely foul mouth, don’t you? Did you inherit that from your mother?”

“You bastard!” Dante spat, cold fury causing his hand to tremble slightly. He had become adept at keeping his cool in heavy situations, but the taunt about Eva was salt in the wound that Enzo’s murder had rent in him. He flexed and lunged forward, willing Alastor’s crackling electricity to reach his enemy. He wanted to pierce that body and spill blood, black and thick, on the floor.

There was a quick swiping motion and Alastor’s blade was repelled by something— by what? The clang rung like steel in Dante’s ears, but the strangely human demon wielded no weapons that he could make out in the gloom.

He blinked, and suddenly the enemy had disappeared from sight. A stabbing pain ripped through him as he heard a rich voice close to his ear:

“You may be the son of Sparda, but you’re still only half a demon. And this is the human world— your powers are even weaker here.”

He gasped as what felt like five thin blades were driven deeper into his back. Copper rose in his throat as he stared down at the claws protruding from his chest.

“Ah, so it is red,” the infuriating voice droned. “How very… human.”

The claws were wrenched and twisted inside him; he could feel them chip his ribs and shred tissue. Dante’s lungs constricted painfully against them as he gasped again. The demon was draining his strength and a strong arm curved around his hips to support him as his legs trembled and gave way.

Dante finally found himself staring up into his enemy’s face. The pale features were bathed in moonlight, giving his skin a blue tinge reminiscent of a corpse. Or maybe his complexion really was deathly… at this point, Dante didn’t know or care. Those cruel eyes were devouring him as he struggled to heal, fighting to summon his demonic blood.

Enraged bewilderment washed over him as he tried and failed to devil trigger. Alastor slipped from his numb fingers. “What the…” he whispered, feeling blood paint his lips.

Still smiling, the pale demon leaned forward and licked the traces of scarlet. Dante retched as he inhaled the bitter odor of death. His captor’s poison honey voice spoke again in his ear: “This is new for you, isn’t it? This helplessness…”

The talons twisted again and Dante watched numbly as dark blood continued to seep from the wounds, soaking his shirt and jacket, staining them black in the dim moonlight. He tried to string a thought process together, but all he could manage was fragments: a higher demon with specialized powers… mortally potent against his own half-devil blood…

He was still struggling with his confusion as the enemy kissed him fiercely, filling his mouth with that horrid stench of dead rot. Pointed canines pierced his lips. He bit down as the cold dry tongue scraped over his teeth, feeling the unwelcome invader twitch and recoil. The demon drew back quickly, leaving a trail of his black blood trickling down Dante’s chin.

His foe gazed down at him, slowly licking the blood from his lips. “You want to know, don’t you?” he purred, gently tugging his claws lower, slicing deeper into his prey’s body. “Ask.”

Dante’s breath escaped in a ragged hiss as the claws parted his organs, sliding through his flesh toward his stomach.

“If you don’t ask, you will die not knowing. Would you be satisfied with that? Expiring in ignorance, in the arms of a nameless enemy?”

“Of… course not,” Dante panted, urging with his half-paralyzed muscles to respond to him. He braced his feet against the floor and heaved his body forward off the impaling talons. He staggered and landed on all fours.

The demon chuckled softly as Dante crawled to the desk, gripping the edge to pull himself to his feet. His hand brushed against the gory remains of his friend’s severed head, knocking it to the floor. The sickening thud brought waves of reawakened hatred surging over him. Dante’s head cleared almost instantly as the thirst for revenge pumped adrenaline through his body. He turned to face the demon, well aware that Alastor was lying behind the enemy, out of reach.

He drew Ebony and Ivory again; he knew they were pittance against this particular demon, but maybe they could provide enough distraction to allow him to make a grab for the sword. He forced his rage to succumb to reason. He needed to remain levelheaded…

“Who are you?” he asked evenly, setting the enemy’s forehead in both sights.

The demon seemed delighted that he had finally asked. Dante watched critically as he adopted a more passive stance, actually retracting his talons and putting his hands in his pants pockets. “I am a gift.”

His face was hidden by shadow, but Dante could tell by the lilt in his languid voice that he was still smirking.

“My master sent me as a gift for you. He’s very generous, you see… you took many things from him, and in exchange, he sends you… me.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. He only knew of one entity that could create higher demons and manipulate them for special purposes. “Mundus.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I am Daemon,” the demon replied. “In the place of the failed ones, I am your tamer and your destruction.”

Dante let out a harsh laugh. “How long have you been practicing that speech?” he sneered. “Seems Mundus hasn’t learned from his mistakes then. I’ll waste you the same way I—”

“The same way you wasted Trish? And dear Vergil… your own twin brother?”

Dante squeezed Ebony’s trigger twice before he would permit his hands to start shaking. Both bullets buried themselves in Daemon’s skull, but the demon barely flinched as blood streamed down his face.

“You are wasting your effort,” Daemon snarled, his supine voice suddenly harboring a cruel edge. There was rush of fluid motion and Dante cursed his dulled reflexes as Daemon grasped his wrists. His grip was vice-like and he forced the gun barrels away with relative ease. “Just be grateful and accept your gift,” the demon whispered, and he licked Dante’s neck.

“You asshole— uhngh!”

Sharp teeth buried themselves deep in his throat, piercing his windpipe and flooding his lungs with blood. He opened his mouth to cough but choked instead, scarlet satin pouring from his lips. Daemon forced him to the floor, one ankle hooked around his leg, a knee grinding into his thigh. He tried to struggle, to curse, but the demon’s hold was draining his strength again…

His teeth still embedded in his prey’s neck, Daemon straddled his body. Gripping his hips firmly between his thighs, the demon plucked both handguns easily from Dante’s limp grasp. The trapped hunter could feel Daemon’s hardness against his groin. His heart skipped as the lithe enemy slid a cool hand beneath his shirt and up his chest. Steely fingers stimulated one nipple, caressing gently at first, then twisting painfully.

Daemon’s mouth worked over the stinging wounds in his throat, his tongue probing sharply at the torn flesh. Dante’s senses were awash with humiliation and bitter frustration as he choked back a pained groan. He raged inwardly at his tormentor, and at himself for falling prey to this… utter degradation. Daemon twisted one sensitive nipple raw and stinging before moving to the other, jaws still clamped over his victim’s trachea.

Goddamn Mundus, Dante thought vaguely. First the dark prince had wanted to mind-fuck him with Trish. Now he just plain wanted to fuck him…

A bright flash seared through half-closed eyes, and a crackling of demonic power rent the air around them. He felt Daemon’s weight leave his body jerkily as the demon relinquished his prey and leapt back, snarling in surprise.

“You alright there, Dante?” called a familiar feminine voice. He tried to say Trish’s name, tried to reprimand her for coming, but his throat was still full of blood; he could feel it gurgling at the bite wounds.

“Enzo… shit! Who the hell are you?”

Trish was addressing Daemon now and Dante sat up, casting about for Alastor.

“Ah, one of the failed ones,” he heard Daemon muse behind him. “I’d like to play with you as well, but for now…”

Dante turned in time to see Daemon backing toward the window. His talons flashed out and struck the glass, shattering it effortlessly. Perched on the sill, the demon gave them both a smug smile, his pale face illuminated in the moonlight.

“I look forward to our next encounter, Dante,” he drawled before leaping gracefully out of sight.

~ Part II FIN ~