Domitus

A/N: This chapter hasn't been beta'ed, therefore it may contain mistakes or some amount of opacity. Revisions will be made later on once editing has taken place (my beta is currently away). Apologies if anything is out of order~ unprofessional, I know, but please try to ignore it for the time being. ^^

~ Part III ~

Dante hung the phone up and heaved the heaviest sigh his injured throat would permit. He’d left Enzo’s funeral arrangements in the hands of a stricken cousin… the only kin he knew of. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the dusty fan blades whirring above his head.

Trish had swaddled him rather inexpertly in bandages; the wounds in his neck and torso were stubbornly reluctant to heal. Dante cursed under his breath as he gently rubbed his chest.

He had to admit that they— he— had an enormous problem.

Daemon…

Not that it was wholly unexpected; Mundus had been thwarted twice by Sparda’s blood. Trust the vengeful demon emperor to create a living weapon specifically for him… But the situation had already cost his friend his life. Dante seethed inside as he recalled Enzo’s dead eyes and blood-matted dark hair…

Trish’s nearby voice broke into his thoughts. “That demon… he was created by Mundus, wasn’t he.”

It wasn’t so much of a query as an observation. Dante nodded wearily and regretted it immediately as copper welled up in his throat. He inclined his head slightly in Trish’s direction.

With a bitterly morose smile, Trish answered his unasked question. “You could say it was something like… recognizing familiar bad blood,” she said.

“Do you think—”

She shook her head. “Ha. No, he’s definitely a newer creation. And highly specialized, obviously…” Her sapphire eyes drifted down Dante’s bandaged body.

The hunter laughed shortly. “Shit, he’s fucking primed for me,” he said, rubbing one hand over his chin.

“Better kill him quickly,” replied Trish matter-of-factly. “Before this gets any more out of hand. Of course, that’s easier said than done…”

Dante raised a pale eyebrow. “He’ll be back in no time, I’m sure.”

“Yes… he’s green though,” Trish mused thoughtfully. “He’s only a year old at the most. There’s gotta be something you can take advantage of there.”

“He said he was gift,” said Dante suddenly. “And some bullshit about taming and destruction…”

“…Something suggesting he’s not just out to kill you,” Trish finished for him. “But that’s just as obvious. If he’d wanted to kill you tonight, he would have.”

Dante groaned. “Yeah…” he muttered, “…yeah.”

The hunter stared down at the desktop as hatred and humiliation surged through him. He felt slightly ill as he remembered the feel of Daemon’s hard body pressed against his own, his cool lips against his torn throat…

Trish approached and perched herself on the edge of the desk. “I’ll hunt for leads tomorrow. You go to sleep and get your ass in gear, buddy,” she teased, but there was warning in her undertone.

“…Yeah,” Dante muttered again.

o-o-o

The pale sunlight filtering through dirty windowpanes woke him early. He had slept fitfully, tossing and turning on the couch while vague nightmares plagued him. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he glanced around the office; Trish’s boots and jacket were gone.

The floor was ice beneath his bare feet and Dante shivered as he made his way to the bathroom. Slithering out of his boxers, he reached behind the mildewed curtain and turned the shower on.

As he waited for the water to heat, he leaned over the sink and unwound the loops of untidy bandages. Dropping the bloody rags into the waste bin, he glanced into the cracked mirror at the pale wounds carved into his chest. They were still healing poorly, dried blood caked at the edges of ragged flesh, traces of seepage clinging to his tawny skin. He frowned at his reflection.

Mundus sure was a thorough bastard… but there had to be some sort of counter-agent to Daemon. He gritted his teeth in frustration. There just had to be something…

Nothing forthcoming, he turned and stepped into the shower, shuddering as the scalding water cascaded over his barely-healed wounds. He braced his palms against the dewy tiles and breathed steam as the hot water eased away the tension in his aching muscles.

Dante didn’t know how long he stood there relishing the heat, but his numbed senses prickled mere milliseconds before he was aware that someone else was in the room. He jerked around as the shower curtain was yanked back and found himself staring into two bright, cruel eyes.

Dante didn’t pause to allow shock or surprise to register; subconsciously, he may have been expecting this. Modesty aside, he swung a fist through the air without hesitation. His knuckles collided solidly with the side of Daemon’s head and the demon staggered back a pace, caught off-guard by the hunter’s unexpectedly swift reaction.

Scattering droplets of water through the steamy air, Dante lunged forward and planted a heavy foot in his enemy’s stomach. The closed door splintered from its hinges as the impact sent Daemon’s body crashing through it; he landed hard on the office floor.

Dante made a sharp motion to follow, but a stab of nausea turned his stomach; he pitched forward, retching. Three of the wounds in his chest had begun leaking again at the sudden exertion, and he struggled to fight off waves of dizziness.

Shit… shit…! he mouthed, his vision fogged with pain. He heard Daemon climb to his feet and his muscles tensed in anticipation of a blow…

Instead, he heard footsteps retreat as the demon chuckled softly. Panting, Dante gripped the edge of the porcelain sink to steady himself, pressing a hand to his chest to staunch the flow of blood. Smiling grimly at his own integrity, he pulled on the boxers he had discarded on the floor before edging cautiously out of the bathroom.

He felt a sharp bite of rage. Daemon was sitting on his desk, flames licking and twisting about his biceps, curling up from clawed gauntlets.

Ifrit…

Daemon smiled innocently, but his bizarre conflicting eyes expressed only cold cruelty. “Isn’t it fascinating?” he drawled, admiring the gauntlets. “Even your weapons seem to find me pleasing. And yet you insist on rejecting your gift…”

“Lay off the gift shit,” Dante snarled, his fists clenching impulsively. He wanted to command Daemon to return Ifrit to him, but knew the demand would be met only with infuriatingly lazy laughter. He began walking forward, not sure what he planned to do, only wanting to kill the brat…

Daemon flashed him a stunning smile before launching himself off the desk and landing a glancing strike to Dante’s jaw with the fire-imbued gauntlet. The hunter felt something in his neck snap painfully as his teeth went through his cheek, but he managed to stagger and remain on his feet.

His face was singed and his mouth dripping blood, but he ducked Daemon’s next blow and moved to seize his enemy’s legs. Daemon danced lightly out of his reach, still grinning widely as he drove a powerful uppercut into Dante’s stomach.

The hunter vomited blood as the heavy weapon corkscrewed into his flesh, tearing his wounds wide open and knocking the wind out of him. Dropping to his hands and knees, he watched helplessly as crimson poured from his mouth and searing pain raced through him like flame.

The demon seized Dante by the throat, the scalding gauntlets blistering his skin as he was dragged upright and then forced onto his back. He tasted Daemon’s deathly-sweet breath again as the demon kissed him fiercely.

“No expenses were spared for you,” Daemon smiled sweetly as he broke away, licking Dante’s blood from his lips. “Your poor, defeated brother Vergil suffered terribly for the sake of my creation you know,” he added, his eyes glittering with gleeful malice.

“Vergil did…” Dante gasped, barely comprehending as Daemon’s grip on his throat continued to starve his brain of oxygen.

“Of course,” replied the demon as he kneed Dante’s legs apart and settled his body between them. “My master had to find out exactly what weakens Sparda’s blood, what hurts you the most. Very fortunate that you failed to kill your brother on that island, as it allowed him to serve another purpose. I wonder if you taste the same as he did? If you feel the same inside…?”

Through the haze of asphyxiation, Daemon’s words finally penetrated Dante’s senses. Vergil? He had been alive after Mallet? His mouth worked soundlessly as he stared wide-eyed up at the demon hovering happily above his face.

Daemon saw him attempting to speak and loosened his grip enough to let a few words slip out:

“Vergil… is alive…?” Dante whispered.

Daemon laughed. “You were probably wondering why I’ve told you all this,” he said, cocking his head slightly to the side. “No doubt you wondered why I was so talkative—”

“That’s right, you… fucking… don’t shut up,” Dante growled, his voice still broken by the pressure against his neck. “But now you’re going to say you either don’t know, you killed him, or you won’t tell me.” Daemon’s hold was relaxing; Dante felt his voice growing stronger. “Not that I could trust you anyway…”

Daemon smiled tenderly, his cold eyes crinkling at the corners. He released Dante’s neck and moved his gauntleted hands to the hunter’s shoulders. “For all your lack of finesse, you’re absolutely right,” he murmured, apparently admiring the red welts Ifrit had left on his prey’s throat. “I’m not going to tell you. But,” he added, “I also have not lied to you yet, and I don’t intend to. So in spite of what you think, you actually can trust me.”

Dante laughed mirthlessly. “Vergil’s blood is the same color as mine,” he said. “You haven’t seen it, or you wouldn’t have asked what shade mine was…”

Daemon looked positively delighted as he threw back his head and laughed, his poisonously smooth voice echoing around the room. “Actually…” he drawled deliberately, “his was much darker. Taint of evil… and such. I’m sure you understand.”

Dante hissed, and in spite of himself, he believed Daemon.

This demon was like none he had ever encountered before, and it boggled his mind. Had he really been created by Mundus, like Trish? Was he just a puppet or did he have a twisted will of his own? Did he…

Dante cried out in sensitized agony as the searing gauntlet claws pierced him, viciously scraping flesh and muscle aside to expose his ribs. Daemon slipped Ifrit off and laid the gauntlets carefully out of his victim’s reach. He extended two talons and dragged them over Dante’s boxers, slicing the fabric neatly to reveal taut, warm skin beneath.

Daemon smiled as Dante shuddered from a combination of pain and shocked humiliation.

“Time for talk is over,” the demon said simply, his wickedly dark eyes boring into Dante’s silver-blue ones. “Now I deliver a little favor from my master… who sends his sincerest regards from Hell.”

~ Part III FIN ~