Domitus

A/N: Alright, I am rapidly becoming a huge Trish fan. And suddenly I am under the strong impression that there is not enough Dante/Trish and Trish/Dante in this yaoi-infested fandom. X3

That aside, I want to note that I really like this chapter. While I have my doubts about the number of people who are actually interested in the plot over the pr0n here, I have to say that I'm having a joyous time fleshing out the characters (namely Daemon and Trish, but Tony and Enzo were highly enjoyable as well). Daemon is finally turning into the character I intended him to be in the first place, which is pleasing. The little mix of petulance, snobbishness, master-devotion, sadism, and naivety. ^^

~ Part V ~

She knew something was amiss as soon as the flickering neon sign came into view. The vague tingling of a damnable but familiar presence spurred her into a run. She slammed the door open so hard it crashed from its hinges, wood splintering and glass shards flying.

A horrific sight met her eyes.

Dante was lying naked and motionless on the floor, his legs splayed and his arms bound above his head. Blood had pooled around his body, crimson blossoming over pale skin.

Trish dropped the boxes with a loud clatter, the .45 caliber shells cascading over the floor as she raced to Dante’s side and lifted his head. For a few horrifying seconds, she thought he was dead; the stiffness of his body and the cold pallor to his cheeks nearly stopped her heart.

“Dante!” she practically screamed in his ear.

“Don’t bother,” drawled a bored voice.

Trish jerked around to face the man seated casually on Dante’s desktop.

Daemon drummed his heel absently against the desk and examined his cuticles. With an ill twinge, Trish noticed that his hands were dyed crimson, his rumpled white shirt splattered with blood. The demon was frowning; he looked almost petulant.

“He has no appreciation for the things that are created especially for him, does he?” Daemon mused, his scowl becoming more prominent.

Trish glared at him incredulously. He was… pouting? She would have laughed if she hadn’t been sick with worry over the limp form of the man in her arms. “You little shit,” she snarled derisively, laying Dante’s head gently back on the floor and moving to stand.

Daemon just looked at her with raised eyebrows. “You’re as bad as he is,” he said, his slow voice registering a trace of surprise. “Or should I say, you’re worse. Is that any way to speak to your own blood… sister?”

Trish gave a harsh laugh. “Oh please,” she snapped. “And I suppose you call Mundus ‘Father’? You’re nothing but an expendable toy.” She flexed her hands as demonic energy crackled at her fingertips.

Daemon laughed, his heavy voice sending little thrills of revulsion down Trish’s spine. “No, Trish,” he said, his tone dripping condescension. “You were the expendable toy. I am the completed masterpiece.”

“You’re a cocky little rat-bastard, that’s what you are,” Trish snarled in reply, her blue eyes blazing. “You know nothing about Mundus, and you know nothing about Dante and me.”

Daemon placed his palms behind him on the desk and leaned back casually. His fractious demeanor had dissolved; cruel amusement took its place. “Quite the contrary,” he smirked. “I probably know more than you do… about our master, Dante, and yourself.”

“There is no our master,” Trish grated. “There’s only you and your blind loyalty to a whipped dog.”

The male demon’s eyes flashed dangerously at her words. He sat up a little straighter. “Why did you betray him? Why did you choose to prostrate yourself before the half-devil when you could have tasted Sparda’s blood instead?” He licked the crook between his thumb and index finger, tenderly lapping up the traces of gore. “It’s sinfully rich, you know. Intoxicating, almost.”

Trish seethed. “He lets me taste it willingly,” she hissed. “Mundus was defeated by Sparda two thousand years ago. It was his fate to be defeated again by Dante. His reign is over.”

Daemon leered at her, and Trish had to marvel for a moment at how purely demonic he was. His naivety was offset by the sheer cruelty in his eyes; he truly was a member of a higher demon class. As much as it pained her to admit it, she feared his strength. After what he had done to Dante… it seemed Mundus’ creationism skills had multiplied tenfold out of vengeance.

A fierce smile curled the young demon’s lips. “Then it is Dante’s fate to be tamed and broken by me,” he grinned, waving a languid hand toward the still figure of the hunter. “Just see how he succumbed.”

“Dante will kill you,” asserted Trish. The confidence in her voice startled even her, and she inwardly cursed herself for doubting the hunter.

“You’re lying. You wish that were true,” Daemon whispered. “I’ve only left him alive this time because toying with the two of you is so enjoyable. Next time though, I won’t be so gracious.” He paused and pursed his lips testily. “Although… I do wish he would sympathize with the trouble that we went to on his behalf. But then again…” –cruel delight flashed in his eyes— “perhaps I haven’t imparted the full magnitude of the matter. Maybe I ought to bring him another guest next time.”

Trish’s eyes narrowed. “Another guest…? You don’t mean Nelo Angelo—?”

Daemon chuckled softly. “Nelo Angelo is dead. He was defeated by Dante, just like you.” He shrugged. “But I doubt my master wants all our secrets divulged at the present.”

Trish stepped over Dante’s body and raised her hands, bright energy crackling along her arms. “Then you’re finished talking.”

Daemon maintained his nonchalant stance, still regarding Trish with some measure of amusement. “I’m finished talking,” he agreed amiably. “But I’m rather tired; raping the devil takes a lot out of one, you know—”

Trish didn’t wait for the demon to finish. She lunged forward, sending branches of demonic lightning sizzling through the air. Daemon vanished in an instant, and she whirled in time to see him reappear in the doorway.

“Coward.” She spat the word like poison. “Fight me!”

Daemon only gave her a brilliant smile. “While that might be amusing, you aren’t my objective,” he shrugged. “Apparently my master was only interested in Sparda’s blood… therefore, that is all that interests me now too. Maybe after Dante has been sufficiently broken I’ll pay you a favor as well.”

Trish took a step forward, but Daemon backed out the door, still grinning. “Goodbye, Trish,” he laughed. “But don’t pine— I’ll return soon. Be sure to give my regards to Dante when he wakes up; no doubt he’ll be bitter, but that just makes it all the sweeter for me.”

The blonde woman raised her arms again, but before she could summon an attack, Daemon was gone.

o-o-o

Someone was yelling in his ear.

Dante groaned. “Shut up,” he mumbled, his eyelids fluttering. He just wanted to sleep…

The person was roughly shaking his shoulders. His eyes snapped open as sharp pain jabbed down his body; he snarled, and one hand flew out to seize the throat of his antagonist.

He stared into Trish’s startled blue eyes. Groaning, he released her quickly and let his head fall back against the floor with a dull thud. “Trish… shit…” Consciousness had reawakened the waves of pain and he gave a dry swallow. “That fucker,” he moaned, raking a shaky hand through his blood-matted hair.

Trish gave him a grim little smile. “Why don’t you just fill his dark soul with light next time?” she suggested.

Dante glared up at her. “You just have to kick me when I’m down, don’t you?” he groaned.

“I know, I know,” Trish sighed apologetically, her face growing serious. “This has become… a major dilemma.”

“You’re telling me,” snorted the hunter, wincing as he tried to sit up. He let out a hoarse gasp as a torrent of fresh blood gushed from the deep wounds in his chest.

Trish gave a startled cry and pushed him gently back down. “Don’t! You’ll die,” she warned.

Dante glowered again. “I won’t die,” he said, but he let Trish ease him back to the floor. As he stared up at the ceiling, bitter memories invaded his senses. He felt a humiliated flush warm his cheeks and he glanced down swiftly; thankfully, Trish had had the decency to lay a sheet over his naked body. Dante sighed and closed his eyes.

He heard Trish get up and her footsteps retreated. After a moment they returned, and she knelt and pulled the sheet back to examine his battered torso. He shuddered and drew a quick breath as she pressed a wet towel to his injured flesh. For a few moments, neither of them spoke; Dante appreciated her reserve. They were in for an uncomfortable conversation, and he used the brief respite to steel himself for it.

Finally Trish asked, “What exactly did he do to you?”

Dante was expecting it, but he grimaced anyway.

“I mean, I can see that he…” she trailed off awkwardly, trying to spare the injured hunter some embarrassment.

“I don’t fucking know,” growled Dante. He gave Trish a glance and added swiftly, “I’m sorry, I mean… I’m not sure how he does it, but it seems he can neutralize the demonic blood.”

Trish nodded knowingly. “I figured that he could. I think it’s just his design. Mundus found a way to incorporate some sort of antidote.” The towel was soaked red with blood and she tossed it carelessly on the floor. Picking up a roll of bandages, she set about messily taping the wounds closed.

Dante had to smile ruefully at her lack of doctoring finesse. “Little bastard sure does rant a lot,” he said.

“Yes, he does,” Trish agreed. “But I wonder how Mundus knows so much about you… true, he was defeated by Sparda’s blood twice, but nothing that you did should give him enough insight to…” She stopped, suddenly recalling Daemon’s odd comment about Nelo Angelo and another guest. “Vergil…” she whispered, more to herself than to the hunter.

Dante’s mouth twisted oddly in some mixture of a bitter smile and a scowl. “Yeah. Vergil. He mentioned Vergil… and how his blood is darker than mine.” He gave a short laugh, utterly devoid of humor. “Of course, he wouldn’t tell me if he’s still alive…”

“He’s…” Trish paused, unsure whether or not to continue. Dante deserved to know that Daemon harbored an inclination to show the hunter his brother’s fate, she was sure of that. However, perhaps he didn’t need to find out at this particular moment.

Dante was watching her. “He’s what?” he asked, his ice-blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.

The blonde woman shook her head and used a small bolt of demonic energy to snip the bandages. She tucked in the ragged ends and leaned back on her heels. “Daemon,” she said, not meeting the hunter’s eyes. “He’s grossly powerful, but he’s young and naive. Something’s gotta give.”

Dante laughed. “I just need to kill him before he can touch me,” he said. “If it weren’t for that goddamned speed, it wouldn’t be difficult…” He let out a long breath and gingerly touched his bandaged chest before sitting up slowly. His demonic blood was ushering the exhaustion back in as it struggled to heal him. “Sorry,” he grunted. “I need to fucking sleep now. Do me a favor…?”

Trish smiled indulgently. “Don’t I always?”

“Dig up the grenade launcher and get Redgrave to make me some custom adhesive rounds… and concussions too, if he’s up for it.”

“Sure, Dante. Oh, speaking of Tony, the rounds for Ebony and Ivory are on your desk.”

He nodded his thanks, and she pulled the wounded hunter to his feet. Draping his arm over her shoulders, she helped him to the cracked leather sofa and eased him down.

As she turned to leave the room, he called her back.

“Trish.”

She paused, halfway up the stairs. “Uh-huh?”

Dante’s eyes were closed. His tousled white hair fell across his face in an innocently childlike fashion. Trish smiled; he looked peaceful for the first time in two endlessly grueling days.

“…Thanks,” he murmured.

~ Part V FIN ~