Pyrrhic Victory

Author’s Notes:

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Capcom and are being used and abused in naughty ways without permission.

Content Warnings: Major abuse, gore, dominance, violent demon rape. Plenty of sickly things to feast on your poor mind. Beware.

Notes: Story takes place during the final Phantom battle in Devil May Cry 1. Comments / Reviews / Flames welcome as always. Tried to be less purple with this... been going overboard with that recently. Thanks to C for the crits on previous fics and special thanks to Ari, who helped me out with a few synonyms and some ending deliberation while I was typing this up (and for some humor involving the magically disappearing baby!Phantoms, heh).

-- PYRRHIC VICTORY --

The crimson-clad hunter strode purposefully across the courtyard through the deepening gloom. He was getting close now… so close. He could taste the dark power quivering in the air. His demonic blood warmed to it and Alastor crackled against his back.

He scaled the courtyard wall with ease and made his way along the ramparts. The sea breeze refreshed him as it wisped locks of white hair across his eyes. As he neared the balcony door, a low tremor beneath his feet made him pause, hand half-raised to the doorknob. There was a sudden explosion in the courtyard below. He raised an arm to shield his eyes as he was showered with dirt and bits of rubble.

Dante yanked Alastor to readiness as a sudden blast of heat seared his face.

“Fleshling! I’ve found you!” a layered voice thundered, its magnitude threatening to burst his eardrums. He leapt backward as the enormous scorpion clawed its way up the parapet, fading sunlight glinting on its carapace. A deadly pincer lashed out at him with speed astonishing for its size. Dante ducked and rolled to the side as it swept over his head, trailing fire in its wake.

He hiked into the air and twirled Alastor’s tip downward, summoning all his strength to drive the blade through his foe’s carapace. The fire scorpion whirled, and Dante had room for one thought —shit!— before it struck out with a barbed leg and swatted him out of the air like a bothersome fly.

The churned soil in the courtyard did little to cushion his fall, and he landed hard on his shoulder. He gasped as he felt bones crack and shatter upon impact, and his fingers immediately went numb around Alastor’s hilt. Still, he managed to pass the blade to his uninjured hand and stagger to his feet as the enemy clattered down from the ramparts above.

Dante’s breath was ragged as he braced unsteady legs, trying to will his demonic blood into healing faster. The Phantom loomed over him, multitudes of glassy red eyes fixed on his prey.

“No more running, fleshling!” that hot voice howled. “This time, I show you the true face of your Hell!”

Dante’s dodge was more of a stumble as the Phantom lashed at him again, this time capturing one ankle between vice-like pincers. Roaring with delight, the fire scorpion yanked his body close, mandibles snapping furiously.

Alastor’s blade glanced harmlessly off his captor’s diamond-hard exoskeleton and Dante cursed loudly as the reverberations sent it skidding from his grasp. Cold dread was coiling in his stomach, and his fingers raked desperate furrows through the dirt as he fought to crawl away.

The demon scorpion’s gleeful laughter rang in Dante’s head as he struggled to suppress his panic. How had he allowed this to happen? He had been so close, too… Hissing angrily, he twisted his body and tried to plant a boot heel into one of those glittering eyes. Instead, he felt another razor-sharp pincer clamp tightly around his thigh, squeezing hard enough to slice through flesh and muscle until it grated against bone.

Dante knew the Phantom was waiting to hear him scream and he clenched his teeth, denying his foe the pleasure of his anguish. Acrid bile rose in his throat and burned terribly as he forced it back down. He groped for Ivory with trembling fingers as the Phantom continued to shred his thigh. If he could just put a few bullets into those eyes, maybe he could…

His own sudden cry of pain startled him; it ripped from his throat almost before he was aware of the lance-like tail stinger that had pierced his belly. The demon’s searing breath scalded his face as cruel laughter washed over him.

“Go ahead, fleshling,” the Phantom growled, orb-like eyes feasting on the blood that was pouring from Dante’s body. “Use that meager little trick of yours. I will crush you.”

Dante glared; his teeth ground so hard his jaw ached. His shoulder had repaired itself, but the Phantom’s barbed stinger was buried between his tissues and organs. His demonic blood was attempting to heal around it, and the writhing sensation was agony like none he’d ever experienced before.

He would die if he didn’t devil trigger…

The transformation ejected the spear from his body. Feeling the wound close almost instantly, he leapt for Alastor and spun to plant the sword between the Phantom’s gaping mandibles before his strength was spent. He snarled in frustrated rage as the demon scorpion skittered backwards, parrying the blade tip with nimble claws.

“You see?” the Phantom goaded as Dante felt the trigger ebb away. “Too weak, human!”

Fierce claws seized him about the throat and dragged him level with the demon. His eyes watered as the flesh on his neck blistered under the heat of those pincers. He could taste blood peppering his tongue, and sneering, he managed to spit it directly onto one of the Phantom’s glassy pupils.

The demon roared, and for a brief moment, Dante was positive the pincers closed on his throat would end his life, severing his head neatly from his body. He smiled vaguely in the face of his own impending death… but the smile faded grimly as he felt the Phantom rake a barbed leg from his chin to his groin, shredding his clothes and splitting the flesh beneath.

If those glossy eyes could have shown emotion, Dante imagined they would be glittering with delighted malice. He shuddered as the Phantom’s suffocating heat caressed his bare skin, offsetting the cool ocean air to his backside. The enormous pincers bit into his ribs and forced him to the ground.

“Too proud, flesh creature,” the demon hissed, pinning him and widening its jaws. Dante could only watch in horror as a veritable army of Phantom hatchlings skittered from the demon’s mouth. They scrambled over his body and clung to his shivering skin, raising burning welts with every contact.

Disgust and hatred were fogging Dante’s vision as the Phantom struck him hard across the face. He tasted blood again as the barbed appendage tore a hole through the thin flesh of his cheek. Several of the tiny scorpions gathered there, pushing into his mouth. They scuttled over his tongue and into his throat, choking him. Their burning, teeming presence inside him was too much; Dante felt vile disgust turn his stomach. He twisted his neck and vomited blood and bile onto the ground, scattering the Phantom hatchlings.

His chest heaved as he tried to exhale the taste of mingled copper and acid. He had never felt so helpless before, and his furious indignity threatened to give way to despair. He was barely aware of the Phantom’s hard appendages working over his body as he bit back tears of frustration. Fuck… he was going to die here, his mother and brother unavenged…

The Phantom had sensed his distraction, and Dante felt his thoughts ripped from him as scalding claws spread his legs. Appendages adorned with razor barbs scraped along his inner thighs, slashing the flesh there to bloody ribbons. They worked their way higher, spreading his legs wider and wider until they reached his clenched entrance. He finally relinquished his dignity and screamed as the massive hardness invaded him, hooked barbs tearing him from the inside out as he was entered.

Eyes wide and streaming, he gasped raggedly as the monster violated his already abused body. The brutal thrusting coupled with scorching heat rent him practically senseless; he thought he would go mad with agony. The Phantom emitted a low rumble that might have been a chuckle, but Dante had descended beyond coherence of such things.

He was going to be raped to death by a fucking demon spider.

The utter ridiculousness of that thought pained him almost as much as the carapaced appendage ravaging his innards. His throat was raw from the bite of stomach acid and harsh cries, and he gasped and sobbed raggedly, fingers clenching and unclenching. Unbidden, something terribly velvet had begun unwinding in his gut— the Phantom was striking a spot deep inside him that sent waves of insuppressible pleasure up his spine. He fought against it as hard as he could, trying to focus on his agony, on the thick blood pooling between his thighs… anything to stifle the humiliated but needy cries that were being wrung from his throat.

The pleasure spot was pounded deeply with one swift, final stroke and Dante screamed as he came, his back arching off the ground, muscles clenching uncontrollably. The cruel voices of defeat whispered in his ears as he struggled to maintain consciousness. His silky hair was lank with perspiration and his body bucked and heaved of its own accord as the Phantom withdrew.

“Such pathetic creatures, humans,” the demon rumbled as Dante’s limp, trembling body was lifted with strong claws. “You’ve worn out your welcome here, fleshling.”

Fighting off the languid haze of agony, Dante glimpsed Alastor’s glittering blade through half-lidded eyes. The Phantom was drinking in the sight of a defeated, broken foe, relishing a victory. Off guard. Unsuspecting.

He gathered the last threads of his strength and triggered, rising forcefully out of his enemy’s grasp. The Phantom roared in surprise and fury as Dante closed clawed talons around Alastor’s hilt. Spreading his own demonic wings into an air raid, he vortexed above the demon scorpion and plunged the crackling blade downward. The strike was driven home with all the hatred and bitterness of a vicious rape and a cruel mind-fucking… it cleaved his enemy’s carapace in two.

Dante fell to the ground as scalding lava showered his naked skin. He felt his cheek strike soft dirt as the Phantom’s wretched howls blessed his ears. The creature’s death throes rattled stone and cracked the earth— Dante rolled to the side in time to escape from plummeting through the hole his foe had smashed through the courtyard floor. On his elbows, he dragged his battered body to the edge and watched with grim satisfaction as the Phantom was impaled upon the statue in the castle hall below. He refused to let his eyes drift closed until the demon had crumbled into a molten pool, finally dissipating in a haze of acrid smoke.

Rolling onto his back, Dante shut his eyes, relishing the cool night breeze on his burnt skin. He finally allowed himself a brief sigh of relief before darkness swam up and claimed him.

Something stirred in the cavernous room far below. A tall woman materialized from the shadows and stood gazing upward, long blonde hair framing her fine features. Bright lips parted in a slight smile as she contemplated the unconscious man who had slipped out of sight in the courtyard above. “Such power…” she whispered. The tip of a tongue appeared and thoughtfully touched a pearl tooth. “Enjoy your stay here, Dante,” she simpered. “There are still greater foes who await a taste of you.”

~ fin ~