The Devils Cry Part 2 Chapter 1

[eiahmon]

Title: The Devils Cry Part 2
Author: Eiahmon
Category: Devil May Cry
Rating: PG-13
Submitted on: July 21, 2005
Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and it’s characters and situations are the sole property of Capcom. I am making no money or profit off of this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended. On the other hand all original characters and situations are mine so please don’t run off with them without my knowledge or consent.
Summary: A year after the events in “The Devils Cry”, things in the Sparda family have calmed down, well, as much as possible with them at any rate. But when strange things start happening, including a reappearance of Alastair's dreams of the unknown castle, they realized that they still have a long way to go.
SPOILER WARNING!!!: Spoilers for all three Devil May Cry games.

1.

He was surrounded by darkness, encased in it. It moved and swirled around him, seeming to be oddly liquid for something that seemed so solid. And solid it was, for no matter how hard he tried, he could not break free of it’s tenacious grip on his consciousness. He had struggled and fought against it for such a long stretch of time - he had no idea exactly how long - that he had all but given up hope. It was never going to let him go.

He wouldn’t have minded it so much if it hadn’t been for the fact that he could sometimes hear things going on around him. He could hear voices, words being spoken, and every now and then, the feel of being lifted from wherever he lay and being bathed and dressed before being laid back down again. It was hopelessly boring.

He wished that he had a book to read. Something of Virgil’s would have been nice.
Sometimes, when the sounds around him faded, he would see visions, memories, and dreams of things that he had seen and experienced. Sometimes those memories were happy, sometimes they made him want to cry. He saw his wife and they day they had formed the marriage bonds between them, the day that their firstborn son was born, and that awful day, when he had felt like someone was ripping his soul from his body, like the world had ceased to turn. He saw how he had frantically searched his soul, searching for the link that existed between he and his wife and found only emptiness instead.

“Nakisa! NAKISA!!”

When the memories were bad, like this one, he would struggle desperately to come out of them. Even the boredom of listening to things going on around him was preferable to bad memories.

Worst of all, to him at least, was the feeling that he had not always been this aware. He had the feel that he had woken from a very deep sleep, one that he had been in for an even longer amount of time. And, stranger still, he had the feeling that he was not supposed to awaken yet. So that is why he kept any hint that he might be aware to himself, not wanting to be put back under before he could find out why he had been put this way to begin with. He had to know. So he waited, and listened, no matter how bored he became.

He listened to the voices around him, one he thought he knew, most he didn’t. That was another thing that troubled him, he could not recall and memories of who he was on his own. Only in dreams did he seem to remember things, and those things faded to barely anything once the dream had ended. This whole thing confused him, sometimes making him wish that he could slip back into the easiness of the deeper oblivion, where he saw and remembered nothing. Things certainly much simpler then. But whenever he felt the oblivion reaching up to drag him back under, he fought it, determined to learn what was happening and why he was this way. So far, he had managed to mostly avoid it, with getting dragged under only happening every now and then. But it terrified him when it happened; he feared that, the next time, he might never wake back up.

And that made him ponder something else: what had woken him to begin with? He could sense the magic of the spell that was keeping him down, and it was a powerful spell, so nothing but someone of equal power should have been able to bring him around. That made him wonder where the source of that information was; he couldn’t recall where he had learned that. He knew magic, he was aware of that fact, but he knew that he didn’t have the power to cast or break such a spell. Yet, somehow, it had been broken, though not completely, not enough to allow him to wake up.

 

So he waited, floating somewhere between darkness and light, waiting for the spell to completely break.

Time went by, which he could not measure in his state. He knew that he had been under the spell’s power for quite some time, but he had no idea of the exact amount. Things around him grew quiet for a time.

Then came words, a voice raised in anger.

“....bastard.” He perked his mental ears and listened. ‘You just couldn’t resist coming in here and fouling up this place with you presence could you? You just had to come here. Here, where you father was banned from two millennia ago. You don’t belong here. I should, by all rights, throw you out right now. Others are waiting to take you back where you belong, rotting in a forgotten cell like your father.”

He knew that voice. He knew it, he just couldn’t remember from where.

“My father?’ He didn’t recognize that voice at all. He was immensely curious about what he had just heard, though he was at a loss to understand any of it. He knew that someone - probably the voice that he did not recognize - had come into his room, and the other voice - the one he did recognize - had been angry because of that. That was all he knew.

“You’ve no right to speak to me! Now get out! Don’t you ever cross my path in this tower again, or so Mundus help me I will find a way around the magic in here!”

Now that got his attention. He heard the second person fleeing the room. The owner of the voice he recognized threatened to find a way around the magic in the room. What did that mean? What magic?

Lar’cincel’s wards a voice whispered softly.

Where had that come from?

Your family’s tower…

His mental self did the mind equivalent of looking around wildly, looking for the source of the whispering. He was quite sure that he was alone in here... So where had the voice come from? It wasn’t his voice, he was sure, and he recognized it, but like the earlier voice, he couldn’t place it.

A bit more time passed, and then he felt himself being picked up again. He grumbled inwardly. He was going to be bathed and dressed again, and he would have to listen to the familiar voice droning on and on. It was worse than lying around bored. He felt himself being carried into another room, and he could feel the humidity and smell whatever herbs had been placed into the water. He had always like scented herbs - more information that he had no idea where it came from - and this person always used them in his bath water. As his clothes were carefully removed, he heard the person grumbling.

“Little half breed bastard thinks he can come in here and wreck the sanctity of Lar’cincel. No manners, filthy human blood makes him that way. Should have slaughtered them all while they were still young, but noooooo, we couldn’t get past that damn seal. Sparda -“
 

...Sparda?

Your son . the voice whispered again.

“- just had to slam the door in our faces, just had to run out and spoil our blood with the filth of that human whore...”

...human whore?

He felt himself being carefully lowered into the warm, scented water. As the unknown person began washing him, the grumbling stopped. Instead, the person’s voice changed to a more conversational timbre, and he - he thought that it was a he - began chatting along like normal.

“Lord Mundus has me reading this large book that was confiscated from humans a few days ago.” he said “I don’t have the slightest idea why he wants me to read it, since everything in it, is things that we already know about, and as such, is useless to us. You told me once that Mundus could be very immature and childish -”

...I did?

“- and it seems like you were right. He reminds me of a spoiled brat that just has to have everything his way, not matter what. “

One point for the parents! Wait, parents? Where had THAT come from?

He felt water being poured over his head, though the owner of the voice was careful to not let any of it run into his nose or mouth. Fingers massaged his scalp and ran through his hair, which he somehow knew was quite long, and some had never been able to understand why he liked it that way or how he managed to take care of it. More water was poured over his head, and was lifted from the water and wrapped in something.

“Let’s get you dried, dressed, and back into bed, shall we?”

Like he had much choice in the matter. Though sleep was starting to sound appealing, as bored as he was. It wasn’t normal sleep by any means. Instead it was just a brief period where he let his consciousness drift freely. Sometimes he dreamt, sometimes he didn’t. He was a little wary of doing so on a regular basis, fearing that the spell’s power would drag him back under to complete unconsciousness if he wasn’t careful, so he saved it only for moments of extreme boredom.

Tuning out the voice and the sensation of being dried off, he began to drift, slipping into his strange form of sleep, as he was dressed and laid back down. He vaguely heard the owner of the voice leaving the room, but he did hear one last sentence.

“Maybe it’s time for Sparda to be disposed of once and for all.”

He felt a strong current of fear, and a brief moment of panic when those words fell upon his ears. But he had no time to ponder them as his consciousness fled, and he surrendered to sleep. The blackness swallowed him.

******

The blackness began to thin, catching his attention. He ignored it, not ready to wake just yet. He felt tired and wished only to sleep more. He was not ready to spend his hours doing nothing but listening to the sounds of life going on around him, not that there was that many. Other than the one voice, he never heard any sounds to indicate that someone else was nearby.

The liquid darkness began to swirl and slosh. He watched it, suddenly wide awake, wondering what it was doing. He had never seen it do this before, and he was puzzled and a little afraid. He had a feeling that whatever it was doing, it wouldn’t be good for him. He heard a roaring in his ears, not unlike the sound one hears when they come up from deep water, as the darkness around him became lighter and thinner. He could feel a tingling in his mind as the magic that held him down was lifted. He felt a thump, then a shudder in his chest as his heart thudded to life. He felt his powers, long repressed by the magic, surging forward, ready to respond to whatever command he might give. His chest spasmed, and he coughed, taking a deep breath to resume normal breathing. His powers alerted him to the presence of someone in the room with him, two people actually, another demon and...

Something cold clamped around his neck, and his sense of the area around him was choked off as his powers were forced back to wherever they had been during his heavy sleep. He knew somehow that whatever had been put around his neck was responsible for that, and he did not like it. He knew that the best chance for survival in his home was to be as strong as possible, yet he was being forced to be weak and helpless. He only hoped that the owner of the voice would protect him.

His consciousness surged upward, towards the surface of the thinning darkness. He reached out and broke the surface...

He gasped, momentarily panicked as his eyes opened, showing him being in a place that he did not recognize. He was looking up at the ceiling of a room, that seemed unfamiliar to him, though he somehow knew that he had been here several times before. He could see light casting against the ceiling, and he moaned as his eyes ached from the brightness of it. The light dimmed a little, allowing him to open his eyes further and look around at bit. He found that he could barely turn his head, his muscles were too weak. How long had he lain in that magic induced sleep?

He quickly gathered that he was lying on a bed, his muscles completely slack and relaxed, and he knew that if he tried to move, that they would not respond. Someone came within his line of sight, blocking out the ceiling. He saw the face, blurred as it was, had white hair, a pale complexion, and blue eyes. He knew that face...

Luxian...

It seemed the mysterious voice had not left him, still speaking things into his mind. He opened his mouth to speak the name that had been told to him, but all that came out was a raspy cough, that sent his chest into spasms again. The person standing over him carefully pulled him into a sitting position so he could breath a little easier. He leaned weakly into the embrace, trying to catch his breath. A glass of water was held up to his lips, and he drank it greedily. He tried again to say the name.

“Luxian.” It came out as a pained whimper. His throat was so sore from not being used.

“Yes, Father. It’s Luxian.” The voice came from the person who was holding him up.

...Father? I am a father?

“So I see that he does remember some things.” The words were spoken by another, deeper sounding voice nearby. He moved his eyes towards where they had come from and saw another demon sitting there watching with narrowed red eyes. Unlike Luxian, who had a human appearance that looked truly human, this one did not. His hair was black, and it reflected no light. His eyes were a bright fiery red, and his skin was as pale as a corpse’s. No human had such an appearance. He tried to think about who it was, but he couldn’t remember, and the helpful voice was oddly silent this time. The odd looking demon smiled a malevolent smile.
 

“Welcome back, Talthos Sparda.”


-- Chapter 2

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