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The Devils Cry Part 2-4
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.
The castle courtyard formed in front of her, seeming to dissolve in reverse. She was standing in the courtyard by the fountain again, and the woman was there, sitting on its rim. Like before, she was crying into her hands. Like before, she faded from sight as the sky above darkened, and the screaming began. Soon the screams faded, leaving Alastair standing in the courtyard as an ominous rumbling from somewhere below her feet filled her ears, her heart filling with foreboding.
Alastair sat up in bed, cursing fluently in every language she knew, human and demonic. That damn dream again! Snarling, she fought the urge to punch the headboard. She had already had to replace it once, a year ago, when she punched it and split it down the middle, and she didn’t want to shell out another $200 for another one.
Reaching over to her right, she opened her nightstand drawer and pulled out a small spiral bound notebook that had lain untouched for the past year. A year before, she had begun recording the dreams of the mysterious castle, so she could more easily analyze them and hopefully figure out what they were trying to tell her. She had hoped to never need the little notebook again, but it seemed that she was going to be harassed by the dreams once again. Damn, and she was really enjoying being able to sleep through the night uninterrupted. Making sure to leave nothing out, she wrote down the dream, making a note in the margin that it was like the earlier ones that she had seen back when they had first started. A few minutes later, satisfied that she had it all down, she put the notebook back and laid back down, fully intending to go back to sleep.
It did not appear to be happening though.
“Why are you here?” he asked softly, startling her. His voice was hoarse, reminding her of the damage that had no doubt been done to his vocal chords during years of screaming. She turned away from him and began to inspect her dad’s glass collection on the shelves behind the bar.
“Couldn’t sleep.” she replied “What about you?”
“I couldn’t either. Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“Dreams. Did you have another nightmare?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a bad one?”
He sighed. “No worse than usual.” He filled his glass, and, instead of drinking it himself, he sent it sliding across the bar to her. She caught it and looked at him with a questioning look.
“It’s what you came down here for, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded hesitantly and took a sip, which caused her to cough and sputter. Gods, this stuff was strong! How could he stand to drink this so easily and in such a large quantity? She was three quarter demon, and she could only stand a sip or two at one time! She knew what it was, of course, Lerkahm, demon alcohol. The alcohol content in Lerkahm was strong enough to put down a full demon after only a few glasses.
And her uncle was knocking it back like it was water.
“Where did you get the Lerkahm?” she asked.
“Your father had a few bottles stashed away, which our father had put down years ago. I went looking for them, and I found them.”
“How much of it have you drank?” She was afraid to know the answer for some reason. Vergil picked up the half gallon bottle and eyed the fluid level inside.
“About half of this bottle.” he replied.
“What do you mean ‘this’ bottle?”
“This is the second bottle.” he said casually.
“WHAT?!” Vergil cringed at Alastair’s outburst. She paid him no mind. “Are you crazy? Don’t you realized what that stuff can do to you? It was intended for full demons, not half breeds! Are you out to kill yourself or something? What is wrong with you?”
Vergil curled up in on himself, cringing away from his niece’s words, knowing that she was right.
“Maybe I am out to kill myself.” he said quietly “What purpose do I really serve here?”
Alastair stopped in mid rant when his words fell upon her ears. She immediately felt like an idiot for saying all of that to him. She knew that his mind was in a fragile state, and she had attacked him without thinking of what she was saying first.
“I’m sorry.” she said quietly.
“Don’t be. You speak nothing but the truth.”
“Still, I -”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Alastair. It hurts to think about it, but I am losing my mind, I’m sure. Besides, I suppose that I do have a death wish. I haven’t been happy in years, not since Father disappeared forty-eight years ago.”
“Can you remember?”
Vergil shook his head. “Not really, but some things come through every now and then. I remember that Father and I were very close when I was a child, but when he left I just... I...” He shook his head again. “I was never truly happy again.”
“You must have really loved him.”
“I did. Dante was always closer to our mother, but I was our father’s child. I was angry at him for leaving us, for not being there to protect me when Luxian came to the castle.” He closed his eyes for a moment. Then with another sigh, he stood up and reached up and under the bar to get another glass. He sat back down and grabbed the half full bottle of Lerkahm. Alastair’s eyes widened, then she darted forward and snatched it out of his hand. The sudden movement startled him so badly that he fell off of his stool and landed on the bare wood floor with a barely audible crack. He whimpered as the landing jostled his mistreated body, feeling the crack as his upper arm broke cleanly in two. He clutched in with his other hand, biting his lip to keep from crying out. It was just a broken bone. He’d had worse in the Underworld. He would survive this too.
Alastair hurried over to him, but he only cringed again, which stopped her in her tracks.
“I’ll be right back.” she said softly before leaving the room. He didn’t seem to hear her.
Once she was out of his line of sight, she broke into a run, running out of the kitchen and back up the stairs and down the hall to her brother’s room. She didn’t care if he was asleep; his father needed him.
Vergil sat on the floor, cradling his injured arm, biting his lip to keep from crying. He didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt. He wondered briefly who Alastair had gone to get and hoped that it wasn’t Dante. He didn’t think he could deal with his brother right now. His twin didn’t seem to be able to understand why Vergil acted the way he did, like he didn’t want to understand. Weakness was something that Dante seemed completely unfamiliar with. He bit harder down on his lip and let out an involuntary whimper as pain flared in his arm. Tears pooled in his eyes, and he fought to keep them from falling. He had already let his brother see him cry once before, and he was determined not to do it again. He heard footsteps running towards him, and he hastily wiped the tears away with his other hand and shifted around so his back was to the doorway. He did not wish to see the disgust on his brother’s face.
“Father?” It was his son’s voice that fell on his ears, and he held back a sigh of relief. “Father, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” he managed to reply “It’s just a broken arm.”
“Just a broken arm? How did you manage to do that?”
“I fell off of the stool.”
“I scared him.” Alastair said quietly by way of explanation.
“Here, let me help you up.” the younger Vergil said softly “Then I can heal you.”
“Alright.”
Vergil felt his son grasp him under his arms and slowly pull him to his feet. He was guided over to a stool and pushed down onto it. He closed his eyes as his broken arm was gently manipulated back into place, and he soon felt his son’s power flowing into his arm, healing the break in a few moments.
“Does that feel better?”
Vergil nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
Luxian paced back and forth in the library, his father’s library. He was furious, at Mundus, at Sparda, and worst of all, at his own father. He knew that Talthos could not help his helplessness, but it angered him all the same that he, Luxian, was the one who had to care for his father in his weakened state. The elder demon couldn’t even hold his head up! Talthos knew why his father was so weak; it was that power suppressing collar they had locked around his neck as soon as he began to wake. If his power was allowed to flow freely, then he would recover much faster; he probably would have been back to full strength already. But Lord Mundus did not want Talthos to have his power at his disposal, so the Dark Emperor had insisted that Talthos wear the collar, so now, three weeks after he had awoken, he was as weak and as helpless as he had been the day that he had woke. It killed Luxian to see his father in such a state, so he only went to check on him once or twice a day. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that insisted that, by not paying proper attention to his father’s needs, he was making him suffer more. Really, Talthos didn’t need that much attention, only two baths a day, due to his inability to control his bodily functions, a few meals, and the occasional change of clothes. Nothing really.
At least that’s what Luxian tried to tell himself.
There was another reason why he was angry at his father, which had to do with why the elder demon was brought out of stasis to begin with. Two millennia ago, after Sparda’s defection and Talthos forced placement in stasis, Luxian had asked Mundus what was to become of the Sparda line, if it was to be completely destroyed. Mundus had smiled at Luxian and informed him that, when the time was right, he would be allowed to marry and father children so the family may continue. Luxian had clung to that promise for the next 2,000 years. During that time, as he tended to his sleeping father, he had wondered why Talthos had been put under to begin with. Had Lord Mundus been afraid that his foremost general would rebel as well? Had what he told Luxian been true, and there was the threat of Sparda killing his father? Or had it been something else?
It was that something else that worried Luxian. The idea of Mundus’ real reason for putting Talthos is stasis was something that Luxian had not wanted to think about, but the idea would not leave him. Talthos was powerful, one of the most powerful demons ever born. Any children that he would father would most certainly inherit that power, a fact that was proven by Sparda, Luxian, and their sister Areceli. If Mundus could gain control of any of those children...
Luxian had always stopped his thoughts from going in that direction, as they inevitably led to the idea that Sparda may have had good reason for rebelling. Everytime that entered his head, he would crush it, and then spend the next several minutes convincing himself that Sparda had just been an arrogant, human loving fool who had turned his back on his family and murdered his own mother and sister. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that asked what reason would Sparda have to murder his mother and sister to begin with. That bastard hadn’t needed a reason. He just wanted to destroy his family for the fun of it.
Snarling in sudden rage, Luxian spun around and punched the wall. He knew full damn well why his father had been revived. Mundus was planning to breed Talthos so he could bring the Sparda family back under his control, like he had tried with Larcersa. He would force Talthos to mate with a demon of his own choosing, and the child born of the forced union would be taken and brought up by Mundus, so he could bend it to his ideals. Though Luxian was uncertain why his master was willing to wait the many centuries it would take for a child to grow old enough and powerful enough to do any good. There were many things that could go wrong while the child was growing. Luxian saw the entire thing as an waste of time and a unnecessary risk. He was reminded sharply of why Talthos had described Mundus as a spoiled child; he was irrational, demanding, and petty. Of course that led him into thoughts of why he was angry at his father again.
A warning tingle from the wards alerted him to the presence of someone at the door. Shoving his angry thoughts aside, he left the library and went downstairs to greet his visitor, which turned out to be a messenger of Mundus, summoning him to the throne room at once. He thought briefly about going to his parents’ room and informing his father that he was leaving, but decided against it. Talthos would be fine. The messenger departed and Luxian followed, wondering what Lord Mundus wanted.
Luxian rose to his feet, swallowing nervously. Mundus was not going to be happy with him after this report.
“My father is not recovering, my lord.”
“And care to tell me why not?” Mundus growled, his eyes narrowing in anger.
“It is that collar that was placed on him. His powers are completely repressed, and for that reason he must recover at a human rate.”
“That rebellious traitor! I will not have him defying me! Luxian, that collar is only to keep him under control. It will not slow his recovery. He is stalling to keep from having to participate in my grand scheme. Tell him to cease this stupidity, or he will suffer my wrath! You are dismissed.”
Luxian nodded his understanding and bowed out of the throne room, thinking that Mundus was what would the humans call it? Melodramatic? Yes, that was it, melodramatic.
Once the throne room doors were shut behind him, he started back for Lar’cincel, intending to convey the warning to his father, but his feet began to carry him in an entirely different direction. He was surprised when he realized just where he was going, but he supposed that he shouldn’t be. He always went this way when he needed to relieve some stress. He followed the twisting path down to the lowermost levels of the Underworld, a path that, a year before, Vergil Sparda had followed as he contemplated his escape. Vergil had not known that there were levels lower than the one he had been on. The Forgotten Levels, they had been called that for the simple reason that those locked in the cells on those levels were forgotten about, with no hope of ever seeing the outside again. It was to these levels, reserved for the traitors and those that had failed, that Luxian descended.
There was one cell, far removed from the others that he was going to. It’s solitary door was partially overgrown by the fleshy substance that made up this part of the Underworld, a testament to how little it was opened. Luxian approached it and reached for the door latch, the fleshy substance retracting from his touch. Despite its disuse, the door swung open silently, causing a wave of stale air to roll out to greet him. Stepping into the room, he shut the door behind him and waited for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the near total darkness inside.
Once they had, he could see a small human figure slumped against the right wall, held there by wrists that were shackled directly to the wall. The legs were crossed and the head was leaning forward resting on the chest. He stepped closer, stopping to stand directly in front of the still figure. He could not see the person breathing and thought for a brief moment that the man was dead. But the sound of shallow breaths and a failing heartbeat fell on his ears when he really listened, and he wasn’t sure if was relieved that he wasn’t dead or angered that he was still alive.
“Father is awake now.” Luxian said, wondering if this would be what brought the man out of the stupor that he had been in for the past several years. He was disappointed as the figure did not move or show any signs of acknowledgment.
“Your brat tried to escape from us last year. He was recaptured and killed for his efforts.” It was a lie, true, but the person shackled to the wall, who again, didn’t respond, didn’t know that.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” he demanded, getting angry at the silence.
Luxian hated this. He hated coming down here and gloating to the still figure. At one time the man had railed and cried over what he was told, but years ago, he had lapsed into silence and had not made a sound since. Then a few months before the half breed had escaped them, he had stopped moving, not even moving to try and protect himself during his occasional beatings. He had lain in a catatonic state ever since.
Snarling, Luxian kicked him. The man made no sound, not even a whimper.
“Why don’t you say something!” Luxian screamed “Why won’t you move? Did we finally break you, or is this your way of ignoring us!” He kicked the person again. “Answer me, damn it!”
Nothing.
Snarling in rage, Luxian turned away from the figure and walked out of the dark, tiny cell, fighting to control his temper as he went. He couldn’t think clearly if he was angry. He couldn’t find a solution to his problem if he couldn’t think clearly. He strode back to Lar’cincel, ignoring everything and everyone around him as he went. He needed the quiet of the library so he could calm himself. Besides, his father was more than likely in need of a bath and a change of clothes, as well as being quite hungry.
Back in the dark cell, powder blue eyes glittered dangerously.
Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5
Back to the Archive
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.
4.
The castle courtyard formed in front of her, seeming to dissolve in reverse. She was standing in the courtyard by the fountain again, and the woman was there, sitting on its rim. Like before, she was crying into her hands. Like before, she faded from sight as the sky above darkened, and the screaming began. Soon the screams faded, leaving Alastair standing in the courtyard as an ominous rumbling from somewhere below her feet filled her ears, her heart filling with foreboding.
*****
Alastair sat up in bed, cursing fluently in every language she knew, human and demonic. That damn dream again! Snarling, she fought the urge to punch the headboard. She had already had to replace it once, a year ago, when she punched it and split it down the middle, and she didn’t want to shell out another $200 for another one.
Reaching over to her right, she opened her nightstand drawer and pulled out a small spiral bound notebook that had lain untouched for the past year. A year before, she had begun recording the dreams of the mysterious castle, so she could more easily analyze them and hopefully figure out what they were trying to tell her. She had hoped to never need the little notebook again, but it seemed that she was going to be harassed by the dreams once again. Damn, and she was really enjoying being able to sleep through the night uninterrupted. Making sure to leave nothing out, she wrote down the dream, making a note in the margin that it was like the earlier ones that she had seen back when they had first started. A few minutes later, satisfied that she had it all down, she put the notebook back and laid back down, fully intending to go back to sleep.
It did not appear to be happening though.
Snarling again, she threw back the covers and went downstairs to the dining room. She could use a little splash of something alcoholic right now. Heading downstairs, she went through the kitchen and into the dining room and saw her uncle sitting alone at the bar that occupied one end of the room, staring off into space. Moving quietly so not to startle him, she went up and sat down a few stools away from him, using his preoccupation to study him closely.
He was thin, that she saw right away. He looked no healthier than he had when he had come to live with him about ten months ago. He was still very pale, and his eyes and cheeks were sunk in. His eyes were ringed with shadows, and his hair was still very thin. He picked up his glass, which was full of some amber liquid, and knocked it back in one gulp. When he did so, she noticed that his hands were shaking.
“Why are you here?” he asked softly, startling her. His voice was hoarse, reminding her of the damage that had no doubt been done to his vocal chords during years of screaming. She turned away from him and began to inspect her dad’s glass collection on the shelves behind the bar.
“Couldn’t sleep.” she replied “What about you?”
“I couldn’t either. Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“Dreams. Did you have another nightmare?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a bad one?”
He sighed. “No worse than usual.” He filled his glass, and, instead of drinking it himself, he sent it sliding across the bar to her. She caught it and looked at him with a questioning look.
“It’s what you came down here for, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded hesitantly and took a sip, which caused her to cough and sputter. Gods, this stuff was strong! How could he stand to drink this so easily and in such a large quantity? She was three quarter demon, and she could only stand a sip or two at one time! She knew what it was, of course, Lerkahm, demon alcohol. The alcohol content in Lerkahm was strong enough to put down a full demon after only a few glasses.
And her uncle was knocking it back like it was water.
“Where did you get the Lerkahm?” she asked.
“Your father had a few bottles stashed away, which our father had put down years ago. I went looking for them, and I found them.”
“How much of it have you drank?” She was afraid to know the answer for some reason. Vergil picked up the half gallon bottle and eyed the fluid level inside.
“About half of this bottle.” he replied.
“What do you mean ‘this’ bottle?”
“This is the second bottle.” he said casually.
“WHAT?!” Vergil cringed at Alastair’s outburst. She paid him no mind. “Are you crazy? Don’t you realized what that stuff can do to you? It was intended for full demons, not half breeds! Are you out to kill yourself or something? What is wrong with you?”
Vergil curled up in on himself, cringing away from his niece’s words, knowing that she was right.
“Maybe I am out to kill myself.” he said quietly “What purpose do I really serve here?”
Alastair stopped in mid rant when his words fell upon her ears. She immediately felt like an idiot for saying all of that to him. She knew that his mind was in a fragile state, and she had attacked him without thinking of what she was saying first.
“I’m sorry.” she said quietly.
“Don’t be. You speak nothing but the truth.”
“Still, I -”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Alastair. It hurts to think about it, but I am losing my mind, I’m sure. Besides, I suppose that I do have a death wish. I haven’t been happy in years, not since Father disappeared forty-eight years ago.”
“Can you remember?”
Vergil shook his head. “Not really, but some things come through every now and then. I remember that Father and I were very close when I was a child, but when he left I just... I...” He shook his head again. “I was never truly happy again.”
“You must have really loved him.”
“I did. Dante was always closer to our mother, but I was our father’s child. I was angry at him for leaving us, for not being there to protect me when Luxian came to the castle.” He closed his eyes for a moment. Then with another sigh, he stood up and reached up and under the bar to get another glass. He sat back down and grabbed the half full bottle of Lerkahm. Alastair’s eyes widened, then she darted forward and snatched it out of his hand. The sudden movement startled him so badly that he fell off of his stool and landed on the bare wood floor with a barely audible crack. He whimpered as the landing jostled his mistreated body, feeling the crack as his upper arm broke cleanly in two. He clutched in with his other hand, biting his lip to keep from crying out. It was just a broken bone. He’d had worse in the Underworld. He would survive this too.
Alastair hurried over to him, but he only cringed again, which stopped her in her tracks.
“I’ll be right back.” she said softly before leaving the room. He didn’t seem to hear her.
Once she was out of his line of sight, she broke into a run, running out of the kitchen and back up the stairs and down the hall to her brother’s room. She didn’t care if he was asleep; his father needed him.
*****
Vergil sat on the floor, cradling his injured arm, biting his lip to keep from crying. He didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt. He wondered briefly who Alastair had gone to get and hoped that it wasn’t Dante. He didn’t think he could deal with his brother right now. His twin didn’t seem to be able to understand why Vergil acted the way he did, like he didn’t want to understand. Weakness was something that Dante seemed completely unfamiliar with. He bit harder down on his lip and let out an involuntary whimper as pain flared in his arm. Tears pooled in his eyes, and he fought to keep them from falling. He had already let his brother see him cry once before, and he was determined not to do it again. He heard footsteps running towards him, and he hastily wiped the tears away with his other hand and shifted around so his back was to the doorway. He did not wish to see the disgust on his brother’s face.
“Father?” It was his son’s voice that fell on his ears, and he held back a sigh of relief. “Father, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” he managed to reply “It’s just a broken arm.”
“Just a broken arm? How did you manage to do that?”
“I fell off of the stool.”
“I scared him.” Alastair said quietly by way of explanation.
“Here, let me help you up.” the younger Vergil said softly “Then I can heal you.”
“Alright.”
Vergil felt his son grasp him under his arms and slowly pull him to his feet. He was guided over to a stool and pushed down onto it. He closed his eyes as his broken arm was gently manipulated back into place, and he soon felt his son’s power flowing into his arm, healing the break in a few moments.
“Does that feel better?”
Vergil nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“Let’s get you back up to bed. You don’t need to be staying up all night like this. Rachel said that you wouldn’t get better if you didn’t get your rest.”
He thought about protesting. He wasn’t a child that needed to be taken care of, but he decided that it just wasn’t worth the energy that he would expend doing it. He didn’t make a sound as he was slowly escorted out of the dining room and upstairs to bed.
*****
Luxian paced back and forth in the library, his father’s library. He was furious, at Mundus, at Sparda, and worst of all, at his own father. He knew that Talthos could not help his helplessness, but it angered him all the same that he, Luxian, was the one who had to care for his father in his weakened state. The elder demon couldn’t even hold his head up! Talthos knew why his father was so weak; it was that power suppressing collar they had locked around his neck as soon as he began to wake. If his power was allowed to flow freely, then he would recover much faster; he probably would have been back to full strength already. But Lord Mundus did not want Talthos to have his power at his disposal, so the Dark Emperor had insisted that Talthos wear the collar, so now, three weeks after he had awoken, he was as weak and as helpless as he had been the day that he had woke. It killed Luxian to see his father in such a state, so he only went to check on him once or twice a day. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that insisted that, by not paying proper attention to his father’s needs, he was making him suffer more. Really, Talthos didn’t need that much attention, only two baths a day, due to his inability to control his bodily functions, a few meals, and the occasional change of clothes. Nothing really.
At least that’s what Luxian tried to tell himself.
There was another reason why he was angry at his father, which had to do with why the elder demon was brought out of stasis to begin with. Two millennia ago, after Sparda’s defection and Talthos forced placement in stasis, Luxian had asked Mundus what was to become of the Sparda line, if it was to be completely destroyed. Mundus had smiled at Luxian and informed him that, when the time was right, he would be allowed to marry and father children so the family may continue. Luxian had clung to that promise for the next 2,000 years. During that time, as he tended to his sleeping father, he had wondered why Talthos had been put under to begin with. Had Lord Mundus been afraid that his foremost general would rebel as well? Had what he told Luxian been true, and there was the threat of Sparda killing his father? Or had it been something else?
It was that something else that worried Luxian. The idea of Mundus’ real reason for putting Talthos is stasis was something that Luxian had not wanted to think about, but the idea would not leave him. Talthos was powerful, one of the most powerful demons ever born. Any children that he would father would most certainly inherit that power, a fact that was proven by Sparda, Luxian, and their sister Areceli. If Mundus could gain control of any of those children...
Luxian had always stopped his thoughts from going in that direction, as they inevitably led to the idea that Sparda may have had good reason for rebelling. Everytime that entered his head, he would crush it, and then spend the next several minutes convincing himself that Sparda had just been an arrogant, human loving fool who had turned his back on his family and murdered his own mother and sister. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind that asked what reason would Sparda have to murder his mother and sister to begin with. That bastard hadn’t needed a reason. He just wanted to destroy his family for the fun of it.
Snarling in sudden rage, Luxian spun around and punched the wall. He knew full damn well why his father had been revived. Mundus was planning to breed Talthos so he could bring the Sparda family back under his control, like he had tried with Larcersa. He would force Talthos to mate with a demon of his own choosing, and the child born of the forced union would be taken and brought up by Mundus, so he could bend it to his ideals. Though Luxian was uncertain why his master was willing to wait the many centuries it would take for a child to grow old enough and powerful enough to do any good. There were many things that could go wrong while the child was growing. Luxian saw the entire thing as an waste of time and a unnecessary risk. He was reminded sharply of why Talthos had described Mundus as a spoiled child; he was irrational, demanding, and petty. Of course that led him into thoughts of why he was angry at his father again.
A warning tingle from the wards alerted him to the presence of someone at the door. Shoving his angry thoughts aside, he left the library and went downstairs to greet his visitor, which turned out to be a messenger of Mundus, summoning him to the throne room at once. He thought briefly about going to his parents’ room and informing his father that he was leaving, but decided against it. Talthos would be fine. The messenger departed and Luxian followed, wondering what Lord Mundus wanted.
When he reached the throne room doors inside the central heart chamber, the two guards snapped to attention and opened the doors without saying a word. Luxian stepped into the false brightness of the throne room, wondering why the Lord of the Underworld chose to have his throne room mimic human architecture. He stepped up to the dais and kneeled, bowing his head.
Luxian rose to his feet, swallowing nervously. Mundus was not going to be happy with him after this report.
“My father is not recovering, my lord.”
“And care to tell me why not?” Mundus growled, his eyes narrowing in anger.
“It is that collar that was placed on him. His powers are completely repressed, and for that reason he must recover at a human rate.”
“That rebellious traitor! I will not have him defying me! Luxian, that collar is only to keep him under control. It will not slow his recovery. He is stalling to keep from having to participate in my grand scheme. Tell him to cease this stupidity, or he will suffer my wrath! You are dismissed.”
Luxian nodded his understanding and bowed out of the throne room, thinking that Mundus was what would the humans call it? Melodramatic? Yes, that was it, melodramatic.
Once the throne room doors were shut behind him, he started back for Lar’cincel, intending to convey the warning to his father, but his feet began to carry him in an entirely different direction. He was surprised when he realized just where he was going, but he supposed that he shouldn’t be. He always went this way when he needed to relieve some stress. He followed the twisting path down to the lowermost levels of the Underworld, a path that, a year before, Vergil Sparda had followed as he contemplated his escape. Vergil had not known that there were levels lower than the one he had been on. The Forgotten Levels, they had been called that for the simple reason that those locked in the cells on those levels were forgotten about, with no hope of ever seeing the outside again. It was to these levels, reserved for the traitors and those that had failed, that Luxian descended.
There was one cell, far removed from the others that he was going to. It’s solitary door was partially overgrown by the fleshy substance that made up this part of the Underworld, a testament to how little it was opened. Luxian approached it and reached for the door latch, the fleshy substance retracting from his touch. Despite its disuse, the door swung open silently, causing a wave of stale air to roll out to greet him. Stepping into the room, he shut the door behind him and waited for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the near total darkness inside.
Once they had, he could see a small human figure slumped against the right wall, held there by wrists that were shackled directly to the wall. The legs were crossed and the head was leaning forward resting on the chest. He stepped closer, stopping to stand directly in front of the still figure. He could not see the person breathing and thought for a brief moment that the man was dead. But the sound of shallow breaths and a failing heartbeat fell on his ears when he really listened, and he wasn’t sure if was relieved that he wasn’t dead or angered that he was still alive.
“Father is awake now.” Luxian said, wondering if this would be what brought the man out of the stupor that he had been in for the past several years. He was disappointed as the figure did not move or show any signs of acknowledgment.
“Your brat tried to escape from us last year. He was recaptured and killed for his efforts.” It was a lie, true, but the person shackled to the wall, who again, didn’t respond, didn’t know that.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” he demanded, getting angry at the silence.
Luxian hated this. He hated coming down here and gloating to the still figure. At one time the man had railed and cried over what he was told, but years ago, he had lapsed into silence and had not made a sound since. Then a few months before the half breed had escaped them, he had stopped moving, not even moving to try and protect himself during his occasional beatings. He had lain in a catatonic state ever since.
Snarling, Luxian kicked him. The man made no sound, not even a whimper.
“Why don’t you say something!” Luxian screamed “Why won’t you move? Did we finally break you, or is this your way of ignoring us!” He kicked the person again. “Answer me, damn it!”
Nothing.
Snarling in rage, Luxian turned away from the figure and walked out of the dark, tiny cell, fighting to control his temper as he went. He couldn’t think clearly if he was angry. He couldn’t find a solution to his problem if he couldn’t think clearly. He strode back to Lar’cincel, ignoring everything and everyone around him as he went. He needed the quiet of the library so he could calm himself. Besides, his father was more than likely in need of a bath and a change of clothes, as well as being quite hungry.
It was later, as he was spoon feeding his father, an idea suddenly bloomed behind in his mind, making him smile. He had the perfect solution to his problem.
Talthos, lying on the bed, looking up at his son, and shivered in sudden fear at the cold smile that formed on the younger demon’s face. He knew that this did not bode well for him.
Back in the dark cell, powder blue eyes glittered dangerously.
Chapter 3 -- Chapter 5
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