The Devils Cry Part 1 Chapter 1

[eiahmon]

Title: The Devils Cry
Game: Devil May Cry
Rating: PG-13
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 daughter’s dreams of a place that Dante doesn’t want to remember make him recall things that he had once tried so hard to forget as the skeletons in the Sparda family closet come out to play. Lost family history is revealed, and people once thought long gone return. 

1.

Alastair ducked and crouched low to the ground, allowing the enormous scissors to swing harmlessly over her head. The breeze they created stirred the hairs that had come loose from her French braid, making her break out in gooseflesh over how come they had come to taking her head off. Trying to ignore the eerie whistling as they sliced through the air where her head had been only seconds before, she waited until the wraith-like Sin Scissors pulled its weapon back up in front of its mask. Then she leapt up from her crouch and bounced up onto the scissors’ blades, causing their owner to lose it’s grip on one of the handles. Taking advantage of the creature’s struggle to hold onto it’s weapon, she air hiked, devil triggered, and brought the Alastor smashing down the floating mask. The Sin Scissors’ death scream echoed in the deserted street as the mask shattered and the scissors went flying. Landing lightly on the ground, Alastair watched as the clouds of black magic that formed the creature’s body dissipated into the air. Hearing a whirring sound above her, she hurriedly rolled to the side to avoid the discarded scissors as they buried their blades in the cracked pavement. Blowing her breath out in annoyance that the damn things had nearly taken her head off twice in less than five minutes, she reverted back into her human form and casually returned Alastor to it’s place on her back.

“Took you long enough.” came a voice from a nearby alley.

“Well exuuuuuse me.” she said haughtily as she spun around in place to face the owner of the voice. She vaguely heard the sound of the scissors shattering behind her.

Dante Sparda strode from the shadows of the alley and into the flickering glarish white light of the streetlamps. The light gave a ghostly cast to his silver white hair and blood red trenchcoat, making them appear to glow. Of course, Alastair thought, the dusky red smoke being put off by the demonic blade that was strapped across his back really helped with the imagery.

He walked up to her, his booted heels clicking against the crumbling pavement, though the sound was so quiet very few would have been able to hear it. Not like there was anyone here to do so, she thought ruefully. The area they were in had been gradually abandoned by humans over the past decade. With the humans gone, the devils, demons, ghost, and ghouls had moved in. Neither Alastair or Dante had a problem with that. Whenever business was slow, she and her father would come here and blow off some steam against some of the lesser devils that dwelled inside the dilapidated buildings.

“You missed an opportunity to finish that fight sooner.” Dante said as he stopped a few feet away from her. He crossed his arms and casually leaned against the nearest lamppost, waiting for her to answer. She frowned, thinking. Had she missed an opportunity somewhere?

Dante watched her think, knowing that she would figure it out in a few minutes. He felt a swift ache in his heart at the look on concentration on her face - a look he’d seen on his father’s face a few times. Alastair had inherited most of her looks from her paternal grandfather, as well as a fair sized chuck of his power. With her trademark Sparda hair (Usually kept in a waist length French braid.) and her ice blue eyes, she was essentially a feminine version of a demon that hadn’t been since a full twenty-five years before her birth.

Like her father she was clad in a trenchcoat, heavy leather gloves, and pants that matched the color of her coat that were tucked into sturdy boots. Unlike him, however, she preferred cotton to his leather and blues and grays to his reds and blacks. Dante remembered with another swift ache that those were the same colors that his late twin brother Vergil had preferred.

After a minute or so, Alastair’s face brightened and the look of concentration on her face was replaced by one of sheepishness.

“When it swung the scissors at me I could have shattered the mask right then.” she said in a voice a little smaller than normal. Dante nodded approvingly.

“Right.” he said, pushing away from the lamppost and coming up to her. “Seize any opening that you can and finish the job quickly.”

“But if I move fast, how will I ever get a chance to be stylish.” Alastair scoffed, looking positively horrified and the idea of not being able to show off.

Dante smirked. “Now what have I told you about showing off?”

Alastair composed her face into the most solemn expression she could muster. “Only show off when you are certain intelligent eyes are watching.” she replied using an equally solemn tone of voice.

Dante smirked again and gave her a fatherly slap on the shoulder. “C’mon squirt, let’s go home.”

“Squirt!” she all but shrieked in protest “I resent that!”

“Of course you do. That’s why I keep using it.”

“I am going to so make you pay for that during our next Dynasty Warriors match.”

“Suuuure you will.”

“Is that a challenge? Because I think I hear a bet coming on.”

“Five bucks.”

“Ten, and it’s a bet.”

“Deal.” They shook on it and began walking in the direction of the corner where their motorcycles were parked.

Though it appeared to most that the two were arguing, the friendly banter that they often engaged in was a welcome release from the rigors on their profession. Alastair knew from what little her father had told her of her grandparents that they had often done the same thing to relieve the tension of their situation. Dante didn’t speak often of his parents, claiming that he couldn’t remember much, though she had her doubts about that. She knew her father had been twelve when his father died, fifteen when his mother died, so he had to remember something. She didn’t push it though, knowing that the deaths of his parents, especially that of his mother, was a painful subject for him.

“What?” he asked, getting a glimpse of the faraway look on his daughter’s face.

“Nothing.” she replied hastily as she checked to make sure her weapons were secure before climbing astride her bike and engaging the kick start. Dante gave her his trademark We’ll-Talk-About-This-Later-Look and climbed astride his own bike.

The hour long ride to their home on the rural outskirts of Washington D. C. was a peaceful one. Just the dark open road, the wind streaming through their clothes and hair, and the sound of rolling thunder. Every now and then, their sensitive noses would pick up a faint whiff of salty air from the nearby Atlantic Ocean. Though they owned a pickup truck, they only used it during the coldest months of the year. Their demon blood made them more resistant to cold than normal humans so they preferred the freedom allowed by the motorcycles all but two months of the year.

They turned off the main highway onto a long gravel road that led deep into the surrounding trees. A solitary mailbox with no name was the only indication that the road led to a house as the treeline was so thick that nothing could be seen through it. And that was how the Spardas liked it.

After a few minutes they came out of the trees and into a several mile wide expanse of open fields. They continued on until they reached their two story house situated on a neatly trimmed one acre lawn. They parked their cycles in the nearby garage and walked up to the front door, drawing their guns as they went. They always entered the house armed and ready to fight, and it had saved them in the past. At least twice before an ambush had been waiting for them inside, hoping to catch them with their guard down.

Making as little noise as possible, Dante calmly unlocked the door, reaching out with his demonic senses to feel for any unwanted guests that might be lying in wait inside. He could feel Alastair behind him, reaching out with her senses as well. Feeling nothing, he glanced over his shoulder at her, and she nodded at him, informing him that she hadn’t felt anything either. Easing the door open, he reached inside and flipped the switch that turned on all the lights in the house at once. It was a helpful little feature that he had put in after he had moved back in, and it made it impossible for anything inside to hide in the shadows. The pair stepped inside and did a thorough room by room search of the house. Only after they had searched every nook and cranny and found nothing did they relax.

They went downstairs to the living room where they laid their weapons across the coffee table and set to work cleaning them.

“So what are you gonna cook us to eat?” Dante asked as he wiped the blood and gore off of the blade of the Sparda.

“Me?” Alastair countered “Why don’t you?”

Dante snorted. “Be real. You know that my cooking is atrocious.”

“If one can call that cooking. How many times did I get food poisoning from your so called ‘cooking’? Honestly, didn’t Aunt Rachel even attempt to teach you how to cook?”

“Oh she tried alright.” Dante grinned. “But after I had set the kitchen on fire on three separate occasions, she gave up on me. Threatened me with the wooden spoon if she ever caught me near the stove after that.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch is right.”

“Well if I’m cooking, that means I get the first shower.”

“Only if you get your weapons cleaned first.”

“What? You wanna race?”

He smirked at her. “You’re on.”

They set to work with renewed fervor, and their impromptu race ended with Dante climbing the stairs to the upstairs bathroom, chuckling quite merrily. Grumbling to herself about cheating fathers that had fewer weapons to clean, Alastair finished cleaning her pistols (Luce and Ombra) and put them away. She wiped the rest of the gore from Alastor’s blade and returned it to it’s place on the wall beneath Sparda. Then she went into the kitchen to scare up some food. She looked up at the kitchen ceiling, directly above which was the upstairs bathroom. Grinning evilly, she walked over to the kitchen sink and turned the hot water on full blast. She smirked up at the sounds of her father hooting and hollering and jumping out of the shower to escape the suddenly frigid water.

“ALASTAIR EVA SPARDA!!” came his enraged shout. “YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT!!!” Smiling serenely, she turned the hot water off and turned her attention to cooking something to eat.

She fried up some hamburgers and fires and was cutting up onions and tomatoes when her father sauntered into the kitchen, toweling his hair dry.

She set the plates of burgers and fries on the table and set out the onions, lettuce, and tomatoes. She then went over to the fridge, gathered up the mustard, ketchup, and two Pepsi’s before returning to the table and sitting down.

“You did that on purpose.” he growled, piling lettuce and onions on his hamburger. She looked at him innocently.

“Why Father dear, I’m offended that you would accuse me of such a devious scheme.”

“Devious my ass, that was revenge plain and simple for losing the race earlier.”

She smirked at him. “That’s what you get for irritating the cook.”

Dante paused as he went to bite into his hamburger. Peeling back the bun, he peered suspiciously at the meat, and his eyes flicked over to her.

“Don’t worry.” she said hastily “I didn’t do anything to it. I’ve got my revenge.” She bit into her own hamburger to prove her sincerity. With one last suspicious glance, Dante dug into his food.

They ate in silence after that, with only an occasional mumbled compliment from Dante about the food. They each polished off three burgers and the entire stack of fries, and as they were cleaning up Dante said:

“Why don’t you go ahead and grab a shower and hit the sack. I’ll finish up here.”

“Fine with me.” Alastair gave him a quick squeeze, which he returned. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

He chuckled. “Or afternoon.”

She stretched up and gave him a peck on the cheek, then went upstairs to take a long hot shower. Too tired to wait for her hair to dry, she willed the water out of it, pulled it back into it’s usual braid and, climbed into bed. She sank under the blankets with a contented sigh and closed her eyes.…

...and opened them to find herself in a small courtyard. She looked around and found that the courtyard was in the center of a small castle. A large fountain surrounded by manicured flowers and bushes sat in the center. Four large open rooms surrounded the area. The area was beautiful, filled with a sense of peace. As she watched though, the sense of peace fled, leaving her with a sense of foreboding. She looked up at the sky to see it go from a clear cloudless blue to the purple of twilight, and then to the black of night. The courtyard was filled with a feeling of righteous anger - anger that turned to despair.

Clouds formed and collected overhead, swirling in a gathering storm. Lightning flashed nearby, temporarily blinding her, and over the roar of the thunder, she could hear a woman screaming, accompanied by the cries of frightened children. One of the children’s voices sounded vaguely familiar to her. The area suddenly fell silent as the sky lightened to a dull gray. The fountain stopped flowing as weeds chocked out the flowers. Broken glass and fallen stones littered the courtyard, and the entire area took on a feeling of quiet neglect. Still she could feel an ominous rumbling from somewhere beneath the castle..…

She sat straight up in bed, biting back a scream. She leaned back against the headboard, trying to slow her breathing, listening to see if her father had heard her. She didn’t hear him running down the hallway towards her door, so she allowed her to lie back down, trying to get the castle out of her mind. Still, as she dropped back off to sleep, the feeling of foreboding stayed with her.