Chapter Text
Blood thrummed through Nero's veins as a snarl pulled back his lips. Hands clenched tightly around Red Queen as she revved aggressively in his grip, Nero surged forward and dragged the blade clean through the ugly gray hide of a howling Riot.
Satisfaction coursed through his twisted expression as ichor splattered against Nero's face. The corpse dissipated before his eyes as a feral screech left the young devil hunter's mouth. He leapt over the stained pool of rapidly crystallizing blood and dug Red Queen into the hide of another foul beast, twisting the blade with one hand as he slammed an electrical pulse from Overture directly into the new Riot’s snout. The acrid scent of scorched unholy flesh filled Nero's nostrils as he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
A few well-placed tears into the demon’s armored hide finally brought the accursed creature down, horrid cracking sounds tearing through the night air as Nero split the body apart to drive his sword home into vulnerable flesh and bone.
A single breath left Nero's body before he felt the unmistakable presence of something hungry to kill manifest on his left. He spun around in time to see turf shredding itself apart as a lizard-like Chaos balled itself up and launched forward, sharp plates glinting in the jagged swathes of moonlight peppering the streets of Red Grave City. The spinning, bladed armor cut deep into Nero's chest, ripping up skin and biting into his ribs as the demon shrieked at its first taste of blood.
A gasp punched its way out of Nero’s lungs as they shuddered against the imposing threat of fierce, probing demonic spikes. The hunter laughed, a broken, brittle sound as a smirk edged its way onto his features. The agony rippling through his torso dragged him back into focus as he kicked the offending demon away with a well-placed boot and the assistance of Overture’s pulsating electricity.
The Chaos unfurled itself, chattering furiously as it turned to face its adversary. Blood dripping from his lips, Nero wheezed out a threatening growl and charged Red Queen.
“Go back to Hell,” he spat, letting his spectral arms burst into existence along his back. The brilliant blue appendages clawed their way forward, locking onto the Chaos and grappling with the armor plates now coated in Nero’s own blood.
The demon screamed in outrage, scaly appendages slicing through the air as Nero darted forward and slammed Red Queen into its exposed mouth. A guttural howl cut through the night as blood sprayed from the wound. Nero leapt atop the injured demon, spectral arms straining as they split the armor apart so Blue Rose could send a volley of wrathful bullets flying into the Chaos’s exposed body.
A vengeful roar split the air as the demon succumbed to its enemy’s persistent attacks.
Nero threw back his head and shouted his own victory cry as his foe lay vanquished, its corpse dissolving into the darkness as it left a glowing spittle of crystallized ichor in its wake.
Grunting with exertion, Nero pressed a hand to the gashes plunged into his chest and felt a small thrill of relief as he realized his lungs had been left untouched by the spikes’ brutal reach. Pain throbbed in his ribs as blood dripped down the stitches in his ragged clothing. The familiar ache of battle wounds cleared the pressing fog in Nero's mind as he holstered Blue Rose and sheathed Red Queen.
A deep, settled sigh allowed the tension in his shoulders to lessen as Nero surveyed the mangled streets of Red Grave City. A spike of agony bit into each of his careful steps as he picked his way through the wreckage, senses alert for more enemies. Nostrils flaring, Nero quickly picked up on the tang of otherworldly flesh permeating the newfound stillness.
“Alright, motherfucker,” Nero hissed under his breath. “Let's dance.”
An explosion of bullets followed the young hunter's quiet taunt as he careened forward, cobalt jacket flapping behind him as he sank shot after shot into the startled and enraged form of a wayward Fury. A curse yanked itself free of Nero's teeth as the demon vanished into the night.
“Fuckin’ coward,” Nero snarled, landing heavily on the concrete as his boots dug into bits of debris. He whirled around, eyes darting around the landscape to ascertain where the beast would teleport to next.
The upward thrust of a reddened blade directly into his gut through his lower back quickly informed Nero as to the whereabouts of the slippery Fury. Choked cry of rage spilling from his lips, Nero flailed his arms as the sharpened limb twisted into his abdomen. The hunter arched his back enough for Red Queen to slide upwards and tear a hole into his attacker's front, causing the mutated apparition to howl in surprise, focus momentarily shattered. Nero seized the opportunity to slither free of his foe’s weapon with a horrid squelch, spinning to land deftly on his feet as he snatched up the hilt of Red Queen. Handle revving violently, Nero darted forward and threw all of his remaining strength into a brutal thrust, rending sinew and hide alike as he carved his attacker into strips of unsightly meat.
The dissipation of the Fury caused Nero to sink heavily to his knees, breaths coming in ragged gasps as the gaping wound to his abdomen vied fiercely for his attention. The stabs to his chest prickled determinedly at his skin, warring competitively with the hole in his gut for the title of most obnoxious injury.
The overwhelming, torturous feeling of his skin struggling to knit itself back together bit at Nero's singing nerves as the weight of his injuries tugged at the slowly healing tissue. A distressed sound clawed its way from his lips.
The incessant sting of his wounds battered at his brain until all Nero could think of was the agony pulsing through his body. The blissful disconnect from his unsorted, bitter thoughts as he was plunged unfavorably into the base, instinctual drive to lick at his wounds made Nero feel disturbingly lighter. The cacophony of physical suffering roaring through his mind felt like a welcome, stark relief from the unending chaos of dark, angry thoughts directed at a very specific class of devils.
A harsh, splintering cough erupted from Nero’s mouth and was followed by a mist of darkened blood. Wiping at his lips, Nero struggled to his feet, wincing as he felt the action pull at his discombobulated organs.
“Let's get the fuck out of here,” Nero mused aloud, rolling back his shoulder joints and neck as he stood stoically amidst the finally quiet city.
Trudging forward, Nero grit his teeth and kept his eyes trained resolutely ahead as he kept Blue Rose anchored firmly in his grip. The soft patter of his obvious blood trail dripping helplessly to the deadened streets echoed in Nero's wake as he willed the spots dancing at the edge of his vision to leave him be.
—
A tired grin slotted into place on Nero's bloodstained face as the flickering red neon of the shop sign emerged into view. The sun had come and gone already, leaving Nero to wonder why it had taken him so long to walk back to his uncle's old business. The silent streets offered contrast to the pounding in his mind as his slowly congealing injuries begged fruitlessly for Nero to rest.
Moving slowly so as not to disturb any potential guests, Nero slipped in through the door, wincing as it creaked. His eyes cast a sweep through the darkness layering the interior of the shop. When no one showed up, guns blazing, to eviscerate the new presence, Nero allowed himself to relax.
The gorgeous sight of the dilapidated leather couch caught Nero's eye as his gaze adjusted to the pressing darkness. Mentally promising to clean it free of his blood as soon as he woke, the hunter traipsed over the tempting furniture and flopped bonelessly onto its aged cushions. Hands curling protectively around Red Queen as Blue Rose dug into his hip, Nero shuddered out a sigh and allowed Overture to dislodge from his elbow as his arm hesitantly regrew itself. The clattering noise of the Devil Breaker landing in a heap on the wooden floor made Nero jerk slightly as he resettled himself. Red Queen nipped at his arm as he tightened his hold on her. The thin stream of blood trailing down his arm made Nero huff out a final, annoyed grunt as the probing tendrils of sleep dragging at his consciousness finally succeeded in pulling him under.
—
Two.
Two presences.
Two people were in the shop.
Nero tensed, grip reflexively shifting to move to Red Queen's hilt. His eyes remained firmly shut and he prayed whoever was invading his space couldn't tell that he sensed them.
The hunter took stock of his physical condition as he braced himself for an ensuing confrontation. The litany of wounds slashed across his chest were closed but ached fiercely, and the vacuous destruction to his abdomen had successfully scabbed over but felt ready to burst back open at the slightest carefree maneuver.
Nero fought back a pleased grimace.
He could fight.
Next, he turned his attention to the entities nearby, quietly deciphering if it was either Lady and Trish milling about and waiting for another job or if it was something nefarious.
The overpowering scent of danger slammed into Nero's nose, hastily answering his own questions for him. Eyes snapping open abruptly, Nero hauled himself to his feet, sword poised in front of his wounded body and teeth bared in an obvious challenge.
“Bring it on, motherfucker!”
The intimidating taunt was Nero's first attempt at an imposing roar. The noise that flung itself from his bloodied mouth instead resembled that of a hoarse, wheezing thing and Nero internally groaned at how hopelessly pathetic it sounded.
Blue eyes blazing as demonic power flowed through his limbs, Nero cast his gaze throughout the shop until it landed, startlingly, on a man sitting casually within the desk chair, feet propped up next to the dusty phone.
Said man quirked a brow at Nero's less-than-impressive mockery of a threatening display.
“Hello to you, too, kid.”
Nero froze, eyes glued to the familiar red coat draped lazily across the shoulders of what appeared to be the spitting image of his uncle.
The same uncle that had disappeared into the bowels of Hell almost an entire year ago.
A soft, confused growl bubbled up in Nero’s sore chest. His fingers flexed from where they were still clamped firmly around Red Queen's hilt.
“Dante?” he finally managed to say, breath rattling past his lips alongside the single word.
“In the flesh.”
The fight sagged from Nero’s body. The trademark cocky grin resting on the intruder’s face could only be the same one often sprawled across his uncle's frustratingly unbothered features. A quiet, resigned snuffling of the air introduced Dante's familiar sharp scent into Nero’s nostrils. Against his will, a violent shudder racked Nero's form as an intrinsic part of him wept for joy at the return of his family.
Nero nodded once, not trusting himself to speak. Without a word, he sank back down into the couch, wincing as he felt the sticky embrace of his own blood rise to meet him from the ruined cushions.
While the smell of his own blood coated the room effectively thoroughly, Nero could still detect the putrid scent of battle and ichor emanating from his uncle's clothes.
“Smells like you had some fun down there,” Nero murmured hoarsely. He braced himself upright with a hand below his septum, eyes firmly locked onto the drenched knees of his jeans.
“You know it, kid,” Dante crowed. The sound of protesting mechanical joints echoed through the shop, ticking Nero off to the fact his uncle must've got up from the abused chair.
Footsteps approached him. Instinctually, Nero moved his hand from his face and settled it on top of Blue Rose, running a thumb along the holster.
The footsteps paused. “Kid?”
Nero said nothing, heart pounding as he realized his uncle must be getting a good look at the sorry state he was in.
“I planned to deal with the couch today,” Nero explained hastily. “It'll look good as new in a few hours.”
His uncle's strong scent flooded his nose as Dante crouched directly in front of Nero, arms braced against the bloody mess the young hunter had made of the leather.
“What happened?” Dante prodded.
Nero scoffed. “Tripped, fell, landed in a pit of razor blades,” he joked.
A laugh rang out through the office. Nero visibly relaxed as the sound warmed the atmosphere. It felt markedly natural for Dante's voice to fill the hollow space once again.
“I did what you asked,” Nero continued in an effort to stop the two from lapsing back into silence. “And Lady and Trish kept the lights on.”
Dante nodded thoughtfully, gloved hand tugging at his chin. “Didn’t peg either of them for the hard-working type,” he chuckled.
Nero shrugged. “Morrison.”
Another carefree laugh spilled from Dante's mouth. It further eased the tension knotted up in Nero's shoulders. He felt a strained smile blossom across his face, tugging at the dried blood dotting his lower lip.
In an instant, Nero sat up straighter, breath strangling itself in his throat. Cold dread filled Nero's abdomen, clashing fiercely with the burning hot sting of resealing flesh. His exhausted, distracted mind was fully awake and clamoring for his attention, smothering the agony crawling up his sides as it caterwauled in his ear about knowledge Nero would rather not be privy to.
If Dante was back, that could only mean one thing.
Dante’s identical twin, the all-powerful and ruthlessly dangerous Vergil, was probably back as well.
Two presences in the shop.
Nero rose decisively to his feet, studiously ignoring the rush of nausea settling heavily into his gut as spots prickled at his unsteady vision.
“Well,” he announced grandly. “I better get going. There's more cleanup to do in that fuckin’ Hellhole of a city.” A cursory glance back at the couch that was coated in filth made Nero scratch sheepishly at the back of his head. “I'll take care of that later.”
Dante spared his ruined furniture a single, unamused glance before turning his attention to his dejected nephew. “Nero,” he called after the disappearing hunter as Nero strode over to the doorway.
Nero paused, daring to peer over his own shoulder. His uncle's nonchalant expression looked more serious than usual.
“You can't fight in that condition,” Dante continued, shaking his head.
A current of anger boiled to life in Nero's veins.
“I can do whatever I damn well please,” he hissed. “You aren't the boss of me.”
Dante heaved out a long-suffering sigh. “So much like your old man,” he bemoaned.
The words slapped Nero across the face like a hit from a well-placed spectral arm.
“Don't,” he snarled. Nero hated the tremor that had somehow snuck its way into his voice.
Dante called after his ornery nephew as Nero turned and stomped out the door, heart beating out a frantic rhythm as it slammed against the young hunter's bruised and broken ribcage.