Chapter Text
The office was littered with scraps of books. Burnt paper made the air smell of smoke, with a small haze adding just a hint of a cloud to the thin man in the chair. Demonic sigils were painted into the walls with something that was the shade of blood, but it wasn’t getting thicker or darker with the exposure to the air, and it dripped to the ground in small streams. Small skins from indiscernible animals were laid on the floor like a rug.
The light overhead was harsh, so white that it almost looked blue. A silver ring glowed with a malicious gleam that didn’t match the light shining down on it, making his hand look like it was tinted red.
None of the armies that the man had hired were in the claustrophobic office. As is, the hardwood office desk was pressed wall to wall, with the corners digging small holes into the drywall. The two that squeezed in were the man in his chair and a frail assistant, a thin man who barely had the constitution to withstand a stiff breeze. His white suit had gold lining and pinstripes. His glasses were dark-framed and thick, making bright brown eyes stand out even more. Blond hair was tied back with a black ribbon. Sharp cheekbones stuck under his glasses, giving him an inhuman look, making him look hauntingly beautiful.
The two in the office were close enough to breathe in more of the damnable cologne, something laced with herbs and holy water. It was made with the promise of keeping wickedness from seeping into his being. It was worthless against the evil that came from within, but there was very little that could be done against that.
The man behind the chair was a thin, reedy man; he was the kind of man whose only physical might came from the backing of old money, and he lacked the force in his own body to back it up.
“Everything about hell is buried! There is a clergyman mentioned, Arkham, but the details are scratched away.” The man in the chair snarled, baring his teeth at his assistant. “His theories were air-tight, but with his disappearance into thin air, there's nothing to say what he had come across.
The assistant looked stone-faced at his boss. He tilted his head to the side, like he was considering his words for a moment.
“Perhaps.” The assistant's voice was deeper than one would expect from him. The words were barely above a whisper, and yet the things that weren’t bolted down were rattled by the voice. There was a power to the undercurrent that pulled the listener in, and the man in the chair couldn’t look away. “It would be best to start fresh; the archives always gather new information, maybe they will have something that will shed light on hell. The power, or control, you wanted will be yours.”
The man sitting behind the desk smiled, all of the previous anger melting like it never existed in the first place. “Power and control are the same thing- humans and demons, an army of one is the same as an army of the other, but humans break more easily.”
The assistant adjusted his glasses. His emotionless face broke for a moment, letting just the barest of smirks slip through.
“You have good news? You are officially my favorite.” The man in charge grinned.
“You flatter me like I had any hand in this change of fate,” The assistant let his smile drop, returning to his professionalism. “Something new has been dropped off at the archive.”
“I like the way this sounds.” The expression that the man sitting in the chair made was indistinguishable from that of a small child at a party for them. “Tell me more.”
“When dealing with those of demonic proclivities, one can run, hide, change their name, even bury their past; the truth lies in the blood in the veins. We had a name of the one with the secrets, so we could track those same secrets through the blood he carried. Arkham was unable to share what he knew, and his daughter would be uncooperative, but this was not a dead end.” The assistant tapped his glasses. “There is a tool that was left unwatched and turned up at the archive. They’ll lend it to us, with the promise that we share all that we learn.”
“What did they acquire that will fix our problems?” The man finally asked.
The building was only standing by luck, atmospheric pressure, and force of will. It was a modern, blocky building that could have been mistaken for a regular office building. The bricks were bright red, with the mortar being blindingly white. It stood over every older building around it, giving it a false sense of importance.
The fact that the building was still standing was notable, but it stuck out like a sore thumb in the historic district in which it was built. The faded and weathered white marble and limestone of the surrounding buildings made the red bricks look almost like an insult by their sheer existence.
Dante and Vergil leaned against the bright red car that Dante managed to drive around despite the abuse that Dante put it through. The wind around them made Dante’s nose twitch. Their overcoats, Dante’s in red and Vergil’s in a blue so dark that it could be confused for black, were built to withstand a storm and were heavy enough not to be moved in the wind.
“I fail to see why you requested that I join you on this.” Vergil sighed. Despite his words, he still gripped his sword with a white-knuckled hold, giving away his unease with the job. His shoulders were stiff; it would not take much for him to enter the battle stance and cut down any enemy in front of him.
Soldiers, hired by the same client who reached out to them, were standing around the building in groups scattered around the yard. All of them were dressed in black fatigues with armor haphazardly thrown on. Their faces were neutral, like this situation was nothing new to them. None of them was looking at the twins, but with how silent the soldiers stood, it was obvious that they were listening and watching.
“Don’t tell me that you trusted a word out of their mouth,” Dante said, casually. The devil hunter was wearing dark sunglasses, hiding his eyes and thoughts from the soldiers. He was unimpressed with the state of the soldiers. The lackluster protection that the humans were wearing was setting them all up to be killed by whatever demon they told Dante they were so scared of. Either that meant that the soldiers were overconfident, or the danger was not as apparent as they had said it was.
“My trust is something I seldom give freely.” Vergil pointed out. He said it like a rebuttal, even though it was validating Dante’s point. His hair was swept back, somehow holding itself in place despite the wind, helping differentiate him from Dante, who had his hair hanging free.
“Good thinking. Never trust anyone who will lead you to an unmarked building.” Dante gave Vergil a smile that bared his teeth more than expressed any positive emotions. It gave Dante an air of nonchalance, something that could make those who didn’t know him lower their guard or underestimate his abilities.
To those who knew him, it made them raise their guard and follow his lead, because Dante was figuring something out. Vergil walked in step with Dante, constantly looking around.
The twins walked down the ward, splitting the mercenaries into two groups. Vergil used his thumb to push his blade out of the sheath, just an inch. It acted as a threat to the humans not to get closer to them.
Dante pulled out a gun from a holster worn at his waist. It was his silver pistol, designed for speedy firings. It was heavy in his hand, but it was a weight he was used to carrying.
The two approached the front door. It was a glass door that allowed people to see the inside and out. The door looked intact, which went against the hard crunching under their feet from the safety glass giving out under their steps.
Vergil raised an eyebrow and tapped the door with the hilt of his sword. It let out a solid, deep sound, but it was incorrect; it was more like he was knocking against solid wood instead of glass.
“That’s not quite right.” Dante frowned. “This reads like a trap, but I’ve cleaned up my fair share of messes to recognize one when I see it.”
“Maybe we should add janitorial services to your business undertakings.” Vergil deadpanned. Dante let out a sarcastic laugh.
“I’m so glad you’ve developed a sense of humor. You might want to take a step back if you want to keep it.” Dante huffed. It wasn’t a threat, even though most would have read it as such. It was a statement of fact and a warning of upcoming danger.
Vergil sucked air through his teeth in a condescending sound. He could argue that he would not be harmed by the bullets flying, but his ego could be put aside for the moment.
The bullets started flying; the sound of the gunshots started blurring together to the point that it started to blur together. The magical bullets sliced through the door. Instead of cracking as it should have, the bullets carved little glowing holes through the illusion. The door blinked out of existence, giving them an entrance, albeit a temporary one.
“Vergil, can you think of any demon that does illusion magic?” Dante asked. They both knew the answer to the question before the words left his mouth.
“She’s not one to attack without reason. She’d nearly be dead before lashing out.” Vergil frowned. “She’s not the only user of illusory magic; the nightmare weapon, once it had you in its grasp, used that same magic to conjure beings to fight.”
“So it’s so simple to cast, you don’t need a conscious mind to use. That’s not good.” Dante sighed and stepped through the open door. Vergil stepped in right after.
The door illusion closed after them, leaving the twins in total silence. In most cases of demonic infestations, there were distant noises of demons snarling, fighting over the human meat left for them to consume. The silence was tense, like something was holding its breath or stopped breathing entirely.
The front lobby was well put together, everything as it should be. There was a receptionist desk and uncomfortable-looking chairs that had padding that looked like it was made of wood.
Dante narrowed his eyes at the sight. There was something in his stomach that didn’t sit right.
On impulse, or to test a theory, Dante kicked a random nearby chair. His foot went clean through it. The movement was accompanied by the sound of glass shattering. The chair remained standing despite the gash that was carved through it, but the edges of the gap in the chair were sharp, scratching the leather of the boot.
“A shallow front, like the man who owns it,” Dante commented. “Its a shame that this doesn't look on purpose.”
“It’s too fragile, the caster’s focus is scattered,” Vergil agreed.
“Or the caster is just as on the brink as the magic is.” Dante shot out. His voice was soft. The implications left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Don’t speak nonsense, we will get to the bottom of this.” Vergil snapped back, walking away. The door to enter the main building was locked, but Vergil had his sword. It was barely any effort to slice the door off the wall, even if he sliced the door into more pieces than was necessary.
The next room was completely vertical, as if it were supposed to have stairs, but there was nothing, just the doors to other rooms attached to it.
“...what are the odds that she messed with every room in the building?” Dante asked after letting out a small whistle.
“You don’t know it’s her; assumptions will cloud your judgment.” Vergil countered, his voice sharper than the sword in his hand.
Dante wisely chose not to respond to that. A glowing blue phantom broadsword appeared in front of Vergil, floating just long enough that Dante thought that Vergil was going to take a swing at him.
Fortunately, it did not come to that. The sword went flying into a metal door leading to the second floor, just above the lobby. The door didn’t stand a chance, crumbling under the blow and shearing away with a loud shrieking sound that was an assault to the twins’ sensitive hearing.
“Let's just start at the bottom and work our way up,” Vergil suggested. His voice had taken a low rasp to it, a growl by any other words. With that, he vanished, moving to the now-opened door quicker than most humans could keep up.
“It’s not me rushing to judgments,” Dante grumbled to himself, but he followed quickly behind his brother.
The next room should barely count as a room, too small to be anything more than a closet, obviously closed off from a bigger room, or wherever this was.
The temperature dropped as soon as they stepped into the room. The twins could see their breath with every deep heave of air they let out.
The condensation on the walls was thick, a red-orange color. It clung to the walls, fighting gravity as it stayed where it was. It looked more like terracotta than fluid. Most liquid staying in place had a jiggle to it, but this was static, like something was holding it there.
“Stay on your guard,” Vergil warned. Dante grabbed the grips of his pistols, not drawing them quite yet.
The sound of Vergil’s voice triggered something. The force holding the condensation back let go, releasing everything. It was like the walls were bleeding, the flow coming out in drips between cracks on the walls. Everything was pooled on the ground.
“Dammit,” Vergil growled out, letting a sharp wave of air into the blood puddle. There was no reaction; whatever was coming still formed from the red fluid on the floor. It only took moments for it to form.