Secret Messages: Chapter 1

    "Poor little things...."

    "...but why are they so quiet? Not even a tear..."

    "Maybe they are really..."

    Dante started to look up toward the whispered voices that towered around himself and Vergil.  Vergil squeezed Dante's hand and the boy looked back down on the ground again.

    "Don't mind them," Vergil said softly.

    The pale casket with elaborate gold trims was lowered into ground. Dante had wanted to cry but he had held back after a stern look from his brother.

    "Crying won't help mother," Vergil said.  "Keep the tears inside...it will help you take revenge."

    Dante nodded and leaned his head on Vergil's shoulder.

    "I miss papa..." the boy whispered, half-lidded to fight another tear that he felt stinging his eyes again.  "I miss mama..."

    Another firm squeeze of his hand almost made him feel better.  Almost.

    The crowd moved and thinned, as they passed the casket - each offering a white rose plucked from the one of the elaborate arrangements that had set on either side of the lowered coffin.  Some had walked back and offered the twins gentle pets on the heads.  Most had given them nothing but a confused glance before shuffling toward their cars parked on the grass.

    "Why are you not crying?" The voice was sharp, angry.  Dante's eyes snapped open to look into the blood-shot eyes of his mother's sister.  "She is dead because of YOU."

    A hand rose and Dante watched it swing down toward him.  He pinched his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to explode at the side of his face.  Instead, he heard a loud slap resonate and felt Vergil pushed against him.

    "Stop it.  It's not their fault. "

    Dante opened his eyes - his uncle had pulled his aunt back.  He glanced over to Vergil and saw the spot of red on his cheek.  

    "Ver--"

    Vergil shook his head, silencing him.

    Dante stared incoherently at his mother's sister as she was rushed away by the flustered husband.

    "I'm sorry Vergil..." Dante said as the first droplet of the tear rolled out of his eye.  "I'm sorry..."

    Vergil gathered Dante into his arms and pressed Dante's head against his shoulder.

    Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me...

    He woke suddenly - temporarily paralyzed and confused.  The sound of digitalized sound of Mozart wafting through the room reminded him where he was, although he was slow to search for his cell phone.  The caller hung up as the palm of his hand covered it.  The red tinted memories replayed in his mind - with it, stings of pain throbbed in his chest.

    "Fuck..." he mouthed and kicked at the sheet that had twined around his left thigh until it laid in a twisted lump on the floor.  He laid still - his mind still replaying the images of his past.  The past he had somehow held to although it still hurts, whenever he dreamt of it.  What nagged at him was not the memories - but the fact that the dreams had been returning with more clarity and more frequently.  It had been nearly twenty years since he had dreamt of his mother's funeral.

    "What the hell....?" He whispered and finally mustered enough energy to rolled off the bed.  He padded off to the shower and stood under the the steady rain of luke-warm water - the sensation of something foreboding was slowly uncoiling in the pit of his stomach.  It had been a long time since he had that sensation and it annoyed him not able to place his finger on it.

    As he walked out of the shower with a towel wrapped loosely about his waist while toweling his drenched hair with the another - the phone in his main office rung.  He took his time to make his way down the stairs.  He counted 15 rings had resonated before he finally picked up the receiver.

    "Yeah?" He said.  Not his usual greeting but then, he didn't feel like taking on a job then.

    For a moment, the caller said nothing.  Dante let out a long sigh and contemplated on hanging up when the caller uttered the password in a whisper.

    "Pardon?"

    The caller said it again but in a louder voice.  Then it said an address before the phone line went dead.  Dante clung onto the receiver and listened to the steady hum.  When he gathered enough bearing, he slammed the receiver back into its cradle and pushed himself away from the desk - as if he needed to distance himself from the phone.  He ran a hand through his damp hair and stood up.  He walked over to the liqueur cabinet and pulled out a half-full whiskey bottle.  He realized his hands were shaking, when he tried to twist open its top.

    "What the hell...?"

    He slammed the bottle down on the counter - nearly shattering it.  He shook his head and laughed at his own sudden weakness, then walked up the stairs.  It would be a long day ahead, he felt.

    He sat in his car with its engine idling, watching the building with a mix of anxiety and excitement.  Alastor laid dormant in the case in the backseat.  It had been over twenty years he had held that sword in his hands.  The last time... Dante pushed the recollection that had started to brew in his mind.  He shook his head to shed the shards of images from his mind and turned off the ignition.  He lowered his zipper of his jacket to access his guns tucked beneath his arms and stepped out of the car.  He reached for Alastor but then - something stopped him.  He pressed his hand over the black sword case and he felt the comfortable hum of the demon inside the sword regarding its master.  

    "Not today," Dante finally said and gave the case a gentle pat.  "Not today."

    He spat out the unlit cigarette he had at the corner of his mouth and made his way toward the dilapidated building.  The same building hidden deep in the heart of the ruined city that he had come to know well.  The same building where he had been taken and raped - opening a wound inside him that had never quite healed.  The same building where he was tainted by a demon named Remus.

    The odor of the heavily mildewed carpet greeted him first -- before he noticed the other hidden scents.  Urine, shit, drugs that had been cooked in metal spoons, blood and death.  The broken windows where the rain had poured through had matted the layers of the scent into the dull brown carpet.  He drew his guns from its holsters first, cocked them to ready pistol and walked down the dark hallway that was only partially lit by the natural lighting spilling from the windows and opened doors.  His pace was light and measured, until his eyes became accustomed to the dark -- he walked faster.

    He was not certain what he was looking for or where he was going.  Something guided him.  As if invisible hands nudged along the dank hallway.  He paused at the double door to the ballroom - one of its door was ajar.  He stared at the slit - listening for motions.  There weren't any.  With great hesitation, he nudged the ajar door further open until the light from the skylight came through.

    He flinched - when he heard something heavy drop in the ballroom.  He pointed his gun into the direction of the noise - the pad of his fingers nearly pulled back the triggers.  He surveyed the destroyed room filled with overturned and ruined tables and chairs.  He looked up involuntarily and saw the broken glass dome -- and it made him cringe.  He wanted to leave but he couldn't.  His legs moved - but toward the platform where the mattress still laid.  Pieces of the crumpling ceiling had covered it and most of the floor but everything had been left as he remembered it.  His belly tightened into knots as he walked closer -- then up the steps until he was looking down at the mattress.  At the foot of it - there was a red shirt box.  There were no debris on the parcel - not even dust.  The package had been left there recently.  He drew in a deep breath and carefully opened the box.

    He pushed the box away from him even before what it was, registered in his mind.  The browned sheet that had been folded neatly inside fell out and tented open.  

    "Sonvubitch..." Dante whispered.  He looked around him - expecting eyes to look at him and laughter mock him.  

    Silence.

    He moved closer and kicked the sheet away.  He stepped back, his eyes still fixed on the browned sheet that he knew had been where he had bled when he was taken.  He stepped backwards until he backed into something solid...warm.  Before he could turn, arms wrapped around him - not tight but firm enough to prevent his elbows to be bent.

    "Has it already been five years?" A soft voice whispered into his ear - the gentleness of it unnerving.  

    Dante writhed in the iron-like grip that refused to give.  He cursed, kicking and twisting - anything to free himself.

    "Shhhhhh ---" the voice hushed him and planted a kiss on the side of his neck.  "Reunions shouldn't be like this..."

    He bent his wrists backwards and although it was painful, he had the barrels of the gun pointed backwards at the person holding him.  He fired - not caring about the aim.  He fired until he felt the arms around him loosened and he sprung away.  He crouched at the ready position - his guns poised.  The acrid smoke thinned then cleared.  Dante froze as the familiar smile looked back at him.

    "What...the.."

    Remus dusted at the spots of blood by his hips and laughed.

    "I thought it would be nice for us to meet again, at a place where we had..." Remus said, twirling his finger as he tried to think of the appropriate word.  "...consummated first time around."

    Dante grimaced - the pads of his fingers pressed the trigger back, firing at Remus and watched with a dark satisfaction as the bullets made holes in Remus - splatters of blood spilled out.  Remus walked - without breaking his pace or even showing signs of discomfort.  Dante rose and began to walk backwards, shooting as he does so.  Then as Remus came within the arm's reach - Dante transformed.  His demon form spread its wings and took flight -- he would need the clearance in order to make the electricity rain down and engulf Remus below.

    Dante was surprised, when he was dragged downwards and thrown onto the concrete floor.  A foot was pressed into his back as one of his wings was being shredded by the goatling's clawed hand.  A roar of laughter and the wing was torn from his back and thrown a distance away.

    "Maybe this is just a terrible, terrible dream you are having,  poor dear." The goatling roared as the remaining wing was torn from his back.  The Sparda demon screamed -- its shrill-like cry shattered the remains of the glass around the room and in the ceiling, and sent the pieces showering down on them both.

    Dante's power drained quickly - all of it rushed to heal the wound sustained, and returned him to the human form.  Dante felt the goatling's foot being moved from his back and he was nudged until he was rolled over.  He stared into the open sky through the glass-less dome above.

    "What happened to all the powers you've gained?" Remus said, shaking his head.  "Perhaps he was right..."

   Dante fists tightened on his guns.  He has to get out - although he can't see how he could, without being rid of the demon.  He sprung back up onto his feet and swapped one gun for a knife he had tucked into his boots.  Remus' transformation had been instant, as was with his advancement on him.  Dante rapid fired into the goatling's chest and swung the knife toward the neck when goatling had come within range.  The slash on the throat was deep but the cut had only hurt Remus enough to stumble a step back.

   "This all you got?"

   A rough, clawed hand seized his knife hand when Dante attempted another slash at Remus' face.  Dante grimaced and bit back the scream that nearly tumbled out when the hand crushed inwards - breaking the bones.  Remus laughed and hurled him to the side.

    The knife clattered out of his broken hand, the bones mending slowly.  The creature's wolfish face was suddenly animated - the anger and insanity in it suddenly gone.  Dante barely flinched when the thick, calloused hand shot forward and seized him by the throat and raised him to his feet.  It would only take the slightest pressure...Dante thought.  He stared defiantly into the gold eyes rimmed with red.

   "Go ahead..." Dante said - when the hand remained unmoved. The hard palm of it pressed uncomfortably tight against his neck.

   The Goatling's mouth curved up then laughed.  A razor-nail finger was driven into his belly - it made him tense with pain, although the cut was not deep.  The nail dragged downwards - slicing the leather he wore easily.  As if it was making a conscious consideration - the nail stopped short of slicing into his crotch.  The creature laughed again, then sampled the blood on his finger.

   "Sick fuck..." Dante hissed, writhing languidly - the hand around his neck remain locked and unmoved.

   "How would you like for me to take you?" The Goatling said, leaning closer until Dante could feel the heat of the creature's breath.

   The tongue writhed its way through Dante's  clenched mouth and wormed its way toward the back of his throat.  The tongue filled his mouth - choking him.  Vaguely, he felt the ripped open leather being torn from him - the air was cold against his blood slick legs.  He found himself strengthless and pitched forward, when the tongue was pulled from his throat and allowed him to breathe again. 

   "Sweet...." the creature whispered - and rumbled a laughter that made Dante cringe.  "The more you change, the more you stay the same...."

   A finger was lifted up to his face and the thick, yellowed nail paused in mid-air - as if the goatling was trying to decide to cut his face open.

   "Why have you not gone to find daddy?" The goatling said - the nail came down and ran up the slope of his cheek, slicing it open.  Dante winced. The nail stopped short of his right eye.  "He misses you terribly."

   Dante felt the slightest pressure of the sharp tip push down but the nail wasn't driven through.  The goatling laughed again and  bent forward to lick the blood that had wet half of his face.

   "I didn't think you would be afraid of papa."

   The hand that had wrapped around his neck was suddenly gone - Dante found himself fall forward, barely catching himself by the palm of his hands in time.

   "I'll be nice to you," the goatling said and snapped off one of the razor-like talons from one of his fingers.  "For old fuck's sake."

   Dante pushed himself up and before he could move away - he was caught by his ankle and dragged backwards toward the demon. 

   "It will still hurt," the demon said as he gathered Dante's ankles together and held him, as the remains of the tattered leather was ripped away.  "But at least your guts won't be spilling out from your lovely ass..."

   "Shit...." Dante said - his fingers clawed at the floor.

   "It will only hurt the worst in the beginning..."

   The thick pad of the de-clawed finger pressed against his ass - following the cleft of it to let Dante feel the size.  Dante quivered - his mind in a panic.  The finger itself was easily the thickness of his wrist and half the length of his arm.  The goatling laughed - when Dante began to scream incoherently, the meaty finger probed its way through the cleft and writhed against the hole -- pushing against the too-small mouth that didn't want to open for it.

   The finger made small circles, as if the demon was deliberate to open him up carefully without tearing.  It hurt.  It felt like he was about to be split open at any time.  Tears rose up from his eyes and all he wanted to do was scream. And he did.

   "A little dry..." the goatling remarked and pulled his finger back.  Moments later - Dante felt something thick and wet lap at the contracting hole.  He screamed again, as the tip of the tongue worked itself in - teasing open the hole until the wetness slicked its way in.  He was filled - the tongue pushed at all sides and Dante was certain that at any time, his insides would simply spill out.

   He did stop screaming at one point - when the harsh pain of being ripped open was replaced with a dull throb in his belly.  The tongue writhed slowly - stabbing at his insides until the muscles there expanded to form around it.  The blood that thundered in his ear had ebbed.  All he could hear then were the damp sounds of his rape resounding the small room.  He winced, when the tongue was finally pulled out - his opened insides ached.

   "You'll feel really good soon..." the goatling croaked and pressed the finger against his loosened hole again.  All Dante could do was shake his head as the pad of it pushed hard into him.  He couldn't even find a voice to scream - the air had been stolen from his lungs.  "Good boy..."

   The first pad of the finger was pressed through.  He couldn't feel whether or not he was torn open but he felt worse.  The pad of the finger wiggled - threatening to tear open the membranes inside.

   An unusual movement at the corner of his eye made Dante look toward it.  His knife quivered, clattering noisily at first then shot forward.  It narrowly missed the goatling's left eye as it flew past and staked into the wall.  Remus transformed again, regaining his human figure.  Dante was dropped back on the ground - he stared at Remus' bloodied left temple with confusion.

   "Seemed that he is more eager to see you than me," Remus said with a smile.  He wiped away at the blood with his sleeve and picked up the knife that had plunged into the wall behind him. 

   "Who...?"

   Remus spun the knife in his hand as he walked toward Dante.  He crouched down and held the knife up to Dante's eye level.

   "When you don't want to seek what you must, then that thing will seek you."

   Dante's eyes widened as the knife was plunged into his throat. 

   "Good night."

   Another twist of the knife and Dante's world went black.

End Chapter 1