Dante smirked and pulled at a fold in his tunic, revealing a thin scar on his chest. “Oh, you did. And it hurt quite a bit. I wanted to continue the fight, but I was unable to stand after your blessed sword pierced my flesh. However, as soon as I hit the ground, you disappeared, called back to Heaven to have your wings clipped, I imagine. That had to hurt so much more.”
Victor felt a burning fire build in his chest as the thought sank in. His grace had been removed leaving a hole in his being. However, his powers were still intact for some unknown reason. He should not have his powers if he had been stripped of what made him an angel. Then he realized he was not bound under the law of Heaven anymore. That realization brought a small smile to his face. “Then I am free to act as I choose,” he surmised aloud. “I no longer have to fear retribution from my superiors.” He grinned as he drew his gleaming sword. “I can kill you with a clear conscience now.”
Drawing his own blade, Dante nodded. “No more need to hold back any longer.” He took a step toward Victor, then another. The two paced in a circle, weapons drawn, waiting for the other to make his first move. Victor glared into Dante’s now-crimson eyes, hatred and anger seething from his own icy blue orbs. Dante merely smirked, calmly holding Victor’s gaze.
Dante’s patience won out as Victor lunged for his chest. A straightforward attack. Dante easily sidestepped it, while also brushing aside Victor’s balled up fist before it connected with his jaw. He thought Victor quite clever to use such a tactic, causing him to dodge to one side, right into the fist. He smiled again as he casually landed a vicious slash along the angel’s left side.
Victor grunted in pain but the wound was gone before he took another step. He slashed for Dante’s throat, but the demon already had his sword up to block. Dante fluidly moved from the block into a better stance and smashed Victor in the face with the pommel of his sword, shattering the angel’s nose. The broken bones realigned and snapped back together with a dull crunching sound, but not before releasing a gout of blood. Following the punch, Dante allowed the recoil of his punch to bring his sword hand back and he slammed the pommel into the back of Victor’s bowed head. The blow shattered the back of the angel’s skull, but the wound healed just as quickly as the rest.
Dazed, Victor went to one knee. Thinking his enemy would take advantage of his exposing posture, he rolled forward, escaping the blow he expected, one that would lop off his head. That strike never came, however. When Victor reclaimed his footing, Dante was casually standing where he was, sword tip planted on the stone street, leaning as if the weapon were a cane.
“You don’t get it, Victor,” Dante taunted, flashing an amused smirk.
Unwilling to give in to the demon’s taunts, Victor came in for another attack. He feinted left, moving his shoulder as if to swing for Dante’s right hip, but altered course as the demon moved to intercept. The feint was a tricky one, leaving Victor unable to launch an effective strike. It was more of a diversionary tactic made to push his adversary into a particular stance in order to allow Victor to land a killing blow. The angel slashed for the left shoulder instead, but Dante’s sword was already in place for a parry, sliding the gleaming sword harmlessly high and wide of its mark. Using the opening, Dante slammed his fist into Victor’s right side again and again. Victor felt several ribs shatter with the impact, but that wasn’t all; he felt the demon grab one rib near his arm, and tore it out before the wound had a chance to heal. Victor screamed in agony and slashed madly at Dante’s face. Steel rang out as Dante blocked the wild swing.
“You just don’t get it, Victor,” he whispered. “I can’t be beaten.”
Victor ignored the taunt and swung for Dante’s legs. The move was so fast Dante almost didn’t block in time. With his arm extended to block the angel’s sword, Dante had to put most of his weight on his lead foot. Thinking to use the demon’s awkward pose against him, Victor grabbed Dante’s wrist and pulled violently. Dante smirked as his feet, more firmly planted than Victor thought, never gave ground. Dante used the angel’s grip against him and pulled harder. His plan was to toss Victor above his head and behind him, but the angel flipped around in the air after letting go and landed on Dante’s shoulders in a seated position, the demon’s head between his legs. He tried to strangle the demon by locking his ankles and squeezing his thighs together, but Dante was too quick. The demon reached up, dug his free hand into Victor’s throat, and threw him to the ground in front of him. Victor landed hard, cracking the stones beneath him, but regained his feet with almost catlike reflexes.
Dante tossed aside a bloody handful of Victor’s throat while the angel coughed and hacked as his neck healed the grievous wound. Dante watched in morbid fascination as the windpipe reformed, snaking its way upward to meet the other torn end. The vocal cords followed, then the muscles themselves. The skin of Victor’s neck knitted itself back together, finally closing the wound.
“Give up,” Dante offered regaining an unthreatening pose. “You needn’t die here today. I promise not to kill you. Take it from me, you still have a future.” His sincerity baffled the angel.
Victor responded by slashing at Dante’s throat again. Instead of blocking or parrying the attack, he simply leaned backward, avoiding it altogether. He realized his mistake as Victor reversed his swing and cut for his legs. Dante used his own backward momentum and launched his feet into the air, somersaulting backward to his shoulders. He pushed off the ground with his arms and flipped upright again, before Victor was even halfway through his swing. Dante came down hard, landing on Victor’s blade mid-swing. The sheer strength of Dante’s maneuver forced Victor to drop his sword. Dante shifted his stance again, one foot on either side of the sword. He kicked at Victor with one foot, but the angel dodged backward, well out of his reach. It worked out for Dante, however; Victor was further from his sword, after all.
Victor’s face twisted into a sneer as he launched a series of fireballs from his hands directly at the demon’s smug face. Without flinching, Dante brought his sword up and turned the flat of the blade outward, blocking the spells with precise movements. The flames from each fireball erupted around the blade, but seemed to get sucked in right after. Dante’s sword glowed red briefly as the magic of each spell was absorbed.
“Damn you!” Victor shouted, anger overtaking him once more. How was this demon so strong? Why was he just toying with Victor? The angel’s breath came in frustrated gasps.
“You tried, remember?” Dante grinned. “So it’s a magical fight you desire?” He ended his question by sheathing his sword and holding his hands up in a stance Victor recognized as Hell’s hand-to-hand fighting style. Dante’s legs spread into a fencing stance, his feet making a split L shape and planting shoulder-width apart, right foot leading. All of his weight was on the balls of his feet, ready to slip away at a moment’s notice, and his knees bent slightly. His hands came up to the level of his chest, fingers relaxed. This stance allowed him to be ready for anything, whether it was an oncoming physical attack or one of magical origin.
Dante flicked his wrists, sending blue-white balls of fire at the angel. Victor summoned a glowing green shield and deflected the fireballs harmlessly away. He dismissed the shield and cupped his hands together to launch a bolt of white hot lightning at Dante. Moving quickly, but never leaving his stance, Dante absorbed the lightning in his left hand and redirected it through his own body using his control of magic and sent it out of his right hand into the darkening sky. A loud thunderclap echoed around them, the sound causing the ground to shudder. Loose stones and dust fell from the ruined buildings surrounding them.
Victor used Dante’s momentary distraction to launch several more spells at the demon. He started with a javelin of ice, sending it hurtling toward Dante. He followed it with a sharp slashing motion of his hands, sending arcs of bright green acid into the air. That done, Victor loosed a beam of golden light at the demon from his right hand. Even if Dante managed to dodge the ice lance or the acid, the beam would defi
nitely destroy him.
Dante glanced back just in time to see the ice lance coming at him. Lightning successfully redirected, he sent red and blue flames out of his left hand. The flames formed a cone-shaped double helix that fully consumed the ice, turning it to steam in the blink of an eye. Through the steam, he noted the acid spray and ignored it. The gold light following it concerned him more. He waved his hands and conjured a bubble of darkness around himself. It seemed to swallow all light, darkening the entire area around him. The acid slipped right through and there was a gasp of pain. The black orb of pure darkness never wavered, however, and the golden beam of holy light met it in full force. The darkness almost flickered, but just for a second, as the light disappeared, absorbed into the blackness. When the gold light was gone, Dante let the darkness fade, revealing himself. His skin bubbled and melted where the acid had hit him. Where globs of flesh melted away, boiling muscle was revealed. A chunk of Dante’s cheek fell off, revealing his teeth. His ribs were visible through his tattered tunic, showing liquefying organs and his deteriorating femur was exposed. Within seconds, the bubbling stopped and the skin reformed over the gruesome holes left by the acid. Once the skin reformed on his cheek, Dante resumed the smirk that never left his eyes.
“Such destructive magic for an angel,” he chided.
Slowly, rain began to fall on the ruined town of Coitat. The dark clouds blocked out most of the sunlight. Off to the side, Alighier wept in fear. What had he done? What had he brought upon this world? Dante was far more powerful than he was led to believe. This demon was toying with Victor as if the angel were nothing more than a sniveling child.
“What are you?” Alighier gasped.
Dante either did not hear the old man, or chose to ignore him. He slowly advanced on Victor, face suddenly grim. He picked up Victor’s sword and tossed it to the angel.
“Enough playing,” Dante stated. All mirth was gone from his demeanor, replaced by grim determination. “We finish this now.”
Victor took a step, caught his sword, and then stalked toward Dante, holy blade ready.
“Works for me,” he replied.
The two met, steel ringing on steel. Sparks flew as they made contact and the blades’ edges began to glow with power. Ancient angelic runes flickered into existence along Victor’s sword, glowing with a blue and gold light. Dante’s own sword erupted with power, glowing in a fierce red and black light. No runes appeared, but one marking took shape on the pommel. It was what looked to Alighier like the head of a wolf or jackal.
“It cannot be…” the old man whispered. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees in fear. Another image appeared behind the lupine head: a scythe. “No…”
Dante and Victor broke from their hold and began slashing at each other, almost too quickly for Alighier to follow. The ringing of metal seemed to turn into one long, continuous note, stinging the old man’s ears. But the sight of the demon and angel locked in battle was too fearsome and beautiful to ignore. I was like a dance the way they moved, gracefully swinging their blades in the rain. Victor swung for Dante’s chest, causing the demon to parry and slash for Victor’s neck. The fluid, deliberate movements showed a finesse behind the power of the attacks. And as the rain fell, not a single drop landed on the combatants. Each drop was deflected away, almost as if on purpose, and impressively little water fell into the dome of ringing steel. The ebb and flow of the battle was entrancing, each man taking nothing more than a slight cut here or there, neither slowing or showing signs of fatigue.
Then, before Alighier could comprehend it, the fight was over. Dante stood in a partial lunge, his sword running through Victor’s chest. Victor was almost in a crouch, with his sword stuck firmly in Dante’s chest. The two stared daggers into the other’s eyes. Blood pooled at their feet, mixing in the rain water. No one breathed.
“I told you, Victor,” Dante hissed, his voice filled with venom, “that you just didn’t get it.”
“What is it that I don’t get,” Victor panted. He could feel Dante’s heart beating strongly, sending vibrations along the angel’s sword. The heartbeat was too calm, too steady. Victor’s sword ran right through it, so why was it still functioning?
“I can not be beaten,” Dante replied evenly, carefully enunciating each word. He felt the reverberations of Victor’s heart in his own blade, each beat getting slower, each one getting weaker. “I have been given too much power, and I will not be defeated until I am done with my work. I am burdened with a terrible purpose.”
“Wh-what work?” Victor asked, feeling faint from his loss of blood. His wound was not healing as it was supposed to. The glowing image on the pommel of Dante’s sword seemed to be the cause. The demon’s weapon was enchanted beyond that which was needed to kill an angel. It was powerful magic - magic that was not even supposed to exist. It was out of place, yet somehow familiar. That magic was keeping him from healing as long as the sword stayed embedded in his chest. He knew that he was dying, and he knew that the demon would make sure he died. Still, Victor had to know what Dante was talking about. It was likely that the angels in Heaven were watching this battle. They had to know - even if it meant that Victor gave his life.
“I’ll tell you when I see you in the afterlife,” Dante promised. He put his foot on Victor’s shoulder and pushed him to the ground, pulling the angel’s sword from his chest in the process. His wound free of the blade, Dante’s chest healed, leaving a thin scar on top of the one from their battle on the beach. He could feel eyes watching him and he turned to regard Alighier.
“No,” the old man pleaded. “Leave me be! I beg you!”
Dante strode toward him, an evil light glowing in his eyes. The rain pounded the ground and the three men. Victor lay dying, Alighier wept, and Dante kept walking. The demon reached Alighier and knelt beside him. “I have no issue with you, old man,” he stated. The tone in his voice was almost sad. “You shall live out your years in peace. But know that if you stand between me and my work, I will have no choice but to cut your life short. I would much rather not kill you. Now, go and be at peace.”
“But…” Alighier choked, “but you said you would still be… you.”
“You mean earlier, when I said that I doubt I would change once I got my memories back?” Dante mocked. “I was wrong. I’m back to who I really am, and it’s back to business as usual for me. So get going. Don’t make me change my mind, old man.”
Alighier wasted no time scrambling to his feet and ran off as fast as his old legs would carry him. He never looked back.
Dante turned back to Victor, who slowly bled out in the rain. The demon walked calmly to the dying angel and sat beside him, resting his back on the stump of a ruined pillar. “I offered you a chance at life, Victor,” he said without remorse.
Victor only choked on his own blood.
“You refused to take that offer,” Dante continued. “I would have preferred to not have to kill you, but you left me no real option. You could have left. I’m sure they would have welcomed you back into Heaven with open arms had you simply left. What I did in the past forty years, I did because I had to. I will not explain to you why I had to, but suffice it to say, it was not my option to destroy so many lives. I want to live in peace. But when I get to killing, the urges take over. I am a demon, after all.” He patted Victor, eliciting a wince from the angel. Dante’s sword rose and fell with Victor’s labored breathing. Dante toyed with the idea of removing the sword and letting Victor go, but he felt the angel would only try to kill him again.
“Just be sure to tell Artemis to take it easy on you when you get back to Heaven,” Dante mused. “He won’t, but at least he’ll know that you tried hard to protect the humans. Well, I really must be off. I can tell I am needed elsewhere and I am very late for an appointment in the east.” He waited until he was absolutely certain Victor was dead, removed his sword and incanted a spell. Great black-feathered wings erupted from his back and he flew off to the east.
In the blood a
nd rain, Victor’s corpse lay there, growing colder in the ruined streets of Coitat.
Artemis awoke in his room, stripped to the waist, and sat up. A second knock came to his door, waking him further. He slipped on his blindfold and went to the door. Opening it, he saw Ariel standing there. She looked shocked at first, noting the many scars crisscrossing Artemis’ torso.
“Yes?” Artemis prompted, not pleased to be awakened this early.
Ariel regained her composure and looked up at his face. She wasn’t sure how to begin, but said, “Victor has died. I saw it in my mirror just moments ago. He died fighting the demon, Dante.”
Artemis nodded, almost as if he had foreseen the tragedy. “Are you certain?” he asked.
Ariel nodded. “His armor no longer shines, as well… Victor is dead, and he will not come back to us. He… he is gone…” Tears streamed down her face and she shook all over.
Artemis put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close to him. He wrapped his arms and wings around her to comfort her while she sobbed into his chest. He could feel her warm tears rolling down his stomach.
“It is okay,” he whispered. “Your father fought valiantly, I am sure. His soul will find peace in the afterlife.”
Ariel continued to sob as Artemis held her in his comforting embrace. When she finally stopped crying, she looked up at Artemis and smiled through her tears. There, within the shelter of his arms and wings, she felt safe. She knew that no matter what, her hero would always be there for her, even if he did not return her love. It did not matter. She would love him always, whether he loved her or not.
Artemis looked down at her to see her smiling up at him. He did not know why, but he felt as if he could always trust her. Even after he had shown her the true events of what her mirror had shown her, she never gave him reason to doubt her loyalty to him. He had left his ring off, leaving his wings their natural black with highlights of midnight blue. The armor on the stand was even back to its normal obsidian finish.
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