Devil May Cry - Volume 1 - Chapter 3.2

Phase 3.2

Tony was deep in thought after he left Goldstein's shop. 

He wandered the pre-dawn streets wordlessly, his collar turned to help combat the chill. 

He knew few people would ever consider him quiet or thoughtful, but they didn't know his true nature. He arrived at a narrow alley leading to his home and paused. Normally he'd have gone straight to bed and slept like a rock during the daylight hours. But he wasn't remotely tired. 

His new guns were heavy at his side, itching to be handled. HE felt an unidentified anxiety and wondered whether it was related to the night at the Oz Club bank. 

Did I dispose of the demons for good? Why haven't I been attacked since that day? 

The sound of a footfall snapped Tony back to reality. He spun around instinctively, whipping out the pistols and aiming them at the newcomer. His weapons were ready to fire a moment before the figure had drawn his own. 

Tony's eyes widened and he froze. 

His opponent was an older man holding a sleek Python. It was a face he knew better than any other. 

“Grue!” 

His friend cracked a thin smile. “Put the gun down. You know I don't have a chance against you.” 

Tony holstered his weapon and grabbed Grue by the shoulders, choking back emotion. “Where the hell have you been? What's going on? You're not going to tell me you've quit, are you?” 

“Do you really think I'm the kind of guy who'd quit so easily, Tony?” But his reply was lifeless, hollow. 

Tony shook him violently. “What happened? We've been together for so long! Why did you just disappear without a word?” 

“Don't get excited, Tony.” Grue's voice was flat and empty. “I had my own problems.” 

Grue looked off into the distance, avoiding his friend's eyes. 

This only further irritated Tony. “Well, what is it? Did you even consider what I'd do if you just vanished?” 

“When did you get so worried about what happened to other people?” 

“Of course I was worried! Anything could have happened!” Tony released Grue, embarrassed. 

Grue grinned like a knowing parent and lit a cigarette. The smoke made Tony feel nostalgic. 

When Grue spoke, his voice was gentle but the words were harsh. “This isn't a friendship. We're just colleagues. That's all.” 

Tony stood there, speechless. 

“We can't work together forever. Both you and I have to move forward.” 

This cold, logical statement cut Tony deeply. As a mercenary, he knew Grue's words had merit. But the two men were friends. Nobody was closer to Tony than Grue. But the man's voice was clipped, like a father regretfully cutting the apron strings. 

“Don't feel bad for worrying about me. You have your things to handle. I have problems of my own.” 

“I understand that, but – ” 

“Then stop asking me questions,” Grue snapped. “Let's leave it at that. Don't make this awkward.” He stubbed out his cigarette and turned away from Tony. “I've got a job to do. I'm gonna go.” 

Tony stepped forward, choosing his words carefully. “I want you to tell me what happened. Or do you not trust me?” 

Grue stood in silence for several minutes. Finally, he spoke. “If you don't walk away, I will.” 

Suddenly, it all clicked into place. Tony frowned. “An assassination job?” 

It was a sharp, short question. Grue's chilled silence was an eloquent reply in and of itself. His broad shoulders sagged under the weight of his emotions. Like Tony, he did not enjoy killing others. 

“I'll tell you this,” he finally allowed. “I owe you my life. Until I pay that debt, I don't go running off.” 

Tony spat. “I'll keep that mind.” 

“I hate leaving debts open.” 

In the east, the sun began stabbing at the sky, chasing away the shroud of darkness around them. Soft colors painted a tender picture altogether unfitting for an underworld encounter. 

Tony sighed. “When you finish, come back, Grue. There's a mountain of jobs I need your help with.” 

“You're too loyal to your partners,” Grue said. “You'll end up with less work. Besides...” His voice trailed off as he turned to face Tony. There seemed to be a sadness in his smile; painful emotions were etched deep in the wrinkles on his forehead. 

Tony didn't say anything. Any words he said would be gibberish. The two men traded long looks as the seconds ticked by. 

Finally, Grue managed to finish his sentence. “You best hurry up and forget a scrounger like me. Maybe our paths have already separated.” Grue turned and disappeared into the city. 

Don't forget me, Grue. I don't hate you. 

Tony plunged his hands into his pockets and walked in the opposite direction. 
 
Grue stalked toward the underground mall with heavy footsteps. 

An assassination job? 

Tony's words lay heavy on his heart. 

I'm a scrounger and a grave robber, sure, but not a cut-throat. Grue had never taken on work as an assassin, no matter how tight his bank account was or how loud the other mercenaries' heckles got. 

Arriving at the mall, Grue nipped into an air duct. He produced a gun from his pocket. It wasn't his beloved Python, but rather a Walker PPK fitted with a large silencer. Grue had repeatedly tested the gun prior to undertaking the mission, and now it was virtually an extension of his right arm. There was no way he would miss anything within shooting range. 

Damn, it's times like these that I really want a smoke. 

He'd been hired to kill the host of a drug party scheduled to convene in the underground shopping center. The guy was practically a kid, but he was rumored to have reneged on a massive loan and plotted an overseas escape. The party was supposed to generate enough funds to underwrite his flight. 

But none of that interested Grue. All he wanted was the money for this job. 

He needed it for Jessica. His daughter's condition grew worse and worse as the time wore on. Grue simply wanted to complete the job and race back to Jessica with the money for her treatment. He had pawned everything away to gather the cash, and totally debased himself, even becoming an assassin. 

The wait would have felt long even if the target had showed up on time. Which he didn't. 

Grue wasn't worried about the job, but fretting about Jessica made him impatient. 

Young people finally showed up at the party site, mingling, scoping out the drug situation. The chemical of choice that night wasn't very potent among addicts, but new users would quickly find themselves too high to function properly. Grue surveyed the scene from the air duct, twisted inside the metal frame as he tightly gripped the PPK. 

The host finally appeared a few hours later, carried into the party with a series of loud cheers. He exuded the recklessness of youth, oblivious to the loaded weapon aimed directly for his head. 

Forgive me, punk. 

Grue was strangely calm. His irritation disappeared as his mind focused on the task at hand. He slipped on a pair of night vision goggles and peered through the sight of the PPK. He aimed directly at the roof of the laughing boy's mouth. 

The shot made barely any noise at all. 

The bullet entered the kid's open mouth, destroying his upper jaw, sending fragments deep into his brain. It was an instantaneous, irrevocable death. 

The boy's body crashed to the floor, momentarily lost beneath the bustle of the party. The other revelers didn't notice, or else thought he was putting on a performance. 

Grue dumped the PPK in the air duct and started backing his way out. Once someone noticed the body, the party would erupt into chaos. He wouldn't be able to combat an enraged mob, even if the party goers themselves posed no real threat. 

He was nearly out of sight when the scream came. 

“Aieee!” 

The dull crump of electronic music stopped, and Grue knew everyone was staring at the body. But he wasn't prepared for what happened next.

The boy should have died instantly when Grue had sniped him. But somehow his body stood up. A dim red light glowed in his empty eye sockets. The corpse was bellowing, unable to articulate without its missing jaw. 

“AURRRUUUU!” 

Suddenly, the unholy wail was joined by another terrifying shriek. The girl closest to the body had plucked out her own eyes, gobbling them into her mouth. Twin fires appeared in the vacant holes of her eye sockets. 

No one tried to run. Perhaps they were trapped in the hazy stupor of their drugged-up brains.

“AURRRUUUU!” 

The ghoulish transformation spread like an infection, each party goer ripping out their own eyes or gouging away at a neighbor's. They ate the bloody orbs, howling as the dull red glow appeared in their sockets.
 
And then Grue saw the shadows. 

The black shapes floated over the partiers' heads, undulating with the wild frenzy of the crowd. A figure emerged from the center of the darkness, black and sinister. It had two hands and two feet like a man, but its face was far from human. A reptilian mouth bared ominous fangs. 

Grue lay rooted to the spot. 

The black lizard-demon was joined by others, which leapt upon the howling corpses and devoured them one by one. The creatures' bodies were coated in red as blood sprayed the room. 

“DAAANNNTEEE!” 

Grue's eyes widened. He had heard the same word coming from the mouths of the undead corpses he and Tony had encountered on the roadway.
 
“DAAANNNTEEE.” 

The chilling calls grew louder. The party was now completely overrun with vermilion lizard-demons, climbing over a carpet of lifeless flesh. The creatures had turned the room into a charnel house in a matter of seconds. 

A silky voice rose above the cries. “What a pleasant sight. It saves me the trouble of a summoning.” 

Something heavy slammed into the air duct, knocking it to the ground. Grue spilled out of the exposed end, rolling into the center of the room. He caught sight of the lizards and froze. But a moment later his shock was replaced by pain. Grue flexed and realized he had dislocated his right shoulder in the fall. 

Grue clenched his teeth and reached for his beloved Python. 

“Hold it right there. Don't make this harder than it has to be.” The cold voice was matched by a cold blade now at Grue's throat. 

Grue allowed his gaze to drift across the length of the sword and up the arm of his captor. The man's face was swaddled in familiar bandages. “You!” 

Gilver didn't move. “Tony's partners, old and new. What are the odds?” 

“What are you doing here?” Grue indicated the lizard-demons. “What the hell are those?” 

Gilver increased the pressure on his sword, causing Grue to wince in pain. “Darkness,” he finally said. “A crowd, unwittingly dancing to tribal rhythms. A ceremony so secret that even the participants were ignorant of their true part. A blood offering.” The bandaged man surveyed the room as if willing each lizard creature to stop howling. 

A sepulchral silence fell across the room. 

“To think that everything has come together this easily,” he said. “Humanity was born a race of our slaves.” 

Gilver pressed harder on his weapon, and a thin stream of red blood rolled down Grue's neck. “Inhabiting the corpses taxes our strength and limits our numbers. But soon we will be able to migrate to this plane in our own prepared bodies.” 

Blackness began encroaching on Grue's peripheral vision, but he willed himself to stay conscious. 

“Tony Redgrave is a skilled warrior. But not even he can withstand our combined might.” 

Grue snapped to attention at the sound of his friend's name; his system flushed with adrenaline. The mottled lizards resumed their chanting. 

“DAAANNNTEEE!” 

Gilver spoke without sympathy. “You're the last one, Grue. A pity that body of yours is too old to offer as a sacrifice.” 

Grue returned Gilver's dispassionate stare, seeing his own reflection in his captor's eyes. He bit his cheek to stifle the pain form his damaged right arm, which was even now inching toward the pin of a grenade that hung from his munitions belt. 

Grue let his mind flicker back over his beautiful daughters' faces and Tony's brilliant smile. 

Goodbye. 

A moment passed. 

And then an inferno raged through the abattoir. The courageous last stand of a washed-up mercenary was commemorated in flame.