Devil May Cry - Volume 1 - Chapter 4.2

Phase 4.2

The scream echoing through the city had a different edge than usual.
 
Tony had been heading to one of his typical haunts in hopes of persuading the barman to raise his tab limit, when he heard the explosion. An office building several blocks behind him burst into flames. 

Somehow, he knew at once that it was Goldstein's shop. 

Tony retraced his steps at full speed. Onlookers had already arrived on the scene. He pushed his way through the chaos. “Outta my way! Coming through!” Tony flung the gawkers aside as he shouldered through the mob. But by the time he had cleared the crowd it was too late. The entire building was engulfed in flames. 

“Old lady...” 

Tony clenched his fists, willing himself not to get emotional in front of the onlookers. 

A sign fluttered to the ground in front of him. It was a basic rectangle, bearing the inscription Goldstein's Shop. 

Tony scanned the scene. There was no way he was going to just stand there and do nothing. 

He spied a fire hose flapping around out of the corner of his eye. Someone had turned it on but lost control, and now it was spraying water everywhere. Tony dived toward the hose and wrestled it into submission. He doused himself with water. I guess I'm going to ruin another coat. 

Soaked through, Tony dashed inside the building. The crowd cheered him on, mistaking his red coat for a fireman's jacket. He sprinted up the flaming staircase. 

“Hang on, old lady! You can't die until you've paid me for a new jacket! 
 
“Old lady! Are you still alive?” 

Tony barreled through the blackened remains of the door. To his astonishment, Goldstein sat at her workbench as though nothing unusual was happening. Her left eye squinted to hold a monocle in place as she rubbed a cloth over her current project. 

“What are you doing? There's a fire!” 

“A fire isn't anything to get worked up over. You young people are so skittish.” Goldstein raised her head to look at Tony. He had never seen her wear such a serious expression before. “You got here just in time. I'll have you put the finishing touches on it.” 

“What part of 'fire' did you not understand?” 

“It's okay. Come over here, Tony.” 

“Old lady!” 

“Did you not hear what I said? Come over here, Tony.” The tenor of her voice shocked Tony into compliance. He drifted over to her as if under a spell. “That's right. You're a good boy.” 

The fire raged hotter around them. Flames began to creep up dangerously close to Goldstein's workbench. Tony knew if they didn't get out of there they would suffer oxygen deprivation before burning to death. 

But Goldstein's calm tones overpowered his flight instinct. “Finish setting this up. With your own hands.” 

Tony regarded the object before him. It was the thing Goldstein had been working on earlier, still wrapped in a red cloth. “What is this?” 

“Remove the cloth and look at it with your own eyes, Tony.” 

“Okay.” Tony obeyed. 

The fabric hid two chunks of metal, one ebony and one ivory in color. They scintillated in the firelight. 

“It's your weapons. Made only for you, Tony Redgrave. No one else in the whole world has anything like this pair of pistols.” 

The pistols were identical, forged from glimmering metal. Tony picked one up, completely forgetting the fire. “My guns?” 

The weapons were inordinately heavy. Matching engravings traced their way across the polished surfaces: By .45 Art Warks – For Tony Redgrave. 

Goldstein watched Tony examine the weapons with maternal affection. “Do you understand, Tony? These children are yours; they were made only for you.” 

“Old lady...” Tony clicked the clip into place. He turned away from Goldstein to hide the tears welling in his eyes. 

“It's my best work. My masterpieces. I put the old logo on it.” 

“It's spelled wrong,” he insisted out of habit. 

Goldstein placed her hands on Tony's drooping shoulders. “You need to finish them, Tony. Once you assemble them, they will truly be yours.” 

She had laid each part, one by one, on a tray on the table, like a row of obsidian jewels. “You've disassembled weapons for cleaning, right? That's the gist of it. Just do it in reverse.” 

“Okay. I understand.” The tray was practically weightless. Holding the pistols made him feel awake as if for the first time. He slid various components into place, admiring the craftsmanship each step of the way. The virgin mouth of the gun, unsullied by gunpowder soot; the magnificent, unworn grip; the cartridge tat snapped smoothly into place – each item seemed drawn to its correct location. 

The two guns were taking shape in Tony's hands. He was in a trance now, unaware of Goldstein or the shop or the orange flames dancing around them. 

He held the modified grip in his right hand; it had clearly been designed with a rapid firing speed in mind. The trigger guard had been carefully tailored to ensure there would be no hindrance to finger movement. The sight had been worn off to minimize weight. The cartridge had a fast-release mechanism enabling ammo changes on the fly. It was a weapon built for unleashing a blizzard of bullets. 

The other gun was somewhat different. Its grip was designed for his left hand, textured for assurance rather than firing speed. The barrel was slimmer than its counterpart, designed for precise marksmanship. It was clearly intended to compliment the other gun. 

Finally, Tony was done. The pistols were large and ungainly but had an intrinsic elegance. They seemed to belong in his hands. 

“These children are all yours now. It was worth pouring everything into this final work.” 

“Old lady?” 

Goldstein braced herself on the edge of the table, breathing heavily amid the smoke. “I must be old. I already feel so faint.” 

By the time Tony figured out what was happening, it was too late. Goldstein slumped to the ground. 

“Old lady! Hey!” 

Tony snapped out of his trance and scooped the old woman into his arms. It was then that he saw the deep slash across her back. Her entire left side was coated with red blood. He knew there was no way to save her; it was a miracle that she had held out long enough to give him the guns. 

“It's a little warm in here,” Goldstein whispered. Her eyes were shut. The pair sat in the center of a wild conflagration. Tony knew it would become a crematorium if they didn't leave. 

“Open your eyes! Answer me! Say something!” Tony shook Goldstein frantically. Her body grew cold and her breathing had become shallow gasps. 

“You can't kick the bucket like this! I've got more work for you to do!” 

“Rock? Is that you? You came back to me.” 

Tony froze. Goldstein had opened her eyes, but they had already lost their light. He couldn't tell whether she was still conscious or not. 

“I'm sorry,” she wheezed. “Your mommy...” 

“Old lady...” 

But Goldstein's mind was elsewhere. She seemed to think Tony was someone else. She weakly caressed his face. The contact was strange yet familiar, like a mother's hand. 

“Your mommy's is already... so... this, back...” 

Goldstein was trying to say something, but she didn't have the strength. Her bloody hand slid to her chest. 

“What do you mean? Old lady? 
 
Suddenly, Tony noticed that Goldstein was clutching something in her other hand. It was the picture she kept on her desk. Tony had seen it many times – a photograph of a smiling young boy, holding a gun one hand and petting a dog with the other. 

“This... your mommy... I have to give it back to you.” 

Goldstein lost her strength and the frame tumbled to the floor. Tony held her quietly, straining to listen to her hollow voice. 

“Was another... Tony... that child...” 

Tony's eyes widened at the sound of his name. Goldstein fought to get the words out, every breath an agony. 

“A lot like you... a good kid. Please... Tony... look after him...” 

“Old lady!” 

But Goldstein could no longer hear him. Her body went limp in Tony's arms, a serene smile etched on her face. The .45 Caliber Artist had passed into heaven amid the hellish inferno of her beloved shop. 

“Goodbye, old lady,” Tony said softly, placing Goldstein on the ground. He knew she had seen the visage of her son in his face as she died, and the thought reassured hi,. “I'm sorry that I teased you. I didn't mean any of it. Give me a break, yeah?” 

Something inside Tony was breaking free. 

“I'm a big crybaby, just like Grue said. You two were soft on me, so I can't help it.” 

Subtle emotions bloomed inside his mind. 

“I'm sorry. I lied to you... I forgot who I was.” 

Tony stood, grasping the new weapons Goldstein had given him. 

“I forgot who I was for a very long time.” 

The fire raging around him echoed the turmoil inside, old layers of personality and childhood flaking away under the burning transformation. 

Goldstein's body merged into the image of Tony's mother on the day she died. Eva had given her life protecting him. The past and present blended into a seamless vision, and Tony was unable to distinguish between them. He heard a familiar voice whisper over the crackling flames. 

Hide that name. Blind yourself to it and run away. 

After his mother's death, Tony had become obsessed with an old sword left behind by his father. His younger self had deliriously clutched the weapon out of fear and loneliness. And eventually the sword had spoken to him. 

“And so I hid my name and lived as Tony Redgrave up until now,” Tony said aloud. “I deceived them, so that I could gain the power to fight them as equals.” 

Had the sword really talked to him? Was it a supernatural ploy by the servants of the demon king? Had they toyed with him as a child, until he was ready to play their games? 

“I did gain the power. I honed my skills and have defeated every demon to cross my path.” 

The fire gusted, blowing ash and cinder around Tony like a whirlwind. His silver hair flapped madly in the breeze. He closed his eyes. 

“Now is the time. I will take my true name.” 

Thunder boomed outside, a clarion call announcing a hellish downpour of rain. The shower poured through the crumbled rooftop. It hissed into steam where it clashed with the flames. The combination of water and fire created a thick mist, which enveloped Tony. But he didn't care. Instead, he toyed with his new guns. He spun the weapons around as he did a martial dance, balancing and flexing until at last the pistols were nothing more than a natural extension of his body. He reached the apex of his dance and retreated to his trademark pose. Crossing the guns across his chest, Tony opened his eyes. 

“I am...” 

A peel of thunder roared across the sky as the rain kicked up. The fire licked upward as if challenging the torrents of water. 

An unearthly chorus climaxed.

“DAAANNNTEEE!” 

“Jackpot!” Dante spun around and fired his new weapons at something moving within the flames. 

“Dante! The son of a traitor!” 

“Dante! The one who hinders our ambitions!” 

Dante fired volley after volley into the fire, dousing the flames with his bullets. He had sensed the presence of demons and realized the creatures had disguised themselves in the shape and color of the inferno. 

“Persistent little bastards, aren't you? Is that all you've got? Bring me someone stronger.” 

Dante blew away the last of the fire-creatures and flamboyantly jammed his guns into the leather holsters at his side. He looked skyward. “I know you're listening!” 

Black rain clouds blotted out the sky, but he sensed a strange, searching eyes overhead. “I'm gonna find you demons and send you straight back to hell! Me! Devil hunter Dante!” 

Thunder boomed, and Dante smiled defiantly. 
 
Dante had glowered at the sky until the rain finally doused the fire and the clouds rolled away. Goldstein's passage had enabled Dante to throw away “Tony” and regain his true name. 

“See ya, old lady. The guns you gave me... I'm gonna use them better than you ever imagined.” 

The confusion had left him. No emotion. No tears. No childish mischief. 

But as he walked away from the carnage, two words slipped form him unconsciously. 

“Goodbye, Mother.” 

The whisper disappeared on the wind.