Devil May Cry - Volume 2 - Chapter 1.4

Phase 1 
Part 4

That night, strange rumors raced through the city.

"I heard it was the shape of a gigantic bird soaring through the sky." 
"They said you could hear its suffering from miles away." 
"It fell somewhere, but nobody knows where." 
Most rumors were relegated to tall tales being told at the city's cheaper watering holes.

Yet even the upstanding citizens who didn't visit the mercenary haunts had heard about the giant bat creature seen on the mountain the night the temple was destroyed.

Nobody had any way to be sure what was truth and what were tricks of the night.

Until Ducas.

Or Ducas the Rat, as he was better known throughout the city's seedy underbelly.

Ducas was a low-level street punk without much to his name.

At least, not until the night he came across an event that would change his destiny forever.

Ducas' job was mainly extortion.

He preferred to call it "donation." On a typical night, Ducas would prowl the streets looking for affluent pedestrians to ask for donations "in good faith".

But some nights were slower than others, and on this particular night Ducas returned home with empty pockets.

Six hours on the street had produced not one dime.

Not that the higher-ups would care about that.

They'd still expect their donations, which meant that he was in the red.

Which in turn meant he was going hungry until tomorrow.

The city itself seemed to sneer at him as he skulked home.

Warm lights flickered from the little bars along the street, out drunken laughter spilled.

I had plans to be in one of those bars tonight, he thought ruefully.

Ducas heard his stomach growl.

It wasn't fair.

He just wanted a cheap meal.

He didn't have a high tolerance for alcohol and wasn't a glutton, either.

Ducas just wanted to live modestly and have fun-but he didn't want to work for it.

Ducas continued along the street until he came to a crooked staircase at the end of a dark alley.

He climbed to the second floor and entered his apartment.

The Spartan single room was somehow messy.

A small bed peeked above a layer of discarded clothes like a boat sinking at sea.

If he couldn't eat, at least he could sleep.

Ducas flung himself on the bed.

I've been in this city for three years now.

Why can't I catch a break? Just one chance, that's all a guy like me needs.

Bam! I'd come up from the gutter.

Like many in the criminal world, Ducas believed that all his failures came down to a string of bad luck.

It wasn't his fault he lost all his money gambling or seemed stuck in his current situation.

Man, if a little luck came my way, who knows what I could do? 
Ducas curled into the fetal position, the better to clutch his growling stomach with.

He'd never gotten used to going to bed hungry, even though it was hardly a rare event.

For a while he'd been able to skate by on credit at various bars and restaurants, but by now he had abused his privilege so often that he was banned from most shops.

He wasn't dubbed "the Rat" for nothing.

Ducas decided to abandon himself to dreams.

There'll definitely be something good waiting for me tomorrow.

He was half right.

CRASH! 
A terrible noise tore Ducas from his fitful sleep.

He opened one eye and was so dumbfounded that he found himself unable to speak.

His roof was gone.

So was one of his walls.

It was a good one, too, with a quaint little window.

Alas, the mess on his floor remained.

"What the...?" Ducas noticed that his bed was half buried under rubble.

"What's happening?" 
Surpisingly, none of this was the unlucky part.

Ducas howled dumbly.

Something howled back.

It was weak and pitiful, like a wounded animal.

"Urooo!" 
The mess on the floor undulated and slowly broke apart.

A dark object snaked out from the rubble pathetically.

With a start, Ducas realized it was a hand.

He slunk to the far end of his bed and looked on blankly.

The hand collapsed limply.

After a moment, Ducas summoned the courage to approach it.

The extremity didn't look quite human, although it didn't really look like any animal he'd ever seen.

Whatever was under the floor seemed to have taken its last breath? 
Ducas gingerly touched the hand.

It was cold and clammy, yet covered in black fur.

Up close, it looked more like a paw than a hand.

It gripped something tightly in its digits.

"I'm going to take a look at that," Ducas whispered hoarsely.

"Don't come back to life or anything, okay? I won't hurt you." 
Ducas peeled the fingers from the object one by one, revealing a small statue.

It had three lion heads.

Or jackals.

Dogs, maybe.

It was delicate, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

Even Ducas could recognize its superior craftsmanship.

"Why are you carrying this?" he asked.

I bet I could sell this for a lot, he thought.

It was usually the first thing to go through his mind whenever he came across something new.

He turned the statue around, examining it against the glow of the city lights.

...potential? 
"What?" Ducas jumped at the voice.

He quickly scanned his room, but the hand remained inert.

There was nobody around.

...own potential? 
This time he was sure he'd heard a voice.

It sounded like someone was asking him a question, but he couldn't see a living soul.

Ducas clasped the statue to his chest and held his breath.

He didn't feel fear.

The voice was somehow encouraging.

Almost like a divine revelation.

Dost thou desire to know thine own potential? 
It wasn't a voice at all.

It was a communication directly to his consciousness itself.

"Y-yeah," Ducas stuttered.

"I wanna know.

I wanna know what I can do!" he shouted into the night, oblivious to his missing wall and roof.

His mind was on other things.

"I wanna know how far I can go!" he screamed again, clutching the statue even tighter.

"Tell me! Show me my potential!" 
Looking back on it, Ducas would identify the moment as his Faustian bargain.

But for now, he knew nothing aside from a burning desire to attain his destiny.

A collection of strange men had somehow entered his apartment; they now surrounded Ducas.

The figures wore black leather jackets and shrouded their faces behind unsettling masks.

"Who are you?" 
The figures lifted Ducas into the air and tossed him through the missing wall.

"What the hell are you doing?!" 
Being flung down two stories snapped Ducas back to his old self.

But the anger welling up inside of him died out as quickly as it came when the figures separated to reveal an additional visitor to the room.

"Boss?" Ducas could scarcely believe his eyes.

"What are you doing here, boss?" 
The dark figures flanked a portly gentleman with a gentle face.

His thinning hair was hardened into place thanks to a generous application of hairspray.

He wore a stylish suit from a bygone era, reinforcing the image of a kindly grandfather.

But everyone who knew him would say that appearances could be deceiving.

This was "Cold-blooded Chen," so named for his tendency to ignore all sense of morality, custom, or taboo where money was concerned.

He had amassed a generous fortune at the expense of countless lives.

Chen had risen to take control of the criminal underworld in recent years, making a number of enemies and an even greater number of fearful underlings.

"Ho ho! Who are you? If you call me 'boss,' you must be Family," Chen said.

His voice had a rich sibilance.

"I'm Ducas," he said uncertainly.

"I collect donations in this neighborhood." 
Ducas realized he was slouching and brought himself to attention.

He had only ever seen Chen from afar at regional meetings, and had certainly never spoken with him before.

Although he had heard the same rumors as everyone else.

Ducas wasn't afraid of Chen.

Instead, he regarded him as a sort of king.

Ducas felt his nerves burn with anxiety.

"Ho ho! You're one of the Family, all right.

My luck is good indeed." Chen flashed a smile so wide it threatened to cut his face in half.

"Did you look beneath the rubble to see the nature of your guest?" He indicated the Black Hand.

"No, sir." Ducas trembled.

"I'm a coward, sir." He felt as if Chen was capable of peering into his mind.

What will happen if I tell a lie? Just thinking about it frightened him.

"Excellent.

In that case, I'd like you to make a promise with me." 
"Anything, boss!" 
"Tell no one what you saw tonight.

And you yourself are to forget these events as quickly as possible.

Do you understand?" 
"Of course, boss!" 
 
 
Chen nodded, satisfied by the speedy response.

"Excellent.

Tonight, you can stay in a special room I've prepared for you.

Consider it an apology for disrupting your home.

Will you accept?" 
"Yes, sir!" 
Chen gestured to one of his bodyguards and instructed him to escort Ducas to a nearby hotel owned by the Family.

After the pair left, the aged crime boss turned his attention back to the rubble.

"Ho ho! We took care of things without any commotion." Chen flashed a confident smile and signaled to the dark figures sifting through the debris.

"How are things over there?" 
The figures remained silent, but stepped aside to clear a path for Chen.

Lying in the middle of the wreckage was the she-devil Dante had struggled with on the mountain.

Chen approached the demon without fear and began to examine the uncanny body.

"Very interesting," he decided.

"This must be a higher demon.

Not like the dull underlings we've come across in the past." 
He surveyed the demon like a chef perusing his ingredients.

He measured the body, dug through its abdomen to examine its entrails, and even shaved off some hair with a knife for further consideration later.

After an hour of exploration, Chen stepped away from the corpse.

He jovial face wore an expression of satisfaction.

"Ho ho! This has been a good harvest." 
Chen narrowed his eyes and regarded the dark figures around him.

"Where is the object?" 
The figures' masks occluded their expressions, but Chen somehow knew they were none the wiser.

"The statue is missing.

Is it possible that our young Mister Ducas took it with him?" 
Again the figures stood mute.

"I see.

We must assume that Mister Ducas has the Beastheads.

Ho ho!" Chen waddled out of the room with a sly chuckle.

The figures followed him.

Finally, he turned to face his flock.

The nearest figure knelt down in front of him, awaiting orders.

"Let Mister Ducas swim free for a while yet.

It will give us the opportunity to ascertain precisely what we are dealing with.

Both the Beastheads itself and whoever else might be interested in it." 
The black figures nodded slightly and vanished like the wind.

The strange night was at an end