Devil May Cry - Volume 2 - Chapter 2.3

Phase 2 
Part 3 

Dante slammed on the brakes as a second helicopter flew overheads.

"Hey! Are you trying to make me fall off?" Beryl tightly gripped Dante's red jacket.

"If I was gonna kill you, I'd find a better way than that.

Anyway, I didn't really have a choice." Dante pointed toward the darkness that loomed farther down the road.

The edges of the shadows were undulating like a jellyfish.

Eventually the blackness resolved itself into a horse of masked assassins.

"Ghost Knights," Beryl spat out.

"I've heard rumors about them for years.

This isn't going to be easy." 
Dante dismounted the bike and slipped his hands around Ebony and Ivory.

Beryl pressed her back against his and fondled a machine gun she'd brought along in addition to her beloved anti-tank rifle.

They were completely surrounded.

"They're possessed," Dante said, remembering the unsettling eye plate.

"I'm not surprised," Beryl said.

"They work for Chen.

But they specialize in demon extermination.

I never thought they'd be coming after me." 
"Who's Chen?" asked Dante.

Beryl spun around in exasperation, temporarily pushing the Ghost Knights from her mind.

"Unbelievable! I've had it with you! Why don't you actually learn a thing or two about your city? Even kids know who Chen the Cannibal is." 
The circle of Ghost Knights closed in step by step.

Each figure carried a pair of small blades instead of guns.

But Dante and Beryl were absorbed in their conversation.

"Oh, Chen the Cannibal.

Why didn't you say so in the first place?" 
Beryl threw her hands up in despair.

Dante decided that he ought to pay attention to their situation.

"These goons want a closer-range battle." 
"Maybe they think they don't need guns against opponents like us? They must be awfully confident to take on two Devil Hunters." 
Dante bristled.

"One Devil Hunter." 
"Here they come!" 
Ebony and Ivory roared into life as Dante sprang into a combat position.

He eschewed his typical rapid fire in favor of calculated shots at his opponents' foreheads.

The possessed souls fell to 
the ground with inhuman cries, the eyes' controlling power now obliterated.

Beryl unleashed her fury with abandon, sinking bullets into the black figures' bellies and destroying limbs.

But even the most hideously wounded Ghost Knights continued to advance.

Dante and Beryl risked sinking under the sheer weight of numbers.

The size of their opposition meant little to Dante.

"Bring it on!" he shouted at nobody in particular, his twin pistols spitting out death even faster than Beryl's machine gun ever could.

The Ghost Knights were oblivious to his assault and pressed on with their attack.

Dante easily dodged the black figures' glinting daggers.

"Come on, guys.

I'm getting bored here.

If this keeps up, we'll have to pause for a nap." 
The warriors realized that Dante was in no danger of feeling the prick of their blades, so they turned their attention to Beryl.

She was holding her own, but she was still the easier target nonetheless.

The figures stretched their arms in impossible directions, bending their joints at nightmarish angles and snaking their forearms across the battlefield.

"Not fast enough!" Beryl boasted, ducking an attack.

She rolled across the asphalt and swung her machine gun into position.

She was determined to live up to her Devil Hunter reputation, 
especially in front of Dante.

The Ghost Knights might have phantasmic powers now, but they were human once.

Beryl had taken out true demons in her time and wasn't about to let a few possessed bastards get the better of her.

She butted her gun into the nearest attacker's stomach and then swung a knee into his chin as he doubled over.

Beryl brought her weapon to bear as the warrior stumbled backward.

She fired a quick burst into his abdomen.

She might as well not have bothered.

"No way!" 
The attacker calmly rose to his feet and began advancing once more.

Beryl broke out in a sweat.

She wasn't scared, necessarily-at least, not that she would admit to Dante-but whereas he was dispatching his opponents into the afterlife, none of her attacks resulted in mortalities.

"Chen sure knows what he's doing," she hissed through gritted teeth.

She couldn't know that Dante had discovered the creatures' weak point during the melee in the ravine.

He coolly blasted each attacker in the face without further thought.

But Beryl believed the Ghost Knights to be victims of temporary magic or possession.

She wasn't afraid to use her gun when necessary, but she was holding back until given opponent left her with no choice.

Even then, she tried to avoid vital areas.

"Just fall down!" she screamed.

The steady influx of Ghost Knights was beginning to get on Beryl's nerves.

Aside from those who actually had limbs blasted off, none of her attackers displayed any hint of a wound after getting back up off the ground.

The street was free from blood.

She fought to suppress a wave of panic.

"Don't come any closer!" 
Watching her opponents rise back up after being shot triggered a primitive fear response, which in turn weighed on her nerves.

Beryl knew she was succumbing to fatigue.

To make matters worse, she had lost track of Dante.

Click! 
The sound sent a shiver down her spine.

Beryl didn't need to check to know that it was the sound of her machine gun locking up.

There was no time to figure out whether it had overheated or simply jammed while loading bullets.

I need my rifle.

The realization dawned too late.

Beryl saw several killing blades arcing toward her, and suddenly she knew she was too fatigued to even raise her arms in defense.

Her indecision had given the Ghost Knights the perfect window.

"No!" Her reflexive scream subsided at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Don't get excited.

Let's play it cool." Dante whirled his massive pistols into position and calmly dispatched each of the blades, and then took out the figures who had thrown them.

"Dante?" 
"That was the last of them.

I admit it took longer than I had anticipated." 
Beryl exhaled slowly.

Finally, she composed herself and rose to her feet.

The street was littered with inert bodies of Ghost Knights, each one shot mercilessly through the forehead.

The site instinctively disgusted her.

Beryl turned on Dante.

He had saved her life even though she had endangered his in the ravine near the temple.

A torrent of words spilled from her mouth before she even realized she was talking.

"You went too far, Dante!" 
"I'm not much of a humanitarian." He shrugged.

"If you come at me, I'm going to win.

End of story." 
"You didn't have to kill them all like that! Look at them!" Beryl swallowed her words before accusing Dante of massacre.

This is almost like the handiwork of a devil.

And then she remembered his origin.

Mercenaries gossiped to a degree that put housewives to shame, and Dante was a favorite subject for after-hours speculation.

Some said his silver hair came from none other than the ancient hero Sparda, while others limited their concerns to whether or not he truly pioneered Devil Hunting or whether he actually ever did any work, what with his trademark red leather coat always looking so spiffy.

Dante was even rumored to have defeated the King of the Underworld himself, although of course nobody really believed that.

Beryl had never heard anyone accuse Dante of being the sort of ruthless killer likely to be involved in an outright massacre, but the tableau of bodies on the street spoke for itself.

She found herself recalling the rumors that demon blood pumped through Dante's veins.

She willed herself to snap out of it.

The Beastheads had to come first.

"If we hurry, we might be able to catch the helicopter when it lands." 
Dante shook his head grimly.

"No.

Ducas can wait.

I want to meet this Chen of yours.

Someone needs to teach him a lesson about what happens when you mess with me." 
Ducas' helicopter had already alighted on a gargantuan yacht by the time the last of the Ghost Knights fell.

He had annoyed everyone else in the chopper by repeatedly thanking Chen for his miraculous escape, even though Chen had stayed behind in the city.

But to Ducas, the thanks had become a mantra.

Chen was his benefactor.

It was through Chen that he had his lucky talisman.

Ducas waved dumbly at the helicopter as it flew back toward the shore.

He thought about his future.

Everyone will know my name now, he mused.

How many great men have had to flee overseas? Yeah! A few years in the South Seas, maybe.

Lie on the beach and get a tan.

The ladies would be all over me.

Ducas the Legendary! 
Ducas wandered across the ship's wide deck and descended into its central cabin.

A number of immaculate bedrooms ringed the luxurious main living space.

The kitchen was more suited to a house than a boat.

Ducas grabbed a carrot from the refrigerator and continued his tour.

It didn't take much longer to realize that something was amiss.

"Hello?" 
The yacht was empty.

Everywhere he went, Ducas' voice was the only noise.

He hadn't seen a single crewmember on the deck, and the interior was too different.

The engine room churned with machinery but no one was there to oversee it.

The captain was conspicuously absent from the empty bridge.

Ducas was alone.

I don't understand.

Ducas returned to the bridge, but he had no idea how to sail a yacht and wasn't stupid enough to try flicking random switches.

Heart racing, he made his way to the radio room.

His calls were met with static.

Something's wrong.

I need to tell the boss about that! 
Ducas rushed back up to the deck.

The helicopter was gone, but he had his own means of flight now.

However, at that moment he was unable to will his black wings to appear.

How had they sprouted before? 
He dashed from rail to rail and realized that he had no idea where the boat was or in which direction he should fly anyway.

There was no sign of land.

His path to freedom turned out to be a prison.

"Help me! Somebody please help me!" Ducas collapsed onto the deck and curled into the fetal position, clutching the Beastheads.

Its sharp dog ears cut into the palm of his hand, smearing blood against the statue.

Ducas gripped the pendant tightly and felt the dizzying onset of another mystical vision.

Images from the future rushed into his 
brain.

A sky choked off by black clouds.

Silver flashes of pouring rain.

Ducas on the ground, cut down by Dante.

"No!" 
Ducas rolled around on the deck in despair, squeezing the Beastheads with hopes of changing the vision.

But the images replayed identically each time.

Dante slicing Ducas from his shoulder to his pelvis.

Ducas crashing lifelessly to the ground amid the geysers of blood.

Ducas sobbed openly.

There was no one to hear him anyway.

...to us? 
A familiar voice wove its way into Ducas' ears.

...sacrifice thine all to us? 
The voice was unmistakably inhuman.

Ducas had heard it before, back at his apartment.

The malevolent sound provoked a primal response of fear and despair.

And it drove Ducas over the edge.

Normal judgment behind him, Ducas shoved the Beastheads into his mouth and tried to grind it apart with his teeth.

"We've lost contact with the yacht, sir.

Something to do with the weather." 
Chen nodded slowly at the report.

"I was expecting something like this.

Young Mister Ducas is in possession of an item said to have been crafted by the King of the Underworld himself.

Supernatural happenings are to be expected in these circumstances.

I suspect our friend is enduring a moment of utter despair.

There's a little better for enabling the truth to flow freely." 
Chen eased himself off a voluminous leather sofa and crossed to a large window.

Ducas' yacht appeared to be floating just outside, swallowed up and spat back out by black clouds.

"The techniques of the demon realm are truly remarkable," Chen said, more to himself than anyone else.

"Faraway oceans and distant events can be brought to us as if we could reach out and pluck Mister Ducas from my ship.

And these are just the powers of the lesser demons.

Imagine what we might achieve with the abilities of a higher devil, or the Beastheads itself." 
"Yes, sir," the minion said blankly.

Chen ignored the response, enraptured by the images beyond the glass.

His face shone with the pure delight of a child.

"How much longer before humans lose their taste for the pretty advantages gained by dominating each other? Absorption into the demon realm offers limitless power." 
The yacht beyond the window rose and fell wildly as rain pummeled the seas.

Black clouds coalesced around it, spitting lightning.

Those who possess the Beastheads have access to the past and the future.

Lightning flashed again, casting a glow against Chen's features.

His peaceful expression bore hints of emptiness, greed, and brutality.

His twin pursuit of esoteric knowledge and criminal violence had given Chen a sense of transcendence.

Legend has it that the three heads symbolize the past, present, and future.

We have seen the power symbolize by the past and future.

But what of the present? 
Chen gazed hypnotically at the black clouds on the other side of the window.

He had waited his whole life for this.

He had the patience to wait a little longer.

"Can you believe this wind? It's messing up my hair," moaned Dante.

"A mercenary obsessed by his own appearance? This weather obviously means the end of the world." 
Dante and Beryl were standing on the edge of a sea cliff.

They had abandoned the motorcycle when the road ended.

Now they made their way through tall grass, attempting to get to the ocean.

The cliff plunged into the sea at an oblique angle, giving the impression that by merely peering over the edge, one would be sucked toward the violent waves down below.

The pair had spied the black storm clouds, and both sensed a preternatural influence.

Dante suspected a localized incursion of the demon realm, which meant that Ducas and the Beastheads were probably at its heart.

"Can you feel it?" Beryl sensed an almost tangible malice in the air.

She absently stroked the scar on her collarbone.

"Is this normal in the demon realm?" 
"How should I know?" Dante replied.

"Ask a demon." 
Both knew something was wrong.

The air grew thicker, swelling with tension.

It smelled of sulfur and ozone.

The two Devil Hunters instinctively gripped their weapons and stared tersely out at the gathering clouds.

"Here it comes," Dante said grimly.

Thunder pealed, and at last it appeared.