Devil May Cry - Volume 2 - Chapter 3.1

Phase 3 
Part 1 

She was dreaming.

It felt hollow and strange, as dreams often do.

Beryl watched her younger self with a mixture of emotions.

She knew she was dreaming of course.

One doesn't generally come across younger versions of oneself in the waking hours.

The scene playing itself out before her was one Beryl had relived countless times, despite how hard she tried to forget.

It was the moment when the path of her life was decided.

"Daddy! Daddy! Where are you?" 
The young Beryl's voice sounded strained as she yelled, scampering through an anxious crowd.

She wore ragged jeans and her red hair was cut short like a boy's.

She fought her way through the crush of people, screaming out for her father.

Her eyes welled with tears.

The adult Beryl knew what happened next.

The ground heaved, breaking apart the waves of people.

Men and women fled in terror, but the cries overwhelmed young Beryl.

She stood, stupefied, as a strange shadow fell across her path.

A terrifying monster with giant compound eyes and mouth-like wings stepped into view, clicking and buzzing with its demonic tongue.

The creature grabbed Beryl and flew into the air.

The girl wailed and pummeled its bristling chest, punching a hole through her right side.

Warm blood stained her shirt.

I was so scared.

Beryl could remember every vivid detail.

The demon was shot down before it got too far.

Someone in the crowd caught Beryl just before she smashed into the ground.

And then she saw it.

The beast's glittering compound eyes crumbled away as it died, revealing the face of her beloved father inside.

He tightly clutched a small statue.

It was a statue Beryl would never forget-an elaborate dog with three heads.

Oh, Daddy.

Even the Beastheads couldn't give you the power to bring Mommy back to life.

In the dream, Beryl sobbed wretchedly.

The adult Beryl stood beside her, her cheeks stained with hot tears.

Beryl opened her eyes.

Her face was still moist with tears.

The scar running across the right side of her chest ached hotly.

It was the wound caused when her father stabbed her with the Beastheads.

I can only detect the presence of the Beastheads because of that wound.

Beryl rubbed the inflamed scar and looked around.

She and Dante seemed to be in a cavern of some kind.

Her companion had draped his long red jacket over her.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare," Dante explained.

Beryl turned away with embarrassment.

Did he see me crying? She wiped her tears from her face with the back of her hand.

"It was nothing," she offered weakly.

"I see.

That's okay, then." 
Beryl surveyed the small cave again.

Dante had gently reclined her against the back wall, while he crouched on a rock near the mouth.

He kept a sharp watch on the world outside with his unsheathed sword in his hand.

The cave was warm and smelled of sulfur.

Beryl had memorized the local landmarks as she and Dante tracked Ducas earlier.

A mercenary could never be too careful in the event of a retreat or trap.

But she hadn't noticed a hot springs or volcano-nothing that could account for the heat and stench.

She doubted the Beastheads could have carried them very far with its critical wounds.

"Sleep some more, while you can." Dante's words broke Beryl's train of thought.

He was curt, but she appreciated the thoughtfulness.

"Thanks.

But I'm okay." 
"It would have been less trouble if you had slept longer." 
Beryl didn't know how to process Dante's odd response.

She rose to walk out of the cave and was struck by an uncanny nausea.

She felt simultaneously dizzy and lethargic, as if she only had half the required energy for movement.

The hot ache in her old scar had spread to her whole body.

Beryl approached Dante, holding on to the cave walls to support herself.

"What's happening? I can barely pull myself together." 
"I figured something like this would happen," Dante said flatly.

"You'll get used to it.

It's not going away anytime soon." Dante pointed outside the cavern.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

The cave seemed to be high above the ground, giving them a good perspective of the surrounding land.

It wasn't a view Beryl had been expecting.

Bizarre trees clumped together to form a forest thick with new colors.

Dark water trickled in a nearby stream.

The heavy sky hung low, almost like a physical force pressing down on the strange creatures strutting across the garish landscape.

"It's full of demons!" Beryl exclaimed in a hushed voice.

"It sure looks that way," Dante said.

"What happened? Where is this place?" 
"I honestly don't know.

But it doesn't look like the Underworld." 
"What do you mean, you don't know? Pretty pathetic for the son of a devil." 
"Think of me as setting an example for all the other demons raised in the stink of fine women and good booze." Dante sheathed Rebellion and came down from his perch.

"I'm going down to have a look.

Catch up when you're feeling better," he said.

She blinked.

"You'd leave me alone in this place? What kind of a man are you?" 
"Well, it looked a little dangerous to go out there with dead weight holding me back." Dante flashed a smile and eased into his red coat.

A moment later he was whizzing down the steep cliff face that held the cave high above the ground.

This place is bizarre.

There's so much malice in the air that I'm practically breathing it in, he thought.

Dante crashed through a series of brittle branches and landed heavily on the ground with a thud.

The earth beneath his feet felt ordinary enough.

The heat and stench were noticeable, but not dangerous.

Still, Dante's senses had shifted into overdrive.

Something was wrong.

Something unnatural.

Dante peered through the languid air to take in his surroundings.

The desolate landscape was somehow not quite right, as if the trees didn't come out of the ground at the correct angle.

He had landed in the forest that he'd spied from the cave.

The overgrown plants made Dante uncomfortable.

He was no botanist, but the vegetation seemed abnormal.

The hazy twilight air made it difficult to see far, and Dante had already lost sight of the cave.

The forest carried with it a familiar and oppressive atmosphere.

He had sensed something similar not too long before-a palpable something that gnawed at the soul.

Gilver felt like this; the demon world.

Yet he doubted he and Beryl were in the Underworld.

There was no sense of magic underpinning the geography.

In fact, magic was rather conspicuous in its absence.

Dante suspected he was in a halfway place, a realm neither human nor demon.

"I don't know how long you've been there, but I don't like being stalked.

Come on out." Dante scanned the thicket surrounding him.

He spoke in a casual tone, but every muscle was ready for action.

"If you don't show me your face, I'll get it myself on the edge of my sword." 
Time passed.

Dante felt the tension rise.

His pursuer hadn't made a move after Dante had called out.

Intuition told him that he was in danger; whatever was stalking him wasn't afraid.

Finally, a black shadow abruptly appeared in front of Dante.

The figure wore the long black jacket of the Ghost Knights, but he left his face exposed.

He studied Dante, who eventually grew impatient with the standoff and decided to break the silence.

"So who are you, then?" 
"My name is Shadow.

It is an honor to make your acquaintance, second son of Sparda." The newcomer spoke in a dignified tone and, although ominous in appearance, comported himself with politeness.

But Dante was focused on other things.

"Second son?" Dante stepped backward, assuming a stance that would allow him to unsheathe Rebellion and strike Shadow down in a single stroke.

"Calm down.

I mean you no harm." Shadow raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Surely you know your brother? He was our great leader, Nelo Angelo." 
"Nelo Angelo...?" Dante knew the name well but gave no outward sign of understanding.

Nelo Angelo had been a powerful Dark Knight who had successfully warded off Dante several times during the final assault on the King of the Underworld.

His unnatural armor and giant sword had made him a formidable opponent, but Dante had eventually defeated him after a bloody tussle.

"After the loss of our great leader, I personally led our remaining forces against the King of the Underworld." 
"What?" Whatever Dante had been expecting to hear, it wasn't it.

He whipped out Rebellion and pointed its blade at Shadow.

Eyes narrow and jaw set grimly, Dante was ready to run the newcomer through on the spot.

"What did you say?" 
"We fought against the King of the Underworld." 
"You're yanking the wrong chain, pal." Dante pressed his sword against Shadow's throat, exerting just enough pressure to avoid breaking the skin.

Shadow was taken aback.

"What? Master Dante, did you side with the King of the Underworld against your own brother?" 
"I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but I killed the King of the Underworld and your demon boss." 
"What did you say, sir?" Shadow gulped.

"The true Master Dante was carried off by the King of the Underworld during childhood and forever separated from his brother, the great Nelo Angelo.

No one knew whether you were alive or dead.

Dante lowered his sword.

"Well, that explains something," he said.

I was swallowed by the Beastheads and somehow sent to this middle world.

"But you're mostly wrong.

I've spent my life hiding from the King of the Underworld.

He never knew where I was." 
Shadow remained silent.

Dante didn't think the stranger was lying; the story was too outrageous, and in any case Shadow didn't seem the type capable of pretense.

That threw up a single possibility, one that he left Dante perplexed and even frightened.

This is a different world in a parallel universe.

One in which history diverged dramatically from Dante's universe, recasting Nelo Angelo as a hero.

Dante mused over the possibility of an evil twin running around in this alternate world even now.

Ordinarily, he would have laughed off talk of parallel universes.

A demonic Underworld, sure.

But a parallel universe? Pull the other one.

Yet, since arriving in the cave after being swallowed by the Beastheads, the uncanny environment had gnawed at him.

It felt similar to the Underworld, yet clearly wasn't the demon realm-not as he knew it, anyway.

The trees and rocks were slightly off, the creatures indescribably different.

The air itself was almost imperceptibly askew.

It made sense that these changes carried over into history itself.

In this world, he had allied with Demon King Mundus instead of killing him.

It's unbelievable.

Nevertheless, Dante was a realist.

Shadow sensed Dante's hesitation.

"Is something the matter, Master Dante?" Even though the tip of Rebellion still rested against his throat, Shadow didn't seem to consider Dante as an enemy.

Dante relaxed his combat stance slightly.

He could sense that Shadow held a strong allegiance to his brother.

"I'm sorry I acted weird.

I am Dante the Devil Hunter.

But..." 
"But what?" 
"I'm not your Dante." He ran a hand through his silver hair.

"I'm not sure how or why, but I'm not from this world."