Devil May Cry - Volume 2 - Chapter 3.3

Phase 3 
Part 3 

Hundreds of rebel soldiers had fallen in behind Dante, loyal to the memory of Nelo Angelo.

The demon warriors clashed with the women in a violent display of crimson and gold, but the battle was far from even.

It didn't take long for Beryl to recognize that her hosts were being decimated.

The women hefted mystical blades, which tore open their opponents when an ordinary weapon would have left a scratch.

The golden warriors seemed to have no fear of death, refusing to break ranks no matter the skill of their opponents.

The attackers moved in unison like a single organism.

The demon forces arrayed against the King of the Underworld were well trained and highly disciplined, but it was obvious to Beryl that they lacked tactical combat strength.

She surveyed the melee from a platform high above the battle.

"They planned this." Shadow and the other four leaders observed the fracas intently, signaling battle strategies to captains on the ground.

 
 
 
"They must have known we were amassing here." 
"We've finally grown big enough to be a real threat to Mundus," Frost said grimly.

"He's thrown his strongest warriors against us." 
"Reform the battle lines," Shadow ordered.

"Casualties are already approaching thirty percent." Shadow rubbed his chin.

"Mundus is trying to force us to resort to using our powers.

If he can exhaust us in a place where the mystical uncercurrents run thin, we'll be dead before we ever get to the King of the Underworld himself." 
"If we lose many more men, we won't be able to reach the demon king anyway!" 
Beryl flinched as a pair of boots landed heavily on the platform behind them.

"This sounds serious.

I want in." Dante stood coolly on the edge of the observation deck, smiling insouciantly.

"I'm guessing you guys have taken temporary forms.

Your true bodies are bigger and stronger, right?" 
"Yes," said Shadow.

"This place was originally the human world.

It's been corrupted beyond recognition now.

A weak current of magic runs through it.

But it's strong enough for us to resume our native forms." 
"Would you die?" Dante eyed the leaders cynically.

"No, but we would quickly lose our strength and open ourselves up to the King of the Underworld." 
"Didn't I tell you I'd take care of Mundus? If we stand here and do nothing, your rebellion is over.

Those women are destroying your men." 
The leaders stared at their feet, their reluctance palpable.

Dante knew that avoiding their devil forms wasn't solely due to the tenuous grasp that magic had on this world.

Mundus had created each of them to serve as soldiers for his cause.

Remaining in their new forms was a psychological rejection of their beastly heritage.

But this was no time for emotions.

Dante leaned over the edge of the platform and pointed at the ground.

"They're right under our noses! Pull yourselves together and get us out of this mess!" 
The golden warriors had nearly reached the scaffold, advancing upon the slick red paste of bloody corpses.

Each woman dissolved as she was destroyed, replaced with one of the seemingly infinite number of buxom reinforcements.

"There's no end to them! They look like humans, but they can't be!" Beryl squeezed off another round and picked off a warrior just before she could behead an unwitting rebel soldier.

"They're not real," Dante explained.

"The bodies are fake, created by magic.

The controlling sentience can just create new ones.

We'll have to cut off the source." Dante swung his legs over the side of the scaffold.

"Right.

Here I go." 
He dropped into the chaos, leaving Shadow and the other leaders with their mouths agape.

A moment later, Dante was swallowed up by the crowd of beautiful warriors.

A moment after that, the women who had thronged upon him shattered into dust.

"Sorry!" Dante sang gleefully.

"I didn't see the 'fragile' label.

Maybe the guy who made you was slacking off?" 
Rebellion easily sliced through the waves of the attackers.

But its owner knew it was only a matter of time until the sheer weight of numbers would drive him to exhaustion and he'd make a tactical error.

"Master Dante may be right." Frost watched the silver-haired warrior hack his way through the crowd.

"Assuming those abomidable forms could be safe if we only used them for a short period, there should be enough magical energy in this world to allow a limited transformation without fear of death." 

"We cannot seal away those memories forever.

The past always catches up to us," mused Shadow.

"Our gamble would save Master Dante and destroy these attackers.

The path to the King of the Underworld would be clearer." 
The men nodded in unison.

They could not allow Dante to fall to Mundus as Nelo Angelo had-especially if they ever wanted to look into the eyes of the woman who now served as their beacon.

"When we meet Mistress Eva in the netherworld, it will be with heads held high," agreed Phantom.

The soldiers' hands flashed with occult symbols, and reality shifted accordingly.

 
The rebel forces had been halved by the harpies' attack, overwhelmed by the inexhaustible supply of foes.

Beryl had joined Dante on the ground, but she was beginning to reconsider.

"They're unstoppable! Tell me you've got something up your sleeve!" she yelled.

"Magic like this works from the top down.

We've got to beat the boss.

Supply-side warfare." Dante smirked.

"We've got to deal with Trish." 
Beryl felt her rifle jam and she swore.

She tossed the weapon into its holster and grabbed one of the black swords that now littered the ground.

She hadn't sustained any injuries yet, but Beryl knew it was only a matter of time.

Dante didn't ever seem to tire, but she was fatiguing quickly under the incredible onslaught.

She found herself back to back with Dante, only able to focus on a limited radius.

Golden warriors surrounded them.

Still, she thought, we're doing better than Shadow's men.

"I'm open to ideas," she said.

"At this rate, my body's going to pack it in before I'm ready to." 
"I do have a vague plan, but it depends on whether Shadow and the others play ball." Dante stole a peek at the scaffold, which was now empty.

He sheathed Rebellion and whipped out Ebony and Ivory.

The switch threw his opponents off for a moment, giving him an opportunity to spray several dozen women with bullets.

"Fall back!" Dante shouted, dashing into the crowd, "Everyone, back to the outpost!" Dazed rebel soldiers retreated in confusion.

Dante remained behind, mowing down enemy warriors with abandon.

But the unending waves of reinforcements quickly cut off his escape route.

He was isolated in a sea of bloodthirsty women.

Suddenly, an inhuman cry rang out.

A giant spider fell onto the battlefield and set about trampling the golden warriors.

The creature was made of out living rock; each movement revealed magma pumping beneath cracks in its joints.

It was Phantom, returning to the form created for him as Mundus' apostle.

"I never thought that thing would be on my side!" Dante yelled happily.

He dashed underneath the Phantom spider, which promptly attacked his pursuers.

Another demon materialized behind the spider, a silvery giant who cleaved his adversaries with two enormous blades.

This was the true form of Frost.

Dante knew from experience that his opponents would find themselves in a desperate struggle for their lives.

The demons' appearance rallied the rebel troops.

Soldiers swept past Dante; they plunged into the endless tide of female warriors.

The silver-haired devil hunter moved to join the rush...but found himself treading in place.

A moment later, Dante realized his feet were no longer on the ground.

His body was swooped into the air, clutched in the rough talons of a colossal bird.

Griffon's demon form was true to his name.

"Thanks for the lift.

You know where I want to be." Dante pointed at the center of the attacking women, where Trish stood barking orders to her troops.

"Kweeee!" cried Griffon.

Dante could see two more giant creatures below him.

He knew the true forms of Blade and Shadow from when he fought them in his own dimension.

But here, the pair rallied against the King of the Underworld.

One had transformed into a thunderous lizard, while the other took the form of a shadow beast with skin like tar.

They decimated the golden warriors who stood in their path.

Seeing the demons regain their true shapes surprised Dante.

He had witnessed it all before and taken it in stride.

But he had never expected to work alongside them, slaughtering gorgeous women no less.

It was a surreal experience he hoped never to repeat.

Griffon had flown close enough that Dante and Trish could see each other clearly.

Her face twisted with rage as she readied her emormous sword.

Mystical lightning flashed across the blade, and Dante noticed she was brandishing the very weapon he'd used to combat the King of the Underworld in his own world.

He knew that if Trish was victorious, it would mean the end of the rebellion forever.

"Come, you insolent traitor! You who dare defy Lord Mundus.

Be proud to die at my hand!" 
Dante rolled his eyes.

Why do the bad guys always talk like that? Nobody ever talks like that outside of this sort of thing.

Does she order like that at restaurants? When she needs a spare square from the next stall, does she order her neighbor to deliver unto her toilet roll of purest silk or face her wrath? 
Dante knew the answers to his questions would not be forthcoming.

He smiled anyway.

This will be the second time I kick your ass.

Wriggling free from Griffon's talons, he dropped to where Trish commanded her warriors, his silver hair flapping wildly.

The two stared at each other with quiet malice.

And then they fought.

The battle was epic enough to be described in language Trish would normally use.

She would probably say the ground shook beneath their feet.

Their blades clashed with peals of thunder and hurricane gales.

She might even describe their massive swords in pornographic detail.

Trish wielded a sword called Alastor that was imbued with supernatural powers.

Dante knew this because he had once used the weapon himself.

It augmented its owner's strength, enabling Trish to cleave great arcs in the air faster and with more fury than Dante himself was capable of.

Infuriatingly, the sword even allowed her to fly.

Dante didn't think that was very fair at all, but as usual he put on a brave face.

"Not bad! Nice swordplay." 
Dante swung Rebellion in a mighty windmill, but Trish dodged easily and made a play for his chest.

"Pathetic, weakling scum! You disgrace yourself with your playground antics!" Trish sneered.

"Are you kidding me? You really talk like that all the time?" Dante stumbled backward, unable to gain purchase on the ground before Trish lunged forward with a second thrust.

He rolled to one side, annoyed at the special powers granted by Alastor.

She's far stronger than the Trish I fought before.

"You dare insult me thus?" 
"Swords don't win fights.

Even flashy ones," Dante quipped.

He lashed out with a roundhouse kick, but Trish blocked the move and responded with a jab to his throat.

Dante felt the tip of her sword brush air over him as it passed by.

Alastor sparked a blue bolt that zapped Dante square in the Adam's apple.

The disorienting shock was all Trish needed to land a serious blow.

She kicked Dante in the chest with astonishing force.

He tumbled backward, gasping for breath.

"Careless dog! You waste my time with the poverty of your skills." 
"I agree a man and a woman should tumble much longer before the climax," Dante said brightly.

"Ready for the second course?" 
Dante rushed toward Trish at blistering speed, Rebellion singing at his side.

His opponent simply stared at him with contempt.

"You waste my time with such rash moves!" Trish nimbly evaded the giant sword.

But before the stroke was completed, Dante brought Ivory to bear and unleashed a torrent of bullets.

Trish deflected the barrage with Alastor.

Dante swung again, and this time Trish anticipated the dual attack.

She spun to avoid his blade and brought her own crashing down on Dante's pistol.

But he had already dropped the weapon and withdrawn his hand.

Too late, she realized it was feint.

Dante pressed Ebony into her temple with his other hand.

If I were her, I'd duck and slice.

Trish immediately ducked below the barrel and swung her sword.

But Dante's empty hand now grasped Rebellion, which carved deep into her left shoulder.

Trish howled in anguish and fell to the ground.

Dante pressed the attack, not wanting to waste his advantage.

He emptied Ebony into her kneecaps.

Screaming, Trish hauled herself up with her arms.

Her legs might be useless, but Dante knew she could still prove a formidable threat if she launched herself into the air using Alastor's powers.

He couldn't let that happen.

"It's over, Trish." Dante raised Ivory and aimed directly at her forehead.

"Again." 
A single gunshot rang out across the battlefield.

Beryl heard the shot from her blood-soaked corner of the battlefield.

The noise snapped her out of her trance; her automatic reflexes had taken over in the heat of combat.

Now she looked around in surprise.

The golden warrior women had vanished.

The rebel soldiers were scratching their heads in confusion.

Beryl tried to work out what had happened, but quickly abandoned that notion.

Nothing had made much sense after meeting Dante, and she assumed it wasn't going to start now.

She cradled her beloved rifle and tried to locate the giant demon forms that Shadow and the other leaders had assumed.

But they, too, were missing.

Finally, she spied Dante's silver hair whipping in the acrid breeze that cut through the field.

She dashed toward him, ignoring the pained moans of the fallen rebel warriors she passed.

When she caught up with Dante, she saw that he was crouching next to the inert body of a beautiful woman.

Her crossed arms and closed eyes made it look like she was sleeping, but Beryl could tell by the blood coating her face and uniform that she was dead.

At her head, a giant sword rose like a tombstone from the earth.

"Dante! What happened here?" 
Dante didn't answer.

His face betrayed no sign of the conflict inside.

The sight of Trish lying in repose struck an unexpected chord within him.

Memories of his slain mother came forth unbidden, triggered by her uncanny likeness to the enemy that Dante had dispatched moments before.

Dante didn't like being the killer any more than he liked being the bystander.

Beryl sensed something was wrong.

"Who is that?" she asked timidly.

"She was our enemy," Dante said simply.

"But now she's dead." 
Dante stood with his back to the body.

"Let's go.

Someone needs to send Mundus back to the hell from which he came.