ZOMG! OBAMA WON! ZOWIE! So Happy!

Author's notes: I do not own DMC or any of this series' characters.

This story takes place on an Alternate Timeline – if you could call it that. As many of us know... DMC doesn't have a cohesive timeline... meaning that a lot of wacky things happy and no one knows exactly WHEN they happen. So, I came up with one of my own, stretching into the belief that Dante and Vergil may actually be immortal creatures.

Also, the main point of this is for you (yes, you the reader) to question how old the twins' really are. Here goes and please do enjoy!

EDIT: Unfortunately, I somehow managed to upload the wrong file. Lol... Well, Thats what you get when you are writing at 3AM. Here's the correct post!

One last thing: If you find any errors or typos, please let me know. On with the show!

Time Flies

Chapter One: And Mary Is Her Name.

Salem, Massachusetts - February 3, 1692.

A heavy door made of wood and iron, creaked open allowing a small sliver of light to slip into the dark, dank room that housed Hathorne's only prisoner at the moment. His name was on the lips and tongues of the villagers of Salem. Before the conviction, he was simply known as the boy that remained a boy despite the passing years. He was born not far from the village in 1672, some twenty years before the trials began. The boy had thus far lived a tragic life that did nothing to shelter him from the harsh blows and accusations of Magistrates Corwin and Hathorne.

They knew his beginnings and punished him for that too. Twenty years ago he and his twin brother were born to a beautiful blonde woman, named Eva, some short miles into the woods outside of Salem. Despite being a sweet and gentle soul, the townspeople believed that she was a witch who had birthed the spawns of Satan. Her boys were well enough behaved, as behaved as any other child. They were different, that much was apparent to the eyes of the villagers. The twins' pallor and hair matched that of freshly fallen snow. Their crystalline eyes sparkle with wonder and excitement of youth. They told of their ethereal heritage.

Eva had tried her best to shield her boys from the harshness of Puritan world she was raised in. Still there were times where they could not be sheltered and contact was necessary. The children accepted the twins with open arms as new playmates; it was the adults that shunned them. Not long after their tenth birthdays, poor, sweet Eva was found brutally murdered in the wooded cottage that they dwelled. To this day, he wasn't sure who or what got to her first... demons or the paranoid villagers.

The iron door opened wider letting more of the moonlight in, stinging the boy's sensitive eyes. He lay on an uncomfortable bed of straw, which barely elevated him from the cold stone floor of his cell. He was dressed in grey tattered trousers and a loose top that was just as shabby. His face was cover in dirt smudges and his once platinum hair matted with dirt and caked over blood. His face, once rosy with youth, now as pale and ashen as the top he wore. Gone was the sparkle from his steely blue eyes.

A figure dressed in black stepped into the dank cell and quickly scanned his surroundings. From where he stood, he spied a dead mouse curled in a corner seemingly trying to grasp onto a stale morsel, its corpse already succumbed to decomposition. In another corner near the door, was an overturned bowel of gruel swarmed with maggots. The figure neared the boy, revealing himself to be a guard.

"Are you displeased with your last meal, boy," he sneered at the youth. He didn't utter a response. "You have a visitor," he spat in disdain. He then exited the tiny space before a cloaked person entered. The swung close with the only light in the room being the lantern held the cloaked one.

"Are you going to allow them to continue this," a quiet voice came from under the drab hood.

"Yes" returned the boy's hoarse voice. The cloaked person turned down his hood, presenting to be indeed the twin of the condemned. He gazed upon his sickly-looking twin. He could tell that his brother was worn out. Between, the ceaseless tortures and interrogations at the hands of Corwin and Hathorne, the boy was left mentally and physically exhausted. He had long ago given in; so much so, that death was a welcomed end.

"Dante, please reconsider," the cloaked twin beseeched, "You could plead guilty... that will show them that you are 'repentant' and maybe they will be merciful."

"No, Vergil. Do you not see? I have committed no crimes and my only sin is having been born. Mayhaps, this form truly is evil."

"Foolishness," Vergil replied in an icy tone to hide his shock, "Do you sincerely believe their dribble? They will kill you without hesitation. Or have you forgotten about Mother?" It was all he could to keep himself from from shaking Dante and from allowing the anger to well up from deep within as his brother admitted defeat.

"Do not test me!"

"It is not like you to give in so easily. Do you want to die," Vergil posed the question to the younger twin.

"Yes," it came out low and airy, "An immortal life without her is not one I wish to continue."

Vergil knew whom he referred to and returned, "And your so-called sacrifice will not nurse a sickly girl back to health. Do you not believe that she will end her life once you have passed on? If this is what you wish, then so be it. I bid you well in the afterlife... whatever it may be." Vergil grasped his brother's shoulder in some semblance of comfort and left the cell. He continued one into the woods, knowing that this was his final moment in seeing his brother alive.

For the final time, the door to Dante's prison opened. Three men stood in the threshold... Magistrates John Hathorne, Jonathan Corwin and clergyman Reverend Deodat Lawson. Their indifferent eyes told the boy that his final hour drew near. His hands were bound behind his back in ropes pulled taut. The sun had not yet dared to make its climb into the morning sky when the three made the boy, seemingly of fifteen, to march up to the infamous Gallows Hill. The villagers followed, making the morning trek to the hill to observe.

The orange glow hovered in the horizon, casting ominous red and purple hues upon the gathering clouds. Dante was once again, brought before the villagers, other magistrates, and his accusers as he stepped onto the gallows. His brother stood on an adjacent hill, watching the whole thing unfold. They directed him to stand on a wooden stool, since he was still too short for the hangman's noose. The rope was tightened around his neck.

"Dante, you have been convicted of the crimes of witchcraft... of which you have afflicted the family of Reverend Lawson and the young maiden, Mary Good. Do you repent," Corwin said to the boy.

"No. I have done nothing wrong."

"Impudent wretch," Lawson shouted as he backhanded Dante across the cheek, "How dare you say such lies?! It is your pact with the Devil that keeps Mary Good ill and it is your dastardly deal that keeps you, a man of over twenty years, eternally young!"

Mary Good had never made any accusation towards him, it had been her family that had done so. She loved the boy and he loved her. Alas, they were not permitted to court. He had once believed that he would wed his raven haired goddess. Was it really the crime of witchcraft that condemned him or had it been that they were caught during one of their secret late night rendezvous?

"I have done no such thing," Dante nearly growled, barely maintaining his composure. Lawson struck Dante's other cheek. His brilliant eyes grew dark and he grinned as he made his reply to the good Reverend's blows. "So sir, you believe that I am the Devil's servant? Then you must know the Devil will remember this night as for every passing night he creeps closer to your spirit allowing you to live in false hope. With your final smile the Devil clasps your heart to hush its beating forever."

The Revenged sputtered, unable to make a retort at the boy and his curse. "He has gone mad! Hangman, end this now!" The executioner obeyed and activated the trap door, causing the stool to tumble into the hole it created. The boy's feet dangled just below the open trap door. They jerked and kicked helplessly as the knot tightened around his throat. His death was not particularly quick, as his weight did not initially break his neck. He lasted a few minutes more, which seemed like an eternity to everyone in attendance. He gasped, choked, and writhed as his body struggled to catch air upon instinct. As the sun shined its beams upon the hill, the boy's body finally went limp and the light left his eyes.

From the hill that over looked the gallows, Vergil softly uttered, "Well played little brother. Bravo. Bravo." The older turned and slipped away unseen from the hill.

The body had been left there, swaying in the wind, as a reminder of the consequences of witchcraft. The moonlight once again draped across the body and its twin, perched on the central beam that held up the noose. "You always did have penchant for the dramatics," the older one said looking at the swaying body. Vergil produced a small blade, where he cut his younger brother down. His body dropped on the irregular wood planks fashioned into the floor of the gallows. Vergil jumped off the beam, just near Dante who coughed and wheezed as he attempted to move with renewed vitality. His movements were stiff and unfocused. A hand clasped around Dante's shoulder, centering his thoughts. "Wait a moment," Vergil said, "Rigor Mortis has begun to set in. Give it a while to wear off." Dante took in his brother's advice. Vergil cut the ropes that bound his brother's wrist.

As Dante's coughing fit settled down, he asked, "What do we do now?"

"I do not know," the elder twin answered, "We run, we hide, and we pray no one recognizes us. We try our best to live our lives closest to normality as we can." Dante recovered and the pair ran off into the woods.

New York City – Present day

Lady looked over to the white-haired hunter as the digitally rendered version of himself on the television screen dropped its guard. She took the opportunity to make devastating blows and then a finishing move. For the first time, ever, Lady had defeated Dante in SoulCalibur 4, as evident from the phrase, 'Lady Wins' written across the screen in gold lettering. She watched as the character that she created for herself rejoiced over her fallen digital foe.

Lady looked again at Dante, who sat beside her on his red couch with the game controller held slack in his hands. He did not appear to be upset or even surprised as his cohort had won the match. He appeared to have allowed his mind to fly off into space. She picked up the remote and switched the TV off. Still he did not stir. Finally, she broke the silence, "You left yourself open."

Her voice brought him back to earth, "Aw... No... You just caught a lucky break."

"Like hell! Ever since you got this game, I could never once beat you. What's wrong?"

"Nothing... Just thinking about something." Dante glanced at a clock affixed to a wall of his shop and said, "You're going to be late for your little shindig." A week ago, Lady bumped into a long forgotten friend of her graduating high school class on the street. The bubbly strawberry blonde recognized the raven haired huntress and after some 'catching-up,' she invited her to an art auction featuring pieces that she had painted herself as well as some historical collections. The gallery itself was actually not too far Dante's shop.

"I don't know what you are talking about," she returned, "You are coming with me mister." Before Dante could object she said, "Your suit will be on your bed." To him, Lady was like a wildfire, her moods impossible to predict. Possibly for the sake of self-preservation, Dante played along and got ready for their trip to the gallery.

Dante had showered and dressed within a span of fifteen minutes where it seemed to take hours for Lady to prepare herself. He waited twiddling with his fingers and then lounged on the couch, tossing and catching a ball with one hand.

"Okay, let's go," Lady said from the top of the stairs. Dante rose from his seat to see Lady practically float down the stairs. She was dressed in a black, spaghetti strapped cocktail gown with a plunging neckline.

"You look nice," he casually said as he slid into his tuxedo jacket.

"You clean up well too," she responded as she took in his new look. His hair was slicked back and he was clad in a crisply pressed tuxedo that fit him perfectly. He was surprised that Lady was able to find something that fit him well, considering that she picked out the suit without his knowledge. Lady walked to him, fixing his slightly crooked bow tie. A grin spread across his lips. "What," she questioned.

"I was wondering how it stays up," he admitted his wicked thoughts.

She tightened the tie... a little too much, causing him to wince slightly. "Double stick tape," she ground out at her associate's uncouth words. She then sighed and deflated onto the couch, "I really hate black tie events."

"Tell me about it," he said sitting on the couch's arm, next to her.

"There are no demons out tonight either. Maybe we should forget about it, stay here and play some video games."

"What," he returned in feigned astonishment, "And not make fun of all of the bimbo arm candy at the party?"

"What does that make me," the gloom clear in her voice as she gazed down at her dress.

"My arm candy," he stood and smiled warmly as he offered her a hand. She playfully punched him in the arm and smiled back. He was the only one that could get away with poking fun at her. "Let's get going for this little soirée," he added, "Your chariot awaits." She took his hand and he escorted her to an awaiting taxi-cab.

Another twenty minutes passed and they were before the art gallery. Dante paid the cabbie and he took off for his next fare. Lady's mind played the meeting again. She wore her white and revealing hunting uniform. She had just met with a client and was on her way to a job. In fact she was following the job that had taken on a human disguise. That is until she heard someone say, "Mary? Mary Arkham? Why, it has been years!"

Her blood boiled at the name. Lady mentally calmed herself, before turning to face the shrill voice that had called her out. She casually pulled off her sunglasses as she spun to see the perky strawberry blonde that she hadn't seen since high school. "Kristy," she questioned.

"In the flesh," Kristy giggled as she pulled Lady into a crushing embrace. The woman was just as bubbly as Lady remembered, almost as if she hadn't grown out of being a cheerleader. "So, how are you?"

"Umm...I'm fine," Lady put on a fake smile, "how about you?"

"Goodness me... crazy. I have the kids and the art show at the end of next week."

"Listen... I'm on my way to work—"

Kristy cut Lady off, "Oh! What do you do?"

"I'm into mainly freelance work... A condottiere of sorts," Lady hoped that she was still too ditzy to understand what the word meant.

"We really have to catch up! Here," she passed Lady a business card, "The art show next week... please say that you'll come. We can hook up there."

"Sure," was the first thing to come to Lady's lips. She certainly hoped that the demon she was supposed to be tracking hadn't gotten far.

"Lady," Dante snapped her back to the present, "aren't we going inside?" She had told that woman anything that she wanted to hear in order to get her to go away and now she was beginning to regret that decision. She begrudgingly entered with her escort.

As soon as they entered the main showroom, there came a shrill, "MARY!" Within moments, Kristy was wrapping her arms around Lady. When she had finished her embrace, Kristy eyed Dante. "Who is your handsome friend?" Soon Dante found himself victim to her back breaking hug.

"Dante, this is Kristy, a friend from high school; Kristy, Dante, my business partner," she introduced the two unenthusiastically.

The bubbly blonde reached back and pulled a seemingly random chestnut haired man away from a group of men. "This is my husband Sean. Sean this is Mary and her friend Dante." The man shyly waved.

"Mary, I just love your dress! Where did you get it," Kristy began the small talk.

"A little boutique Downtown. Where did you get yours?" Lady could not help but to admire the woman's sparkling white gown.

"You wouldn't believe it, but Vera Wang designed it for me." Lady gaped. "I know," Kristy continued, "I couldn't believe it myself! It turns out that she likes my paintings." Kristy grabbed Lady by the wrist and said, "Come with me, we have a lot to talk about.... Do you remember Candice?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she has become a prostitute." Just as Kristy said this, the women were already on the other side of the gallery.

Sean put an arm around Dante's neck and pulled him into the group men that he was with before. "Let the girls do whatever it is that they do," Sean said to Dante.

Kristy brought Lady past her abstract paintings and into the area that housed the historical collections. As Kristy began to explain more about Candice's new 'job choice,' Lady's attention was brought to a painting just past Kristy's head. By now she had noticed that her old friend staring at something behind her and rather intently at it. She turned to see what engrossed her friend so.

"I take it that you like the Cézanne?"

"The man in the portrait... he seems so familiar," Lady said entranced, as she stepped closer. There was a man with silvery hair dressed in a grey suit. He was sitting next to a dark haired woman. The two of them were sharing a pink dessert that Lady guessed to be ice cream. She figured that the man could be Sparda, but that notion left her head as soon as Kristy spoke.

"There was once a story that Cézanne told when he was asked to explain why he painted this picture. He said that he had met a young artist in Paris who had an insatiable appetite for strawberry ice cream. They young artist had begged him to take him on as an apprentice. He told him no, but when the young artist showed Cézanne a painting of his own, he immediately agreed to take him under his wing."

"What was the painting," Lady inquired.

Kristy pointed to the portrait to the left. It was a teenage girl with hair of ebony and honey colored eyes. She sat in a rowboat with a demure smile on her gentle face, wearing a blue dress and a flat, white bonnet-like headdress . "It is called Mary Good. At least that's what the young artist told Cézanne. He said that he named it after a girl who posed for him in America. Take a look at Mary Good and the Cézanne picture." Lady instantly saw the similarities; in fact she'd venture to say that it was the same girl.

Kristy continued, "While a beautiful and a well done painting, it is said that Cézanne did not take in the young man based on his talent, but of the content of his portrait. The woman on the right is his niece. When Cézanne saw the uncanny resemblance to his niece, he immediately introduced her to the young man. The two fell in love and got married. The picture that Cézanne painted was of his niece and the young artist. It was his wedding gift to them. Come to think of it, you look like both women yourself."

Lady chuckled in disbelief. Kristy continued, "No, really! Maybe they are your ancestors." Lady looked again and the woman in Cézanne's painting had odd colored eyes matching her own. All of a sudden, the plausibility of Cézanne's niece being her Great-Great-Great Grandmother was not outside the realm of possibility.

"However," Kristy added, "There have been a lot of questions about these portraits."

"Like what?"

"Well, a lot of experts wonder why the young man is depicted with white hair and why his painting pre-dates Cézanne himself."

Lady looked from one painting to the other. "Enlighten me Kristy, because I know nothing about art history."

Kristy pointed at Mary Good, "The overall style is Romanticism a period that began in the 1790s, long before Cézanne was born. Cézanne is the father of Impressionism, which got its beginnings in the 1860s. Experts have dated both paintings and found that Mary Good was painted in the early 1800s and that Cézanne painted his picture in the 1870s. They came to the conclusion that the Dante that painted Mary Good and the Dante in the picture were not the same person."

"Wait... what? Did you say Dante?"

"Yes. Did I not mention him before? Dante is the young artist."

The men in the main gallery were taking full advantage of the open bar in a far corner. "Chug, chug, chug, chug," the men chanted as Dante neared his eleventh bottle of beer.

Lady stormed over to him, snatched the bottle out of his hand before the amber liquid could touch his tongue and chugged it. She let out a small, satisfying gasp that most people do after deeply drinking a carbonated beverage. A hush fell over the crowd of men.

"Now, that's my kind of woman," Sean exclaimed. The other men hollered and whooped in agreement.

"Lady," Dante said with a look of concern, "What's up?"

"Dante, we're leaving."

"Why? They haven't started the auction yet." Before he knew it, Lady had grabbed him, dragged him to the street, and she was hailing a cab. One pulled up in front of the couple and they climbed in.

"Dante," Lady's mind was still reeling over what Kristy had said, "Tell me the truth, okay?"

"What is this all about?" He was little more than confused. Had he done something wrong?

"The truth... please," she nearly screamed.

"Are you okay," Dante made a move to wrap his arm around her. She went stiff at his embrace. He kept his hands to himself.

"No, I'm not okay," Lady said, "I just want to know the truth." She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off an oncoming headache.

"Okay," he sighed, "hit me with your best shot."

And she did. The questions flew from her mouth at a mile a minute, "Who is Mary? Were you ever married? Did you know Cézanne?" All Dante did in response was make a wide mouth gape at her.

"Well," Lady was getting impatient.

Dante recovered and began, "Mary Good was in many ways, my first love."

"How? How can a Pilgrim girl be your first love?"

He was not sure how to word it for her. "Lady... Do you believe in reincarnation?"

She did not reply, but he continued, "What if I told you that you have lived before... many times? What if I told you that every couple of generations, I met and fell in love with you all over again? What if I told you that at one point, your name was Marie Bourdon and I married you?" Now Lady's mouth hung open agape.

"I thought you were thirty-six," she interjected.

He grinned and paused before saying, "Well, add another three hundred years to that and you'd be about right."

Lady went into information overload. She could not move, she could not think. The headache was banging at full force. Her brain told her body the best thing it could, given what she just learned. 'Goodnight.' With that Lady passed out in Dante's arms.

(To Be Continued...)

I thought that I'd lay some historical fiction on ya! I hoped you enjoyed the little taste of what will be happening. Please give some feed back.